“Our people planned for seven generations ahead of us,” said Leialoha “Aunty Rocky” Kaluhiwa.
“We are living the dream that was here for us when our kūpuna made the loʻi. And we’re supposed to take care of it; it’s up to us to restore it. Because the past is here now.”
The ahupuaʻa (land division) of Heʻeia is in the moku (district) of Koʻolaupoko on Oʻahu between the ahupuaʻa of Kāneʻohe and Kahaluʻu.
Kaluhiwa is a lineal descendant of Heʻeia whose ancestors were konohiki (land managers) for the region. She joyfully refers to herself as an “ʻāina advocate.”
Now in her 80s, Kaluhiwa, the first vice president of Koʻolaupoko Hawaiian Civic Club, is a respected kūpuna and community leader who has been on the frontlines of efforts to protect Heʻeia for six decades – and she is still actively working on behalf of her community as a board member of the Heʻeia National Estuarine Research Reserve (NERR).
Established in 2017, the Heʻeia NERR has emerged as a model for ma uka to ma kai sustainability, effectively reviving and restoring traditional ahupuaʻa methods of conservation and land management with practical application for the 21st century.
But its success story really begins in the 1960s.
The fight to save Heʻeia
Statehood encouraged the rapid suburbanization of Koʻolaupoko, especially in Kāneʻohe and Kailua. New construction was rampant in the 1960s and 70s, with modern residential developments and their cookie-cutter houses, forever changing the rural character of these communities.
New subdivisions sprouted in Kāneʻohe like mushrooms and soon suburbia found its way to Heʻeia. Long-time residents were evicted from their homes – sometimes with only a few weeks notice – to make way for new subdivisions with fancy names like “Aliʻi Bluffs” and “Crown Terrace.”
But in 1965 when the Hawaiian Electric Company (HECO) proposed building a power plant in Heʻeia to support the influx of new housing, the community banded together in staunch opposition to the plan.
Empowered by the burgeoning Hawaiian “renaissance,” the community resisted all attempts at any further development in Heʻeia – which, in addition to a power plant, included plans for a marina, a golf course, and thousands more homes. For decades, community advocates spent countless hours organizing, protesting, and sitting in courtrooms.
“We had to fight – and we fought hard,” Kaluhiwa recalled. “We went through so many courts, so many years. It cost us. We had legal aid, but all the other small stuff we had to pay out of our pockets. We lost a lot of money. But it was worth it. If I had to do it again, I’d do it again.”
Their fight is a David and Goliath story of tenacity, courage and sacrifice by people like Kaluhiwa and her late husband, Jerry, Aunty Alice Hewett, and so many others.
Their resistance paid off.
In 1991, a land swap deal was brokered between Heʻeia landowner Kamehameha Schools (KS) and the State of Hawaiʻi: the state traded a 3-acre parcel of land in Kakaʻako for KS’ 420-acre Heʻeia wetlands. Oversight of the wetlands went to the state’s Hawaiʻi Community Development Authority (HCDA). The community could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
A shift from development to conservation
During the 1990 legislative session, a Kāneʻohe Bay Master Planning Task Force was established to develop a comprehensive master plan for the bay.
Completed in 1992, the plan focused on sustainable use of the bay’s resources and balancing ecological integrity, cultural preservation, aesthetics and economic use. It also recommended the creation of a National Estuarine Research Reserve (NERR).
In 1993, the Kāneʻohe Bay Regional Council was established. It includes neighborhood board representatives, the Hawaiʻi Institute of Marine Biology (HIMB), fishers and other commercial interests operating in the bay, and the Office of Hawaiian Affairs. Among other things, the council is tasked to facilitate implementation of the master plan.
In 2001, Paepae o Heʻeia was founded by a group of eight young Hawaiians with a vision to restore and maintain Heʻeia Fishpond to feed the community. They established a partnership with landowner Kamehameha Schools to manage the loko iʻa.
