Preservation of Ancestral Cultivation Systems of Taro (Colocasia Esculenta)

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Authors Harshman, Kalli Carina

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PRESERVATION OF ANCESTRAL CULTIVATION SYSTEMS OF TARO (COLOCASIA

ESCULENTA)

By

KALLI CARINA HARSHMAN

A Thesis Submitted to the Honors College

In Partial Fulfillment of the Bachelor’s Degree With Honor in

Sustainable Plant Systems

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

DECEMBER 2016

Approved by:

______Dennis T. Ray, Ph.D. The School of Plant Sciences

Harshman 2

Abstract

Culture loss has been a causative factor of many forms of disease in indigenous populations. Ancestral growing systems and the culturally important plants propagated within the systems are included in the cultural symbols that have been diminished due to a change of power. In Hawai’i and on Easter Island, also known as

Rapa Nui, these ancestral growing systems are the lo’i and the manavai respectively.

The symbolic plant is taro (Colocasia esculenta). Currently the systems are being revived at different rates, and with the revival of the systems, there is a higher potential for well-being. Well-being is analyzed in the realms of the individual, the relational, and the collective. The community built surrounding the redevelopment of the lo’i and the manavai addresses each level of well-being.

Introduction

Indigenous populations are spiritually, physically, and emotionally affected by the act of colonization. This is perpetuated by the forced economic dependence on the colonizer (Alfred, 2009). Throughout history, when a land has been colonized and the native peoples of that land have been overtaken, a similar pattern has reoccurred. The pattern demonstrates the ways in which the colonizing power is merciless. Namely, the colonizing power implements change until they become the dominant power of the territory with little to no moral regard (Wolfe, 2012).

Native populations have been reduced to statuses lower than that of a human while their skills and intelligence are belittled. The aboriginals in Australia, for example, were legally documented as a lesser species in order to justify denying them human rights (Watson, 2005). In the meantime, the colonizing power works to Harshman 3 strip the remaining personal identity from the natives, making their language illegal or irrelevant and prohibiting cultural symbols and practices (Wolfe, 2012).

Forced language loss has been seen in many instances of colonization. Native

American tribes were subjected to this (Crawford, 1995), and generations later, a residual fear of using the native tongue persists due to the punishments and scorn

(Williams, 2015). It has been documented that, with a loss of language, there is a loss of knowledge of environmental practices that had acted to ensure sustainability. The environmental practices that are lost have a direct effect on the health of individuals and the well-being of the community as a whole. With a loss of the traditional language that emerged from a specific landscape, there is a loss of understanding in regards to important aspects of the landscape. In fact, ecological disturbances, stemming from a lack of language understanding, have been seen on nearly every land where the native populations, who have developed place-based languages, have been overtaken (Skutnabb-Kangas, 2000).

Generations after territories are colonized, analogous patterns emerge in the welfare of the aboriginal populations. The populations form a dependence upon the power that colonized them, and because of this, there is a forced submission (Alfred,

2009). All the while, there is a continued disregard of the natives’ wellbeing and a lack of empathy for the emotional impact caused by identity loss. In addition to suffering emotional distress, native populations are incorporated in the lowest income class. The disparity in economic standing alone is already suggestive of lower life expectancy and disease (Kunitz 1994). When paired with the cultural genocide the population has endured, further consequences are guaranteed. In Harshman 4 aboriginal populations, mental illness and emotional diseases, like depression, are widespread (Adelson, 2005). Alcoholism and drug addiction rates are comparatively very high, as well. Additionally, physical illnesses, such as diabetes and heart problems, affect native communities at much higher rates than other populations

(Kunitz 1994).

Alcoholism, drug use, recklessness, depression, heart problems and diabetes are visible in colonized Polynesian populations such as Hawai’i and Easter Island

(also referred to as Rapa Nui). The natives of Hawai’i and Rapa Nui have experienced the land and language loss as described above. In 1893, the Hawaiian language was made illegal and replaced by English in all schools (No’Eau Warner,

2001). Language loss on Rapa Nui occurred as the Rapa Nui population declined from 5,000 to 111 people (Delaune, 2012). Sequentially, the Spanish language began dominating Rapa Nui in 1888 when Rapa Nui was annexed to Chile (McCall, 1997).

Aside from stealing land and imposing language, colonizing forces have also suppressed cultural symbols in attempt to reduce aboriginal culture; such as the

Rapa Nui flag being made illegal (McCall, 1997).

