Pols Discussion post Week 8

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Welcome to Keawanui, a fifty- five- acre marvel of Hawaiian ancestral aqua- culture technology over eight hundred years old. Welcome to the future. We invite you to envision futures differently with us. We invite you to a future that makes Indigenous people and our cultural food systems central to the survival of all people, particularly in these times of rising temperatures and seas. If you come as a respectful visitor to Keawanui and to Molokaʻi, you need to think about what you can give to this vision and to this island, not just what you want to see or do or take. Visitors to any part of Hawaiʻi cannot truly know our lands and waters without developing relationships with the kānaka ( people) who reside upon and work these ʻāina, these places that feed us.

Located in the ahupuaʻa (district) of Kaʻamola, Keawanui is the largest loko iʻa (fishpond) on the island of Molokaʻi, and the only one that has been restored to functionality. Moloka‘i traditions tell us that centuries ago, thou- sands of people— prob ably a third of all the residents on the island— came together to pass stones hand- to- hand over the steep mountainous terrain separating the north and south shores of Moloka‘i. Like a lei adorning the island, they stood shoulder to shoulder, transporting the basalt rocks that would become the kuapā (walls) of the sixty- eight loko iʻa that once existed on the south- facing side of the island (the northern seas and shoreline were too rough for such structures). From a bird’s- eye view, the fishponds themselves became like a lei gracing and adorning Molokaʻi, the island child of Hina. Long before the loko iʻa were built, Hina herself walked along the southern coast, creating freshwater springs by plunging her ʻōʻō (digging stick) into the soft earth. A few of these springs still feed Keawanui fishpond.

“Welcome to the Future” Restoring Keawanui Fishpond

Kalaniua Ritte, Hanohano Naehu, Noelani Goodyear- Kaʻōpua, and Julie Warech

Aikau, Hokulani K., and Gonzalez, Vernadette Vicuña, eds. <i>Detours : A Decolonial Guide to Hawai'i</i>. Durham: Duke University Press, 2019. Accessed August 24, 2022. ProQuest Ebook Central. Created from uhm on 2022-08-24 09:26:40.

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For centuries loko iʻa have provided Kanaka Maoli with regular supplies of herbivorous fish, which are both more sustainable and more reliable than hunting for deep- water carnivorous fish such as the tuna or swordfish that are more frequently consumed today. It is estimated that in 1901, over one million pounds of fish were still being raised in fishponds on the islands. By the 1970s, this figure had dropped to only about twenty thousand pounds per year. On Oʻahu, fishponds were filled in for suburban development or destroyed during the construction of military bases. On Molokaʻi, loko iʻa became neglected as a cap i tal ist plantation economy rose, challenging the subsistence economy.

The restoration of Keawanui fishpond is a product of one of the first Hawaiian community- driven efforts, dating back to the 1980s, to restore loko iʻa in the con temporary era as part of a vision for food self- sufficiency through the use of Indigenous cultural traditions and innovations. The kiaʻi loko (fish- pond caretakers/guardians), Kalaniua Ritte, and Hanohano Naehu, who co- wrote this piece, acknowledge that even though they have been working to revitalize Keawanui since 2001, we have only begun to scratch the surface of what this cultural, historic trea sure left by our ancestors can do for us in these pre sent days. As modern Kānaka, we see Keawanui as an ancient answer brought into con temporary context. As a new generation of kiaʻi, we improvise without compromise. The value of aloha ʻāina (love of land and country) continues to drive us, just as it guided our mentor, Walter Ritte, and the kūpuna (ancestors) who came before. While we make slight adaptations and modifications to the fishpond, we hold fast to the cultural practice of aloha ʻāina because we know it is the only way to secure a sustainable and just future for generations to come.