Then in 2010, HCDA signed a 38-year lease with community nonprofit Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi to restore the Heʻeia wetlands. The following year, Act 210 was signed into law creating the Heʻeia Community Development District to facilitate culturally appropriate agriculture, education and natural resource restoration and management of the wetlands.
And 25 years after the Kāneʻohe Bay Master Plan was completed, on Jan. 17, 2017, the Heʻeia National Estuarine Research Reserve was established.
A new co-management model
The National Estuarine Research Reserve system is a federally funded program through the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) that functions as a collaborative management agreement between the federal government and states with NERR designated areas; the feds fund the research, stewardship and educational programs while states are responsible for operations, implementation and outcomes.
Managed by HIMB, Heʻeia NERR was the 29th such reserve designated – the only one in Hawaiʻi – and the first to include its region’s Indigenous community.
When HIMB began planning for Heʻeia NERR about 15 years ago, four Native Hawaiian organizations active in Heʻeia – Koʻolaupoko Hawaiian Civic Club, the Koʻolau Foundation, Paepae o Heʻeia, and Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi – were consulted. Once Heʻeia NERR was formally established, leaders from these organizations became members of the NERR’s Reserve Advisory Board.
Their participation was key to incorporation of the ahupuaʻa concept of stewarding ʻāina from the mountains to the sea into the Heʻeia NERR management plan – an element unique in the NERR system which heretofore focused exclusively on coastal areas.
Heʻeia NERR is also set apart by its integration of Indigenous knowledge and western science in its stewardship practices to nourish healthy and resilient ecosystems, economies and communities.
Speaking to the advantage of this collaboration, Dr. Kawika Winter, director of Heʻeia NERR said, “These community organizations are [each] focused on their own missions and don’t have limitless bandwidth. But together we are helping bring ahupuaʻa stewardship back to Heʻeia.
“The long-term vision is food security. But we also have a lot of endangered species around here, endangered waterbirds. Those need to be abundant again. Our forests and streams need to be healthier. Reefs need to be full of fish. My vision is ʻāina momona. It will help us create the world we need to live in.”
Getting the giant to lift stones
In 2018, Winter, a biocultural ecologist, had been working as the director of Limahuli Garden and Preserve in Hāʻena, Kauaʻi, for more than 13 years when he had to move back to Oʻahu for family reasons.
That same year the job for director of the Heʻeia NERR was posted. It was a faculty position through HIMB located at Moku o Loʻe (“Coconut Island”) in Kāneʻohe Bay.
Born and raised in Ahupuaʻa Waiʻalae on Oʻahu, Winter lists his tūtū hoʻokama – his adoptive grandfather Eddie Kaanaana, and his kumu hula John Kaʻimikaua as key influences in his life.
So as perfect as the position with NERR sounded, Winter had reservations about applying. “I was an activist and I spent a lot of time fighting the presence of the federal government here in Hawaiʻi,” he said. “So when this job came up I was thinking, wow, running a federally funded research program in a Native Hawaiian community sounds like career suicide. Why would I ever do that?”
Involvement with the state or federal government has usually resulted in loss for Native Hawaiians; it’s a legacy of intergenerational trauma. “Not everyone is comfortable with the idea of co-managing – or doing anything – with the state or federal government,” Winter said.
But as he looked at the genesis of the movement to save Heʻeia, and all that was accomplished, “the lesson I learned from the kūpuna in this community is ʻdon’t let the sins of the system get in the way of figuring out how to get the system to work for you.’
“Maybe if we talk to the giant, we can get it to lift stones for us and help us rebuild our walls.”
From the mountains…
Koʻolau Foundation President Māhealani Cypher has always lived in Koʻolaupoko. A former editor with the Windward Sun Press, her community advocacy began with the Stop H-3 Association in the 1970s.
After the H-3 freeway was opened, the association reinvented itself as the Koʻolau Foundation, a community organization affiliated with Koʻolaupoko Hawaiian Civic Club dedicated to the preservation of historic sites and cultural properties.