In the process of stealing land, language, and cultural symbols, indigenous agricultural methods were lost (Ladefoged et al., 2009). Not only are the agriculture systems themselves significant cultural symbols, the plants that were grown within them additionally have a great importance to the natives aside from simply providing sustenance, which made the loss of agricultural methods doubly significant. On Hawai’i and Rapa Nui, the growing systems are the lo’i and the manavai respectively, and taro is the meaningful plant grown within the two Harshman 5 systems. Taro is considered a ‘canoe plant’ signifying that it was brought to both

Hawai’i and Rapa Nui on the first settlers’ canoes. These Polynesians were extremely skilled and intuitive wayfaring navigators with the good judgment to bring the necessary supplies (i.e. taro, domesticated pigs, breadfruit, yams) to make life while colonizing an island plentiful and possible (Williams, 2015). Of the colonized Polynesian Islands, taro became the ‘staff of life’ only on Hawai’i and Rapa

Nui, because it provided a large portion of the nutrients in the settlers’ diets

(Greenwell, 1947).

During the cultural colonization of these islands by the European forces, the land and resources used for manavai and lo’i growing systems were diminished or lost entirely. Currently, however, there is a significant cultural reemergence in, not only language and various cultural practices, but in support for the ancestral growing systems. Along with the expansion of ancestral agricultural practices, there is a higher production of taro, and thus, more sustenance provided locally.

In promoting a pride in tradition and giving those that work with the growing systems a greater purpose, some of the adverse conditions that have arisen from colonization could be addressed and placated. The manavai and the lo’i can help promote social justice, more evenly allocate resources, and promote a greater cultural and community identity for natives on Rapa Nui and on the Hawaiian islands. Reconstructing and supporting the ancestral growing systems is one method of increasing a sense of cultural community and growing economic independence, which in turn may reduce the adverse effects that stem from the colonization of the native population. Harshman 6

Taro: General Taxonomy and Origin

Taro is part of the Araceae family (Coursey, 1968; Cho, 2007). The cultivated variety, Colocasia esculenta (L.), originated over 50,000 years ago in south central

Asia, presumably in the Indo-Malaysian Peninsula (White, 1982; Processing

Vegetables: Science and Technology). Taro arrived in Hawai’i and on Rapa Nui around 900-1000 AD when the Polynesian triangle was first colonized (Abbott,

1982). Agriculturalists recognize 150-175 varieties of taro that can be separated into eight morphological groups and can further be categorized into two types; dryland taro and wetland taro (Murai et al., 1958). The wetland taro, among other variations, has more mucilage. This mucilage makes it better suited for making poi, a

paste which made up a

large portion of the first

Hawaiians’ and Rapa

Nuis’ diet (Cho et al.,

2007).

Taro Anatomy

Taro is a

succulent perennial

herb (Figure 1). It has a

corm, a tuberous

Figure 1. Taro parts with Hawaiian names (Hawaiian underground Kalo) Harshman 7 stem, which has a width of 15-18cm and a length of 30-90cm at maturity (one year).

When the taro corm reaches maturity, it is composed of cork cambium cells on the exterior and starchy parenchyma on the interior. Calcium oxalates, also referred to as raphides, are a distinct component of taro, found in both the corm and the leaves.

It is suggested that they protect taro against herbivory by making it both toxic and unpalatable (Molano-Flores, 2001). Cooking the plant past 120-140 o C is required to dissolve the oxalates and to ensure that it will not cause itchiness of the mouth when eaten (Sunnell and Healey, 1979).

Within the leaf petiole there are large air spaces. These pores allow for gas exchange in completely flooded conditions. In general, it is important for the water in which they are planted to flow in order to maintain an amount of dissolved oxygen. For the same reason the water should be a cool temperature because warmer water allows for less oxygen to be dissolved (Onwueme, 1999).

There are lateral buds on the corm (Figure 1), cormel, from which stolons, underground stems, grow and allow for self-cloning. These runners are referred to as oha in Hawaiian, which is the root for the word ohana, family. The early

Hawaiians ascribe to a mythology in which, they believe their islands were created out of the sexual union of the male god, Wäkea, and the female goddess, Papa. The child, Häloa- naka, was the product of this union. Häloa- naka died as a young child, and the first taro plant, referred to as kalo in Hawaiian, grew where his body was buried. Wäkea and Papa’s second child, Häloa, was the first human to survive on the island, and he was given the responsibility to tend to the taro. The Hawaiian people are said to have descended from Häloa, and in turn, received the responsibility of Harshman 8 caring for the kalo. Sustenance would be their gift in return (Cho et al., 2007). Taro is viewed as the Hawaiians’ earliest ancestor, and because of this, it is easy to see that an anatomical part of the plant that allows for propagation is a root for the word ohana.