ʻĀina is kanaka is ʻāina is kanaka. The format of this essay illustrates the ways ‘āina and kanaka are intimately connected and co- constitutive. If you were to visit Keawanui in person, Hanohano would point out the three ele- ments necessary for a structurally restored loko iʻa: the kuapā (wall), the mākāhā (gate), and the pūnawai (freshwater source). In this piece, we guide the reader through these three dif fer ent parts of the loko iʻa; a narrative tour of what a fully functioning fishpond looks like. As scholars who have vis- ited and supported Keawanui, Noelani Goodyear- Kaʻōpua and Julie Warech have noted the ways the kiaʻi themselves are a fourth necessary aspect of the loko iʻa. Throughout the piece, we juxtapose the structural ele ments and show how they act as meta phors for the three kānaka who have brought the fishpond back to life: Walter Ritte, Kalaniua Ritte, and Hanohano Naehu. The layout of this essay is meant to mimic the ways the kiaʻi carefully choose and

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lay stones one on top of another to build the vari ous ele ments of the pond. Here, photos and blocks of text are consciously arranged to emulate that stacking, which builds a strong and lasting wall, protecting the waters and beings within the loko kuapā.

The Kuapā/Uncle Walter Loko iʻa are an aquacultural in- novation unique to Hawaiʻi, and they took several dif fer ent forms depending on the resources of the area. Keawanui is a premier example of the loko kuapā style, which uses a seawall built from stones to protect an area of rela- tively shallow water. Loko kuapā cannot be found anywhere else in the world outside of Hawaiʻi, and the islands of Molokaʻi and Oʻahu were known for this technological advancement. Their invention re- sulted from intimate observation of environmental pro cesses specific to par tic u lar places and from the deep relationships that Kanaka Maoli had (and some still have) with our ʻāina and kai (seas).

Walter Ritte Jr. has been a leader of aloha ʻāina movements for most of his adult life. A native of Molokaʻi, he became involved in the Hui Alaloa’s fight to maintain Hawai ian access rights for subsistence and cultural practices in the 1970s. Because of his hunting prowess, he was asked in 1976 to join a group resisting the U.S. Navy’s bomb ing of the neighboring island of Kahoʻolawe. Walter and eight others made the first landing in January of that year. He returned to Kaho‘olawe less than two weeks later with his wife, Loretta, and sister, Scarlet. The following year, he and Richard Saw yer made the longest of the 1970s protest landings on the island. And that was only the beginning.

Walter’s strategic view of Hawaiian politics only grew over the next de cades. He served in the 1978 Hawaii State Constitutional Convention and was one of the first trustees elected to the Office of Hawaiian Affairs. He has fought numerous battles to protect his home island from foreign driven, corporate controlled change, including cruise ships and biotech giants, such as Monsanto. He is the founder of Hui o Kuapā, an organ ization that works to restore ancestral fishponds. Hui o Kuapā was started in 1989, and the collective began restoring fishponds across Moloka‘i, starting with Honouliwai and Kahinapōhaku. For Walter and the other founding mem bers, engaging Molokaʻi youth in this pro cess was critical; they integrated the physical labor of rebuilding kuapā with leadership training to fortify communities.

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The formal restoration pro cess at Keawanui began in 2001. When Hui o Kuapā first arrived, the pond was in disrepair, not having been used since the 1940s. The place was like a swampy jungle, overgrown with mangrove and buffalo grass. If you walked into the pond from shore, you would be up to your hips in mud from the sediment runoff. And there was a massive opening in the wall. The kuapā was therefore the first ele ment to be restored at Keawanui. It is the most visibly recognizable feature that defines and sets the scope of this loko iʻa. The wall stands higher than the highest tide, and it protects the pond, to a certain extent, from predators and poachers.

The vision for Keawanui emerged a few de cades before restoration began, in the late 1970s, when Walter visited Keawanui “with the kūpuna, and they said this place has to be kept for the Hawaiians . . . so we started to figure out whose place is this and it became known to us that it was Kamehameha Schools.” Kamehameha was

planning to develop the area, “to have dredging done out on the reef, put hotels out there, and then they also talked about having a land ing strip.” Walter emphasizes, “we stopped it.” This is what a kuapā does: it protects a bounded area from encroachment and provides a sanctuary in which young ones can grow.

At more than fifty acres, Keawanui is the largest loko iʻa on Molokaʻi. Here it is pictured in the context of its location within the ahupuaʻa of Kaʻamola, a land division that stretches from mountain to reef. Hui o Kuapā’s long- term vision is to work with the landowner, the Kamehameha Schools, to restore the whole ahupua‘a to allow sustainable food produc- tion. Photo graph by Noelani Goodyear Kaʻōpua.