For decades they have been working deep in Haʻikū Valley, where Ahupuaʻa Heʻeia begins, to restore the native forest and sacred cultural sites in the valley affected by construction of the H-3. “The cultural complex in the valley was never recognized by the State of Hawaiʻi or the Bishop Museum when they did the research for H-3,” said Cypher noting that impacts of the freeway on cultural sites in Haʻikū were never mitigated.
“There are at least three heiau: Kāne a me Kanaloa, then Kānehekili at the top. The three flow into the piko (center) of the valley, which forms an amphitheater. So we invite people up there to work on the ʻāina and strengthen their mana through that work,” Cypher shared.
Koʻolau Foundation works in concert with two other Hawaiian organizations active in the valley that are important contributors to the restoration of Ahupuaʻa Heʻeia: nonprofit Papahana Kuaola, a mālama ʻāina-based education organization focused on economic sustainability and environmental health, and for-profit Hui Kū Maoli Ola, the premiere native Hawaiian plant nursery that also specializes in natural habitat restoration. The organizations were co-founded and are co-owned by ʻŌiwi ʻāina advocates Rick Barboza and Kapalikū Schirman.
Cypher is optimistic that, with all the nonprofits involved in ʻāina work ma uka to ma kai in Ahupuaʻa Heʻeia, someday soon there will be greater capacity to feed the community.
“NERR is a really important collaboration of public and private organizations coming together,” Cypher added. “Their research in this ahupuaʻa on the health of the ʻāina is very important. What Iʻm hoping is that we have an ahupuaʻa that is vitally alive and flourishing and able to do much good, not just for the future, but for current generations.”
Restoring Heʻeia’s breadbasket
“Our people were amazing scientists,” said Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi Executive Director Kānekoa Kūkea-Shultz. He is talking about the way that our ancestors managed water flow in the loʻi kalo.
“It was just ingenious. When it flooded, the energy flow was dissipated throughout the entire system creating a sponge impact on our ma uka lands, which transferred to creating more loʻis and more springs – which meant more productivity in the ocean. More life. More momona. Ola ka wai – it’s all there.”
Born and raised in Waimalu, Oʻahu, Kūkea-Shultz’s ʻohana are originally from Lahaina and Waikapū, Maui, and Kohala and Waimea on Hawaiʻi Island. A conservation scientist whose master’s thesis was about limu, he is one of the eight young Hawaiians who helped found Paepae o Heʻeia in 2001.
He transitioned from loko iʻa to loʻi kalo after taking on the kuleana for Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi 15 years ago. The 405-acre parcel he manages includes 300 acres of wetland and 100 acres of hillside. His team is currently working to clear the invasive albizia trees that have taken over the hillside and so far about 60 acres of wetland have been cleared with 12 acres of loʻi in active production.
“If you look at the history of Heʻeia, there was a significant need to create a food supply, economic development and mālama ʻāina,” Kūkea-Shultz reflected. “We felt that with the support of NERR, we had a chance to really make it momona again. If we can revisit those loʻi systems, we can hopefully activate and regenerate the waiwai (wealth) that comes with kalo.”
One huge problem for Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi is water. “We don’t have enough water here to cultivate 300 acres of land. We are owed a lot of water from the diversions. Red Hill shut down 25% of our water. It’s not like our family on the other side don’t deserve it. It’s an island. Has to be pilina. But we need more water.”
In addition to kalo, the farm currently produces ʻulu, banana, ʻōlena (turmeric) and mushrooms. “We tried a lot of different products but kalo is still king in terms of resilience to flooding,” Kūkea-Shultz said. “Kalo can provide so many resources – habitat for endangered birds, habitat for endangered fish, habitat for endangered people. Our older brother is taking care of us.”
With a commitment to provide the community with sustainably farmed fresh produce and poi, Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi has built a poi mill and certified kitchen and has a small store that is open on Fridays and Saturdays.