There are many methods of propagating taro, though. The method using the oha is simply done by removing and replanting the side suckers (Onwueme, 1999).

Each mature corm will bear up to 20 cormels (Onwueme, 1999) that can be planted to give rise to genetically identical plants. The most used method for propagation in

Hawai’i, however, is replanting the huli, the upper part of the corm with the shoot still attached. These can simply be sunk into the saturated soil in the flooded lo’i

(Goodyear-Kaʻōpua et al., 2014).

The Rapa Nui used the cormel for propagation, as well, and the process was performed rather ceremonially. The whole family gathered to pluck off the cormels and prepared them to continue the line of taro by replanting them in rich volcanic

Rapa Nui soil. Another method for propagating taro that I witnessed on Rapa Nui, was replanting small pieces of the totipotent corm. The totipotency of the corm means that the corm cells have the potential to differentiate into any cells of the entire organism, and thus totipotent cells have the ability to produce an entire organism. One corm can give rise to 100+ plants in the next generation, which is one of the reasons taro is so highly valued.

The totipotent nature of the taro corm also makes tissue culture a viable method of propagating this plant. In fact, on the Hawaiian island of Oah’u, the Lyon

Arboretum has a tissue culture lab that has hundreds of specimen growing in sterile Harshman 9 conditions in order to help preserve culturally significant taro varieties. The Kauai

Agricultural Research Station is experimenting with collecting true seeds as another method of taro multiplication (Onwueme, 1999).

Taro Uses

Food Source

Corm

The corm is very high in starch and was the main food source for the first

Hawaiians (MacCaughey, 1917). To prepare the corm to be eaten, it is cooked in an imu, an underground oven, and pounded into poi, a taro paste, which is then slightly fermented aerobically. During this process, the calcium oxalate crystals dissolve.

The red cultivars (Lehua and Pi’I ali’i), also called “royal” taro, were only served to the ali’i, Hawaiian chiefs (MacCaughey, 1917; Cho, 2007).

On Rapa Nui, only women made poi, and they did so by pounding the steamed corm on flat stones with rocks. In Hawai’i, on the other hand, only men were allowed to work with taro, and they would pound the steamed taro with a special stone pestle. It is documented that an average adult would eat ten to twenty pounds of poi a day (Greenwell, 1947). It was also eaten as a baked vegetable

(MacCaughey, 1917).

Leaf

The young leaves, and occasionally the petiole were eaten as a leafy green with fish or pork (Murai et al.,1958). Like the corm, the leaves need to be thoroughly cooked in order to dissolve the raphides and to make the leaves palatable. This leafy Harshman 10

vegetable was referred to as lua’u and is the reason the ritualistic feasts were named

lua’u (MacCaughey, 1917).

Medical uses

Along with taro’s main uses as a food source for Polynesians, the plant was

used medicinally in a variety of ways (Whitney et al., 1939), as Table 1

demonstrates. Today, studies are being conducted in regards to taro’s medical

viability and potential for current use.

Table 1. Traditional medical uses of varying anatomical taro parts (Greenwell, 1947; Prajapati, 2011). Plant Part Preparation Medical use Stimulant, astringent, Leaves/ Petioles Juice leaves expectorant Steamed leaves Poultice, styptic promote hemostasis Grated raw and mixed with Treat pulmonary Corm sugar cane juice congestion Cook to obtain mucilage Nervine tonic Growing Conditions

The optimum taro yield is realized in flooded conditions or in an

environment with very high precipitation (1,500-2,000 mm), and taro is naturally

found in alluvial floodplains (Muller et al., 2010). Taro is also sensitive to cold

weather conditions, and because of this, it is a lowland crop that grows best in

temperatures around 21°C. Full sunlight is ideal for growing taro, but it has

demonstrated a greater shade tolerance than most crops (Onwueme, 1999). It is

also proven to be more tolerant to salinity than other perennials (Nyman, 1989).