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Since Hui o Kuapā began its work at Keawanui, the hui has taken responsibility to manage a total land and water area of nearly seventy- five acres. Of this area, the kuapā bounds about fifty- five acres within the loko iʻa itself. Much of the early work was in rebuilding the kuapā. Follow- ing a traditional style, rocks are strategically placed so that each interlocks with the others around it. In order to ensure stability, rocks of vari ous sizes are used to minimize gaps. Yet, the wall is both sturdy and porous. In a way, it breathes with the tides, allow- ing a certain amount of flow and exchange between the waters within and the waters outside. Furthermore, the outer side edge of the wall that faces the ocean is designed with a slight slope, not a ninety- degree angle. This slope allows wave energy to dissipate as it hits the wall. Such pulses then roll off and create less of an impact.

By 2004, under the leadership of Uncle Walter, whom we sometimes call “the general,” the team had fully repaired the wall and closed in the pond. Over the next five years, we moved into improving the surrounding infrastruc ture, building small hale kiaʻi (guardian outposts), which also serve as places for community visitors to sit and ob serve the rhythms of the pond. Around this same time, Uncle Walter and the other kiaʻi became deeply involved in the strug gle against the patenting and ge ne tic modification of Hāloa, the kalo (taro) plant and the elder sibling of Kanaka. One of their biggest concerns was the potential privatization and corporate control of kalo, as well as the way this was tied to the growing presence of biotech corporations on their island. For the kiaʻi of Keawanui, the loko iʻa provides a living alternative to unsustainable, mono crop, cap i tal ist approaches to agriculture and food production that have implanted them selves in Hawaiʻi. These approaches deplete rather than enhance the natu ral resources of the islands.

One of the main purposes of a loko kuapā is to cultivate pua, or baby fish, to maturity. The kuapā protects an area of rich resources and keeps preda- tor attacks to a minimum. At Keawanui, the kiaʻi see the pond as a way to support restocking the fishing grounds along the entire coast, not just as a way to trap fish for their own consumption. It is about creating a safe space for growth and for replenishing the abundance of the island.

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Unfortunately, in 2010 a tsunami generated by an earthquake in Chile blew a huge hole in the kuapā near one of the gates. Before the kiaʻi could finish repairing the wall, an other tsunami hit in March 2011, this time originating from a Japan earth quake. The kiaʻi remember it flatten ing the entire wall, except for a few small areas in which mangrove

roots held it together. Only one hale was left standing. This was a huge blow to the fishpond physically and to all of the work the kiaʻi had done at the pond over the years. But the kiaʻi whom Uncle Walter had trained stayed strong. After a few tears and a few beers, the rebuilding work began, and today, once again, the wall stands tall.

The Mākāhā/Hanohano In a loko kuapā–style Hawaiian fishpond, channels are constructed in the wall so as to maintain a bal- anced flow of water into and out of the enclosed section. These chan- nels are called ʻauwai o ka mākāhā, or simply ʻauwai. The kiaʻi chose where to locate the ʻauwai with

re spect to prevailing currents in the area, and their function is critical to the health and life of the loko iʻa. The kiaʻi then constructed mākāhā (sluice gates) across the ʻauwai to regulate what fish come into the pond and to make catching fish in or near the ‘auwai easier. In the old

Uncle Walter Ritte stands alongside a life- size model of the kuapā (fishpond wall) and ʻauwai, or passageway through which ocean water flows into and out of the loko iʻa. The kiaʻi greet visitors at this spot on the land- based side of their ʻāina (“that which feeds”). Photo graph by Noelani Goodyear Kaʻōpua.

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days, Kānaka used a single gate, but the kiaʻi at Keawanui use a double- gate system. As expert lawaiʻa (fisherpeople), our ancestors knew that fish gather in areas of current, swimming against it. When the tide is dropping and the gate is open, fish swim into the loko i‘a, smelling

the rich waters that are pouring out. And when the tide is rising, fish in the loko i‘a swim back toward the ocean. Going with the ebb and flow of the fishpond’s waters, the kia‘i can lure fish near the mākāhā to catch them or simply to monitor the health of their loko iʻa.