“The market was a way to start generating the economic systems that are needed to engage in that circular economy and have the ability to feed our families really good, locally grown organic food from Hawaiʻi so that multiplier impact stays within Hawaiʻi versus getting shipped away,” Kūkea-Shultz explained.
The farm also includes a strong educational component and welcomes volunteer groups from schools and others from the community. With its small staff, Kākoʻo ʻŌiwi values the labor that volunteers contribute.
The farm currently employs about 40 people. Kūkea-Shultz said he needs twice that to achieve their vision.
To the sea
Hiʻilei Kawelo and Keliʻi Kotubetey were in their early 20s when they helped to found the private nonprofit Paepae o Heʻeia 25 years ago. Their vision then – and now – was to restore and manage the 88-acre Heʻeia Fishpond, the second largest active loko iʻa remaining in Kāneʻohe Bay, and someday provide food for the community.
They were part of a hui of young people that also included Kalikolīhau Hannahs, brothers Kalā and Kawai Hoe, Kānekoa Kūkea-Shultz, Mahina Paishon and Ānuenue Punua. Neither Kawelo nor Kotubetey, now the nonprofit’s executive director and assistant executive director, respectively, knew anything about managing a fishpond growing up.
Kawelo, who has a degree in zoology, was introduced to Heʻeia Fishpond in the late 90s. “There was a course at UH Kamakakūokalani Center for Hawaiian Studies called ʻmālama loko iʻa’ and it was being taught by Mary Brooks, a previous lessee of the fishpond,” she recalled. “My family is from Kahaluʻu and I grew up not knowing anything about this fishpond – and it was in our backyard.”
Kotubetey was raised in the ahupuaʻa of Opana on the north shore of Oʻahu, but moved to Kailua as a teenager. He attended college on the continent earning degrees in economics and business management and, after returning home, he happened to be invited by the friend of a friend to come check out the fishpond.
“Us 20-somethings all came together around the same time,” said Kotubetey. “So even though we found each other, the kūpuna and ʻaumākua found us as well.”
In addition to community leaders and kūpuna, the hui was mentored by Kamehameha Schools staff like Ulalia Woodside who headed the schools’ ʻĀina Ulu program, and Neil Hannahs who was director of the Land Assets Division. “Uncle Neil helped spark our organization,” said Kotubetey. “He was a big part of our founding.”
“I feel like Kamehameha Schools cultivated us to take on this kuleana,” Kawelo added.
Heʻeia Fishpond is a loko kuapā, a fishpond completely encircled by about 1.3 miles of wall. So the first step in restoring the fishpond was removing the invasive mangrove that had overrun its wall. Mangrove was introduced to Oʻahu in 1922 by sugar planters to mitigate sediment runoff. Since 2001, with the help of thousands of volunteers, they have cleared over 10 acres of mangrove. The last 1.5 acres will be cleared this year.
As the mangrove trees were laboriously removed, and the 800-year-old fishpond wall became visible, it was slowly rebuilt. “The wall was in various stages of disrepair,” said Kotubetey. “Some areas were quite good and we only needed one or two rocks. In other areas we had to repair 90% of the wall.”
But repairing fishpond walls was a new skill set. They reached out to folks with experience in fishpond restoration like Joe Farber, Graydon “Buddy” Keala and Walter Ritte. “We asked for guidance from those who were building walls, and then we just had to do it. We had to learn our space. Ma ka hana ka ʻike all the way,” Kotubetey recalled. “Loko iʻa are systems with similar elements but super unique and place-based.”
Although Kawelo and Kotubetey initially had reservations about NERR because of the federal government’s involvement, their views have since changed; under NERR there is access to funding for research, education programs and stewardship activities.
“Lines were drawn but boundaries weren’t created,” explained Kawelo. “We could rely on the strengths of others to handle the research – that was a weight off our plate because prior to the designation we had to juggle everything ourselves and it was overwhelming. The new model is ʻwork with others.’”