Optimal soil pH for taro growth is 5.5-6.5. For dryland taro, ideal soil is deep

and well drained and the ideal soil texture is a friable loam (de la Pena, 1998). The

ideal soil to grow taro is generally high in calcium because of the calcium oxalates Harshman 11 that form in the leaves and the corm (Molano-Flores, 2001), and in some instances, mycorrhizal complexes aid taro in nitrogen uptake (Onwueme, 1999). The presence of mycorrhizae may be vital in some cases, because like many crops, nitrogen is the most limiting nutrient for the growth of taro. As was demonstrated in a hydroponic system, the ideal ratio of NO3-: NH4+ for taro growth is 100:0 or 75:25, because of the reduced uptake of other cations (Ca2+, Mg2+, Mn2+) in the presence of NH4+

(Osorio et al, 2003). Additionally, taro is very resistant to aluminum toxicity because of oxalate exudation from the roots into the rhizosphere (Ma and Miyaska,

1998).

While taro was relied upon for the majority of peoples’ diets on the Hawaiian

Islands and Rapa Nui, the landscapes and climates vary greatly between the two.

The first settlers on the Hawaiian Islands took advantage of the natural flood plains on different parts of the islands to begin cultivating taro. These naturally irrigated patches, fed by the flowing streams, became the first lo’i. The island of Oah’u had the greatest land area that was naturally suitable for taro growth (Ladefoged et al.,

2009), but currently the greatest land area that is in production is found on Kaua’i

(Flemming, 1994).

On the other hand, Rapa Nui lacks a tropical climate and rainfall is irregular.

While on average the rainfall measures 1,250mm a year, which is within the ideal range for taro growth, drought has been shown to be common in the island’s history, and the rainfall fluctuations are found to be vast. The soil is also extremely well drained, and water retention is minimal (Hunt, 2007). In addition to these conditions, evaporation rates on the island are high due to the prevailing trade Harshman 12 winds and the high solar radiation (Wozniak, 1999). If viewing the high light intensity and well-drained soil as independent of evaporation, they could benefit the growth of taro, however, the evaporation rates, the highly variable rainfall, and the fact that no permanent streams have existed on the predominantly rocky island

(Hunt, 2007) prove that the lack of water was and remains one of the most difficult obstacles for Rapa Nui horticulture.

While promoting evaporation, strong winds additionally bring mists of salinity and aid in soil erosion on Rapa Nui (Hunt, 2007). Taro is salt tolerant up to a threshold, which generally was not exceeded by the salty winds, but it is possible that this could have contributed to agricultural difficulty. With all of this in mind, it can be gathered that much more active effort was necessary to cultivate taro as a crop on Rapa Nui, and given the conditions, the crop yield was lower than in the wetland growing conditions of Hawai’i.

Manavai and Lo’i

Rapa Nui

Because of the more inconsistent and dubious growing environment on Rapa

Nui, it was necessary to manipulate the land more and to use a larger ratio of land in order to get the desired productivity in food production. There is evidence that at one point 10% of the island, 1,658 hectares, was covered by 2,553 manavai

(Ingersoll and Ingersoll, 2011). Most of the island, from the coast inward, was transformed from the natural landscape for horticultural purposes to support the native population. This idea is supported by plant microfossil analyses (Horrocks Harshman 13 and Wozniak, 2008). Aside from the 2.5 meter in diameter (Ingersoll and Ingersoll,

2011) circular rock wall enclosures called manavai, the land was additionally altered with lithic mulch, a mulch composed of volcanic rocks (Wozniak, 1999). It has been demonstrated that the effort necessary to transport all of the rocks needed for Rapa Nui agriculture far outweighed the efforts to build and transport the moai, the renowned Rapa Nui stone statues (Ingersoll and Ingersoll, 2001).

Lichic mulching and the manavai structure promoted a microclimate that was better suited for growing crops, especially tuberous crops like taro and sweet potato (Hunt and Lipo, 2012). While lithic mulches were reserved for field cropping, the anthropogenic soil horizon in the manavais and the lithic mulches had similar effects on the growing system, including promoting the beneficial microfauna environment, increasing the organic matter composition, stabilizing diurnal temperatures near roots and tubers, and maintaining soil moisture (Wozniak,

1999).

The ground was often slightly sunken in the enclosed manavais in order to reach damper, more fertile soil. The digging of the swales also promoted water retention within the manavai (Hunt and Lipo, 2012). As is previously described, taro is most productive in wet environments, so this alteration most likely increased the taro yield. The stone walls around the plants also reduce the impact of the strong winds, and protection from the wind also decreases erosion, protecting the soil quality (Hunt and Lipo, 2012).