One of the four ʻauwai (channels) built into the kuapā at Keawanui. At either side of the opening, one can see the mākāhā (sluice gates) that regulate what fish come into and go from the loko iʻa. The kiaʻi at Keawanui use a variety of materials, both traditional and nontraditional, to construct gates. The rebar and metal fencing show that their concern is to use repurposed materials that are functional, rather than to insist on using what looks iconically Hawaiian. Photo graph by Noelani Goodyear Kaʻōpua.

Hanohano Naehu leads an anti- gmo rally on Maui. The kiaʻi of Keawanui see their activism as complementary to their daily acts of aloha ʻāina. Their involve- ment in the anti- gmo movement in Hawaiʻi has focused on oppos- ing pesticide drift that poisons communities and corporate influence in the po liti cal system. Photo graph by Justin Zern.

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Hanohano Naehu was born and raised on Moloka‘i on lands his ʻohana (extended family system) has stewarded for countless generations. Coin cidentally, he lives in the valley upland from the first fishpond that Hui o Kuapā worked on in Honouliwai, at the east end of Molokaʻi. However, when his best friend, Kalaniua, went to work at Honouliwai fishpond, the waters were not yet rich enough to draw Hano into the pond. He was pulled other directions and always viewed fishponds as a last resort, swimming up to the sluice gate only to turn away.

Hano was born in the 1970s, a de cade defined by cultural resurgence and Native Hawaiian activism. However, this emergent collective consciousness still required individuals to untangle themselves from the icy grip of settler colonial logics that have devalued Hawaiian knowledges for so long. When Hano first graduated high school, he viewed the fishpond through a narrow lens of hard work for little pay. He felt a lot of pressure to “make it,” which meant leaving his community to seek material wealth and “overcome” his small town background, a common narrative embedded in a colonial cap i tal ist valuation system of “success.” Being “somebody” meant going away and being more like the haole (foreigners). So, Hano went to the U.S. mainland to attend college and play football, and when he returned to Molokaʻi, he sought well paying jobs at Moloka‘i Ranch and in Mycogen Seed’s corn fields.

At Keawanui, there are four ʻauwai. The kiaʻi keep them all closed, except for the one farthest out toward the ocean, where the flow is strongest and the most ac- tion happens. Even when the water appears calm on the surface, the pull of current in to or out of this channel can topple a strong person off their feet. The kiaʻi regulate these ʻauwai with a double sluice gate system, a modifi- cation that draws on an inno- vation introduced by Chinese immigrants to the Hawaiian Kingdom in the mid-1800s. At Keawanui, a twenty- foot “raceway” is bounded by two parallel gates that can trap fish on either side.

Hano’s journey back to the loko iʻa began on a journey far from home. He traveled to Holland to hear the Lance Larsen v. Hawaiian Kingdom case at the Permanent Court of Arbitration at the Hague. This was a pivotal mo ment for him, as he heard Keanu Sai retell the history of the ongoing U.S. occupation of Hawai‘i. During that trip, he began to rethink the dominant narratives he had learned and to revalue what our kūpuna have left us. He saw the need to choose to be Kanaka, to choose to give energy to the Hawaiian things— such as fishponds— that dominant American society says

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doesn’t matter. Choosing to be Kanaka meant embracing the “hard work for little pay” at fishponds and developing a relationship to an ancestral food system his kūpuna left behind.

The kiaʻi constructed a funnel into the ocean side gate. When the fish run in with the current, they hit the gate then swim toward the funnel’s large opening and into the raceway. If the kiaʻi want the fish to keep running right into the loko iʻa, they keep the inside gate open, or they place a second funnel facing the same direction. The system keeps the fish moving in one direction not only because they are moving against the current, but because they rarely find the funnel’s smaller hole suspended in the middle of the water column. When the tide is com- ing up, the kiaʻi reverse the second funnel on the inner gate so that it points inward, toward the raceway. The fish swim in but cannot get out, making them easy to catch.

Now, over fifteen years since Hano started working at Keawanui, he has become the voice, the “talk ing chief,” of Keawanui. A gifted orator, poet, and rapper, Hano combines the traditional stories of the place with con temporary beats and language as a means to draw youth and other visitors into the vision and work of restoring ʻāina. He is the kiaʻi who typically greets visiting groups and welcomes them through educational tours at the loko iʻa. In a sense, he is the figura tive mākāhā, catching those who come in and out. Hano’s enamoring personality, witty humor, and infec tious laugh immediately draw in the younger generations and get them excited to connect to their ances tors, history, and ‘āina.