With the mangrove nearly gone, and most of the wall rebuilt, they are focusing more attention on fishpond production – and removing invasive fish and limu species. Currently, their number one priority is eliminating the invasive “upside-down” jellyfish. So fully restoring the health of the loko iʻa and its productivity is a long game. “We’re not selling fish because the pond is not ready yet,” said Kawelo. “We’re not harvesting or distributing but that’s okay. One day we will.”
A vision of sustainability and ʻāina momona
“ʻĀina is a system that includes people,” explained Winter. “If you look at the writings of [historian] David Malo in 1832, he said that ʻāina is a term for an island when there are people on it. If there are no people, it’s called a moku. So ʻāina is a system that has people in it.”
Winter says that the dominant western worldview that humans are separate from, and intrinsically bad for, nature is not the worldview of our kūpuna. He said people aren’t the problem – their behaviors are.
“We know 150 years ago we had the same population in this area of Kāneʻohe Bay and in those days the streams were clean, the reefs were full of fish. What’s the difference now? It’s how we’re acting. We’re not caring for the land. We’re viewing it as a commodity and focusing on its highest, best economic use versus looking at it as our relative. Because that’s what it is. We are related to all of this. That’s what the Kumulipo teaches; what science teaches.”
Embracing the worldview of our kūpuna and applying their wisdom to address the sustainability, conservation and resource management issues affecting Hawaiʻi today inspires the work being accomplished in Heʻeia. And despite the challenges, there is optimism and a common vision.
“The work happening in Heʻeia is an ideal model for other ahupuaʻa to follow. The people of the ahupuaʻa were self-sustaining. That is what we are doing here – making the ahupuaʻa we live in productive. We want these areas to be producing food. That was our main goal with the loʻi kalo,” Cypher emphasized. “But the research is also important. The spiritual renewal up ma uka is important. It all complements each other. People feel called to the land.”
Kotubetey acknowledges that restoring fishponds to their historic production levels will be a challenge. “It’s going to take more than just our organization working at our pond. But I think part of the ‘feeding’ we do here is getting people stoked about loko iʻa culture,” he said. “Even if they’re not eating fish from our pond every day they’re going to become better consumers and better community members – more island-minded, more island focused.”
“We can look at the mistakes made in Heʻeia by the development companies and learn from what happened,” adds Kūkea-Shultz. “We’re still growing, still learning and still making mistakes but hopefully we’ll be able to build other programs to help other ʻāina and grow more types of food. We have amazing climates here where we can grow things like wheat and rice or plant vineyards.”
The work of the Heʻeia NERR partners requires a different mindset. “Nowadays we think of economics and wealth as how many dollars are in your bank account. The Kānaka ʻŌiwi view of wealth is how much water you have on your ʻāina,” Winters said.
“The amazing thing about this whole system of loʻi and loko iʻa is that it slows down the flow of water through the watershed and the ahupuaʻa. Water flows slowly from loʻi to loʻi, back to the auwai (irrigation channel), back to the loʻi to the stream and eventually to the fishpond. One way to look at a circular economy is that it’s a water cycle. The kūpuna knew this. That’s why the wealth, waiwai, of our whole economic system is in this cycle of water.”
“We talk all the time about the fishpond, the loʻi, the water. But it’s really about relationships,” Kawelo reflected. “Pilina is really what makes the ahupuaʻa. Knowing your neighbor. Holding each other accountable. Relying on each other and being interdependent. I think that’s the biggest lesson. We need to shift that conversation from dependency and value community. Then we’re safe and we’re food secure.”
“I’m so proud of what this generation is doing. It’s going to take time and it’s not going to finish in their generation. They’re preparing it for the next generation. We had to fight and prove our ʻāina could be restored. This is the dream of our kūpuna,” smiled Kaluhiwa. “This generation is doing a darned good job.”