Evidence was found that the soil within the manavai was plaggen meaning that additions of manures from the ashes of burnt grasses and vegetables, marine Harshman 14 shells, and ground obsidian were made (Horrocks and Wozniak, 2008). The addition of marine shells increases calcium composition in the soil, which is important for the calcium oxalate formations in taro, as previously discussed. There was also proof of the addition of biochar found in abundance in the anthropogenic soils of

Rapa Nui. Biochar is charcoal made with organic matter in cooking pits covered in foliage and earth, also called umu, and heated with deliberately limited oxygen. As an addition to soil, biochar acts to absorb nutrients and increase the water holding capacity. It also retains its usability for up to a thousand years (Ingersoll and

Ingersoll, 2001).

Because of the lack of permanent streams on Rapa Nui, it has been shown that taro was only cultivated in dry-land conditions. In these conditions, it is common for taro to be grown in an intercropping system and to rely on seasonality for productivity (Wozniak, 1999). Within these dryland conditions the yield of taro is lower, but the plants reach maturity more quickly than in naturally irrigated, wetland conditions (Onwueme, 1999).

In Hawai’i, taro was predominantly grown in flooded conditions and was monocropped year round. A Hawaiian taro farmer explained to me that alternating lo’i patches were left fallow at different intervals. In 1650 C.E. the taro cultivation in

Hawai’i reached its peak at about 90,825 hectares of land (Muller et al., 2010). As earlier mentioned, most of this production occurred in wetland conditions in naturally irrigated systems called lo’i. Lo’i were popular in much of early Polynesian agriculture, but it has been shown that on the Hawaiian Islands, they occupied more geographic area than any other group of island (Ladefoged et al., 2009). Building the Harshman 15 lo’i system takes strenuous initial exertion. The infrastructure includes irrigation ditches and constructed rock pond fields. The irrigation ditches are referred to as

‘auwai, and they were dug as a mode of diverting and reintegrating the stream water

(Goodyear-Ka’ōpua, 2009). Once the infrastructure is in place, the taro yield outweighs the input energy (Ladefoged et al., 2009).

Abandonment of Lo’i and Manavai

Severe losses of taro producing land were seen on both Rapa Nui and Hawai’i for similar and varying reasons. In fact, on Rapa Nui, cultivated land, in general, declined, while on Hawai’i, the crop in cultivation changed as the ownership of the land and resources changed hands. Along with loss of land, there was a loss of population and an introduction of alternative, nutritionally poor food sources seen both on Rapa Nui and Hawai’i (Kahn, 1988; Cho et al., 2007).

In Hawai’i, the arrival of colonizers hosting foreign diseases decreased the native Hawaiian population dramatically (Ladefoged et al., 2009), and because of the population decrease, a large pool of agricultural knowledge was lost. Along with disease, foreigners introduced new forms of starch like rice, which grows in the same environment as taro, and it began taking over flooded areas (Cho et al., 2007).

Also, a lot of Hawaiians lost their land during the Great Mahele in 1847-1855. The

Great Mahele was an act put in place by King Kamehameha III under the guidance of

European advisors that redistributed Hawaiian land for the benefit of the colonizers

(Linnekin, 1982).

The greatest losses of taro cultivation arose because the land changed hands and was then used for alternative purposes, which ranged from sugarcane Harshman 16 plantations to housing. The sugarcane plantations additionally went through the legal system to take over the water supply that fed the lo’i. The water was diverted leaving the lo’i dry and unproductive (Cho et al, 2007). The amount of land that was used for taro cultivation dropped from 90,825 hectares in 1650 (Greenwell, 1947) to 162 hectares of land as documented in 2007 (Goodyear-Ka’ōpua, 2009).

There is more guesswork in determining the past on Rapa Nui in comparison to that of Hawai’i. There is proof, however, that much of the land that was cultivated and used, in part, for growing taro was abandoned due to rainfall variation and depletion of soil quality (Stevenson, 2015). There are many signs, however, that other areas used for cultivation were abandoned post-European contact (Stevenson,

2015). Similarly as was see in Hawai’i, newly introduced diseases during colonization killed a large percentage of the population, and others were subjected to slavery (McCall, 1997). The Rapa Nui population reached a low of 111 people in

1877 (Delaune, 2012). This loss of population caused a tremendous loss of language and traditional knowledge (Delaune, 2012). Additionally, in 1897, the remaining

Rapa Nui population was lawfully confined to 1,000 hectares of the island, which helped assert Chilean rule (McCall, 1997). The rest of the island was used for raising sheep and for the Chilean navy. This fencing off of ancestral land with stone walls and barbed wire continued until the 1960’s (Chartier et al., 2012). Because of this confinement, nearly all Rapa Nui ancestral land use practices were interrupted.