The mākāhā at Keawanui is not built to be pretty or to look “traditional.” It’s built to be functional and to stand the test of time against ele ments that push on it day in and day out. Before our forests were denuded to make way for ranches and plantations, mākāhā were made of ʻōhiʻa or other hardwoods. Long pieces are lashed together to leave vertical spaces small enough that baby fish can swim through but larger fish cannot. The kiaʻi at Keawanui used the materials available to them— stones, thick steel rebar (often used inside concrete structures), and plastic- coated metal mesh fenc- ing—to re- create a system inspired by ancestral technologies but that looks quite dif fer ent. The mākāhā is a blend, a remix, of teachings from Hawaiian elders such as Uncle Graydon “Buddy” Keala, from Chinese immigrants, and even from a book about masonry in Middle Age Eu ro pean monasteries. But most of all, the mākāhā is bound together by the ingenuity and creativity of the kiaʻi loko of Keawanui.

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A self titled “aloha ʻāina warrior,” Hano has used his knowledge as kia‘i loko to lobby in Washington, D.C., for Marine Monument expansion and in vari ous parts of Oceania, such as Rapanui and Tahiti, in order to help Pacific Islanders in their own environmental efforts and strug gles to weave together scientific technology and traditional knowledge. As he likes to say, we should “modernize without compromise,” keeping aloha ʻāina as our guiding princi ple.

The Pūnāwai/Kalaniua Ritte If loko kuapā are the largest and most productive types of Hawai- ian fishponds, what makes them abundant is the mix of fresh and saltwater, wai kai. This brackish environment within the loko iʻa is what nurtures the growth of the limu (seaweed) and algae that fish find so ʻono (delicious). Each fishpond has its own unique freshwater sources, some fed by streams and others by springs. In any case, the freshwater source is essential to the health and productivity of the loko kuapā.

Keawanui is fed by springs, or pūnāwai, which are known to have been originally discovered by Hina in ancestral times long past. In par tic- u lar, this loko iʻa benefits from one large pūnāwai that was rediscovered and restored through Kalaniua’s vi- sion. Today, the pūnāwai provides an ice- cold swimming hole for kids and a sovereign water source for irrigating a permaculture garden on the land side. The kiaʻi describe it as the heart of the pond because it continuously pumps fresh water into the loko iʻa, attracting and feeding small fish.

Kalaniua’s journey as a kia‘i loko began immediately after high school at Honouliwai fishpond. He was inspired by the potential of fishponds to pro vide solutions to food security issues on Moloka‘i, at a time when resources were visibly starting to dwindle. At Honouliwai, Ua learned how to operate and build fishponds through an “intensive aquaculture” framework that relies on external inputs, such as fertilizer, to maximize production. Seeing the fundamental unsustainability of such an approach, Ua felt in his gut that this could not be the way. The proj ect was straying too far from the value of aloha ʻāina.

When Hui o Kuapā came to Keawanui in 2001, Kalaniua was able to break free of the intensive aquaculture framework and the need for profit within commercial aquacultural enterprises. Instead, he turned his focus toward the specific environment of Keawanui. Going back to one simple belief—if we allow ourselves to be in the environment, we learn by spending time in it and observing—he trusted the learning that would emerge.

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When the Hui first came to Keawanui, no sources of water were vis i ble because the invasive grasses were too thick. As overgrowth was cut back, Kalaniua noticed a consistent bubbling from one par tic u lar area near the shoreline. After watching it for two months, he and a group of students he was leading began to dig out the top layer, revealing a spring filled with a thick, soft mud. For years, the spring was left like this, partially revealed and ever- flowing, the mud being too heavy to be removed any further.

Ten years later, after becoming much more familiar with the loko iʻa system as a whole, Ua borrowed a friend’s pump to determine if the spring could be expanded. Slowly, over the course of a month, he care- fully pumped out the soft mud and began to line the sides of the revealed under ground chamber with stones.

