Kahoʻolawe, the smallest of the main Hawaiian Islands, has always carried a weight far greater than its size. For generations, it was revered as a sacred place of ceremony, a training ground for celestial navigators, and a vital fishing resource. Its name is woven into chants and stories that remind us of our kuleana – our responsibility – to care for the land and sea as living ancestors.
That sacred role was shattered in 1941, when the U.S. military seized Kahoʻolawe for bombing practice after the attack on Pearl Harbor. For nearly five decades, the island endured relentless live fire training, explosives testing, and naval bombardment. The land was scarred with craters, stripped of vegetation, and littered with unexploded ordnance. Erosion worsened, and the ecosystem collapsed.
In 1976, a group of activists known as the “Kahoʻolawe Nine” risked their lives by secretly landing on the island to protest its use as a bombing range. Many were and remain friends. Their courage ignited the Protect Kahoʻolawe ʻOhana (PKO) movement, which united Native Hawaiians and allies in a struggle for justice.
After years of protests, lawsuits, and political pressure, bombing finally ceased in 1990, and the island was returned to the State of Hawaiʻi in 1994. Yet much of Kahoʻolawe remains unsafe, with unexploded ordnance buried beneath its soil.
I had the privilege of visiting Kahoʻolawe myself. Walking its rugged terrain, I saw firsthand the scars left by decades of military action; the barren stretches of land, the remnants of craters, and the warnings of danger.
Yet equally powerful was what I witnessed among the people working there. Individuals deeply committed to restoring life to the island, planting native species, stabilizing soil, and conducting ceremonies to heal both land and spirit. Their dedication is inspiring, and the energy of renewal palpable. That experience was not only exciting but also unforgettable – a memory etched into my heart as a reminder of resilience and hope.
Kahoʻolawe is more than an island; it is a symbol of Hawaiian unity and resistance.
The struggle to protect it became a rallying point for the Hawaiian Renaissance, fueling movements for cultural revival, land rights, and sovereignty. Kahoʻolawe embodies the principle that land is not property but a living ancestor. Protecting it ensures that future generations can reconnect with its sacred role in navigation, ceremony, and identity.
The island’s restoration is not just ecological, it is cultural. Every seed planted, every ceremony conducted, every effort to heal the soil is an act of reclaiming identity. Kahoʻolawe reminds us that unity, persistence, and cultural pride can overcome destruction. It is proof that when Hawaiians stand together, even the most scarred land can begin to heal.
Kahoʻolawe stands as proof that unity, persistence, and cultural pride can overcome destruction. Safeguarding it is not only about preserving land. It is about affirming identity, sovereignty, and the right to self determination.
Its journey from sacred island to bombing range and back to a place of renewal is a story of resilience. It is a reminder that our land carries memory, and that healing is possible when we honor our ancestors and protect our sacred places.
And so, I ask you: Do you have a Kahoʻolawe in your life – a place, memory, or struggle that symbolizes resilience, unity, and renewal?