Functional manavais currently remain scattered on the areas of the island that were once prohibited from Rapa Nui entrance, and the soil enclosed by these manavais Harshman 17 has maintained a higher level of fertility than the surrounding land (Ingersoll and

Ingersoll, 2014).

Reintroduction of Lo’i Modern Practices

Within the past four decades, a resurgence of cultural support has been visible on Rapa Nui and the Hawaiian Islands. Schools that instruct their students in only Hawaiian are becoming popular, and with this, a recovery of the Hawaiian language (Williams, 2015). Reestablishing the ancestral growing systems is synonymous with reestablishing cultural symbols.

Hectares of lo’i are being reestablished throughout the Hawaiian Islands, especially on Oah’u and Kaua’i. Generally, devoted families and associations conduct these reestablishments with a mission to support community through redeveloping tradition and closing the economic gap. These redevelopments are only possible because individuals and associations were willing to put up a fight to reclaim the land and necessary resources, especially water.

In Hawai’i, the struggle for water rights was a materialization of injustice.

The reopening of a community lo’i on state land in the Waiahole Valley, called the

Mauka Lo’i, was a strategic method of preventing any further water divergence. It also provided the immediate community with sustenance while rebuilding a broader knowledge on taro cultivation. This community lo’i was groundbreaking for contemporary Hawai’i, and it began a movement of lo’i reestablishments. Although the Mauka Lo’i is no longer running (Goodyear et al., 2014), it provided proof that community revival can occur through traditional agriculture, and in the meantime, Harshman 18 this agriculture can provide healthier food alternatives to the options provided by western commercialism.

One association, ‘Onipa’a Na Hui Kalo, has been restoring preexisting lo’i since the 1990’s. They additionally established protocols and state guidelines for lo’i restoration (Goodyear et al., 2014). A huge success in lo’i reestablishment came in

2000 when taro farmers from the Waiahole Valley won back the rights to the diverted water in the Hawai’i State Supreme Court. Water, nonetheless, is still being diverted, especially in Maui, to be used by the single remaining sugar plantation

(Goodyear et al., 2014). Winning the rights to flowing water is the basis for lo’i reestablishment, and this win has allowed foundations and independent families to reconstruct many lo’i.

One of these family owned lo’i that I had the honor to learn and spend time at, was the Kumuola Foundation, situated in the lush mountains near the top of

Manoa stream on Oah’u. At Kumuola, the family members are activists as much as they are agriculturalists. Kumuola’s objectives are to encourage traditions by supporting Hawaiian artisans, to repair growing space for healing plants in order to teach healthier lifestyles, to restore indigenous and endemic plants, and to build a sustainable environment and community using a combination of traditional and modern technology. While Kumuola’s land produces fruitfully, they also host programs open to the public to address each of their objectives. While working on

Kumuola’s land, the family was clearing land to build two new lo’i patches. They use oyster shells in their lo’i to introduce calcium into the soil. They also use biochar to maintain proper soil nutrition in the lo’i. The biochar they incorporate into the lo’i is Harshman 19 made using the traditional method of burning plant matter in an imu, an underground oven used to cook pigs for lua’u. In addition to these traditional practices, Kumuola is also exploring new technologies including introducing lactic acid bacteria (LAB) into the lo’i to expedite organic material decomposition and to make nutrients more available for plant absorption (Ikeda et al., 2013).

Table 2. Nutrient content (micrograms/10cm2/burial length) and pH at three sites at Kumuola

Site pH Ca N0-3:NH4+ Near Bamboo 5.5 50.0025 4.96:7.835 Patch Biochar 6.4 256.14 00:02.1 Amendments

No Amendments 5.1 37.76 2.725:1.395 On Kumuola’s land, I investigated how different land management techniques affected the nutritional content of the lo’i’s soil using Plant Root