You have to understand: If you grow up on Molokaʻi, you don’t swim in fresh water unless you have connections to a boat driver who can take you to the north side of the island. Every thing is saltwater and mud flats. Molokaʻi is not known for fresh water. So, uncovering such an abundant freshwater source is truly unique, and it allows a kind of self- sufficiency

Kalaniua Ritte stands on lands in Kaʻamola, looking over the fishpond at Keawanui. His rifle is not a weapon for use to ward off poachers or unwelcome visitors. Rather, it is a tool that he and many other Molokaʻi families use for hunting deer. The axis deer provide a major source of protein for Molokaʻi folks, and in turn, subsistence hunters keep the deer population at a level that is less harmful to upland ecosystems. Photo graph by Noelani Goodyear Kaʻōpua.

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that is not pos si ble if you have to rely on the county water utility. Thus, the waters of Hina feed the pua within the loko iʻa and provide a respite and a gathering area for the people. The kiaʻi call it a sovereign water source.

At Keawanui, Hui o Kuapā restored the fishpond in a way that puts education, rather than commercial profit, at the center. And that pro cess has been an educational and research enterprise for Kalaniua, whom Hanohano calls the “mind’s eye” of the kiaʻi team. Hano reflects that it was Ua who taught him how to see the ‘āina: what used to be and what has to be put back; what will be and how to reach that future; what has to be left alone to keep the ʻāina and kai healthy. For example, Kalaniua learned how to incorporate mangrove— a nonnative

species written off by aquaculture lit er a ture and other fishponds as invasive and merely destructive—as a beneficial piece of their fishpond, if it is managed correctly. As tides rise and storms grow more frequent as the climate changes, controlled mangrove cultivation may help solidify the kuapā, and the kiaʻi are experimenting with leaving stands of mangrove growing within the wall. Additionally, Ua has used the mangrove wood to build hale kiaʻi where the kia‘i, community mem bers, and their guests can lounge in the shade next to the pool.

The pūnāwai is the heart of the Keawanui loko iʻa. Any loko iʻa is only as healthy as its freshwater source. This spring feeds the fishpond and provides water for the organic gardens kiaʻi have planted on the land side of the loko iʻa. Photo graph by Noelani Goodyear Kaʻōpua.

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But by far, Ua’s proudest accomplishment at the loko iʻa has been uncov ering and restoring the pūnāwai. Like him, it is calm on its surface but continuously draws from a deep source to pump fresh energy into the life of the fishpond and its people day after day, year after year.

Conclusion Through all of the ups and downs, from watching years of hard work leveled by natu ral disasters, to rationing the organ ization’s limited funds in order to continue fulfilling their kuleana (responsibilities and authority), the kiaʻi continue to stand by Keawanui because this place is a part of their families. Maintaining a healthy ʻohana requires intergenerational transmission of knowledge and kuleana. This is one reason why the Hui o Kuapā has been so committed to stewarding Keawanui as an educational site. In fact, one of the first students, Kahekili Pā- Kalā, who went through their program in middle school, returned as an adult a couple of years ago, and he continues to work as a new generation of kiaʻi- in- training. For Keawanui to thrive for another eight hundred years into our future, many more kiaʻi will need to be raised up.

For the current kiaʻi, Keawanui is the ‘āina we lean on: an ancestor, a lover, a provider, a healer. As Hanohano told Anthony Bourdain when he featured Keawanui on Parts Unknown a few years ago, “if you can love

Uncle Walter Ritte stands in one of the hale kiaʻi (guardian outposts), pointing across the loko iʻa to the wall on the other side. He and the other kiaʻi also point us toward more sustainable Hawaiian futures. Photo graph by Noelani Goodyear Kaʻōpua.

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this place without developing, destroying, or abusing it, we are on the same team. But if you are eyeing this place as a money- making vehicle for yourself, we are enemies.” People of all backgrounds can and should aloha ‘āina, and in that pro cess, you won’t become Kanaka Maoli, but you can become family. Family means you have obligations to re spect this place and other ʻāina in Hawaiʻi, obligations to understand its history and genealogy, to mālama or care for it, to share its story, and most importantly, to help Keawanui and its community thrive. When you give to the ʻāina, the ʻāina reciprocates and feeds you in ways that nourish your whole existence. Eventually, in the futures the kiaʻi of Keawanui offer, we will all understand ourselves as inseparable from ʻāina.

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