Simulator (PRS) probes (Table 2). The pH was taken using a calibrated pH meter and a 2:1 solution of distilled water and soil. The tested areas included but were not limited to a newly dug lo’i patch surrounded by invasive bamboo, a lo’i with biochar addition, and a patch without amendments. The cultivators had noticed a decreased yield in the lo’i patch surrounded by bamboo, and based on the results from the PRS probes, the NO3:NH4 ratio was very low, with NH4 in larger quantity than NO3,, which could have been preventing the taros’ uptake of cations from the soil. In the other test sites, however, the NO3:NH4 ratio was not close to the ideal 100:0 either. In the lo’i plot with biochar amendments the calcium content was significantly higher than those without biochar. Because of the varying landscape at Kumuola, the constants between each site were limited. Additionally, insufficient data points were collected Harshman 20 due to limited resources. Because of this, it is difficult to draw any conclusions from the resulting numbers. This involvement demonstrates, however, the openness towards modern soil tests among current taro cultivators. Kumuola was excited about incorporating modern technology with their natural practices to get a better understanding of their lo’i on a microscopic scale.

While on Kauai, I am grateful to have harvested and propagated taro hulis at the Waipa Foundation. The University of Hawai’i’s Horticulture Societies’ members

(Figure 2.) and I waded

in between the rows of

mature taro and dug our

fingers into the

saturated ground to get a

grip under the corm and

wiggle it out of the soil.

We then made a stack

Figure 2. Horticulture Society with author after out of the harvested taro planting hulis. along the edge of the sunken lo’i patch. These were cut using a machete near the base of the stem, separating the hulis from the corm. The harvested corms were used to pound into poi, during Waipa’s community poi pounding event, open to the public, every

Saturday. The hulis, on the other hand, were immediately used for propagation. One of the first things that caught my eye were very bright-pink conglomerations of

3mm balls on the sides of the lo’i and on the stems of some of the taro. What Harshman 21 appeared to be clumps of pink candy were apple snail (Pomacea canaliculata) eggs.

We were told to thoroughly smash the eggs with our hands because when apple snails mature, they feed on the taro corm, highly reducing the yield. Wearing shoes in the lo’i was necessary because of the snails’ sharp shells. The apple snail was introduced into Hawai’i in 1980 (Cowie, 2002), and they demonstrate just one of the pest and disease issues that have arisen in lo’i systems today (Whitney et al., 1939).

After harvesting the taro, we lined up in the adjacent lo’i patch, standing arms length form one another, with hulis in hand. All together, we sunk the hulis into the muddy soil, took one step forward, ensured that we were in line with the person next to us, and in unison, sunk the next huli. We continued this process until the entire patch had been replanted with the next generation of taro. Working together, in this fashion, and building a community through productivity, would have been common in the ancestral lo’i system.

The Waipa Foundation’s main objectives are to support Kaua’i’s community, especially the low-income community, by opening up their space for communal learning and cultural practices. They additionally make local produce available on the island by hosting a farmer’s market where they sell their produce and poi while supporting other local farmers and food vendors. The Waipa Foundation and the

Limahuli foundation are two examples of many establishments that are guided by similar goals, with the lo’i system as their basis.

Aside from the organic practices I bared witness to, including the addition of biochar and marine shells, there are multiple organic lo’i practices that are seen on

Hawai’i but were not present ancestrally. For example, invasive algae amendments Harshman 22

can be seen in various lo’i. The species of algae include Kappaphycus striatum,

Gracilaria salicornia, and other Kappaphycus spp, which all have a high potassium

content (Radovich et al., 2014). In the case of this practice, lo’i soil can be amended

while helping to clear parts of the ocean from invasive algae. Another aquatic plant,

azolla (Azolla pinnata), is added to lo’i in Hawai’i, including lo’i in Hanalei Valley,

Kaua’i (Onwueme, 1999). It is used in flooded condition to cover the surface of the

water and suppress weed growth. Using azolla as additional organic matter is also

beneficial because of its nitrogen content, which is facilitated by the symbiotic

relationship it forms with Anabaena azollae, an organism which fixes nitrogen

extremely efficiently (Radovich et al., 2014).

Reintroduction of the Manavai and Modern Practices

On Rapa Nui, the ancestral language is being celebrated once again. Along with

language, cultural pride and grassroots efforts are growing (Delaune, 2012). The

support for the manavai as a cultural symbol is, additionally, following this trend,

despite being overshadowed by the grandeur of the moai, the large stone statues of

human figures. The manavai and lithic mulching required incomparably more

energy and resources to build

than the moai (Ingersoll and

Ingersoll, 2014). The energy and

time expended to build

structures that the whole

population depended upon,

proves that these growing

Figure 3. Taro growing in newly built manavai on Rapa Nui. Harshman 23

systems were and still are greatly important cultural symbols.

Because of the cultural importance of manavais, the reemergence of support

for them as food producing systems is very significant, though their reintroduction

is occurring on a smaller scale than that of the lo’i’s reemergence on Hawai’i. As

previously mentioned, there are still standing manavai with high fertility scattered

on the island. Some Rapa Nui, led by the family I worked with during my time on

Rapa Nui, are searching for the abandoned manavai in order to restore them. The

patriarch, ‘Kacho’ Ika Pakarati, is a descendant of a Rapa Nui king, and this

connection has certainly given him a sense of responsibility for reinvigorating the

Rapa Nui culture in order to diffuse it through the future generations. Kacho, along

with Victoria Contreras, his equally inspired wife, began the foundation E Toru

Hanuanuamea, which has paralleled goals to the Hawaiian lo’i farmers.

E Toru Hanuanuamea received funding from the Fundacion Para la Innovacion

Agraria (FIA), to build 25 manavai replicas and to restore 10 preexisting manavais.

The family, with support of friends and community members, moved these

culturally important and medicinal plants that they propagated into the restored

and newly generated growing

systems (Figure 3). While I was

on Rapa Nui working with E Toru

Hanuanuamea, I helped cultivate

the culturally significant plant,

taro, while they were cultivating

21 other plant species in their

Figure 4. Greenhouse on Rapa Nui. Harshman 24 greenhouse constructed entirely of recycled materials (Figure 4.). All of the propagated seedlings were then moved to the manavai. They demonstrated how to pluck off the taro cormel from the giant taro corms they had grown. They also showed me how each lateral bud had the potential to be cut off and propagated. We filled hundreds of small, black plastic bags with deep red soil, being cautious to avoid the sharp obsidian shards. We replanted the taro cormels in these bags where they grew until they were large enough to be moved to the manvais. The hard days’ work were often sustained by snacks of sweet taro in milk or taro banana bread.

Currently, the efforts to restore Rapa Nui’s thousands of manavais is limited to the work done by E Toru Hanuanuamea. In part, this may be due to CONAF, the

Chilean national forest corporation, declaring the manavai to be ‘archeological zones’ (Los Manavais: Fuente De Vida Ultima Esperanza De La Cultura). CONAF, funded by the Chilean government, has essentially claimed ownership of the manavai with this declaration because it implies that touching or hampering with the manavais would be considered federally illegal. This hinders the potential for different foundations to, once again, bring life into the ancestral growing systems.

This federal action, however, may also be protecting the remnants of the manavais from further disturbance from tourists or otherwise reckless persons.

Results

Taro, as a product, currently could be economically beneficial, in part, because its demand outweighs it supply in Hawai’i (Flemmings, 1994). Additional products, such as baker’s flour, taro chips (Greenwell, 1947), and poi, along with its potential for medicinal uses (Prajapati, 2011), add to its economic potential. Further Harshman 25 extending benefits of growing taro using ancestral systems, however, arise from the cultural support they provide. Diseases arise as a result from stress factors initiated by acculturation (Berry, 1999). Drug abuse, alcoholism, violence, emotional distress, diabetes, heart disease, and obesity are seen to varying degrees on Rapa Nui and

Hawai’i and are the residual effects of colonization. The manavai and lo’i growing systems, and the community built in order to maintain them, either directly or indirectly address these areas of disease for Hawaiian and Rapa Nui descendants by focusing on well-being.

Well-being exists at three levels; the individual level, the relational level, and the collective level. Within the individual level, personal health, self-esteem, positive identity, and political rights are main factors (Nelson and Prilleltensky, 2005).

Personal health is the most obvious of the factors that affect personal well-being.

Health can relate to the mental, physical, and emotional realms. Emotional health is intertwined with self-esteem. Self-esteem is synonymous with confidence in one’s own abilities and is closely related to positive identity. Having a high self-esteem impacts achievement and the ability to deal with stress causing events (Campbell and Lavallee, 1993). A positive identity is also inclusive of body image and how one sees him or herself. This can relate to embracing one’s heritage rather than rejecting it. In fact, it has been discussed that ‘identity’ and ‘self’ are simply alternate terms for the denotation of culture and ethnicity (Stryker et al., 2000). Positive identity can also be tied to the incorporation of meaning into life. Feeling as though one’s life has a purpose is integral to this, and can also be related, in a positive feedback loop, to one’s activity in social movements and being able to participate politically Harshman 26

(Stryker et al., 2000). Feeling as though one can impact his or her political environment is a large part of individual well-being, while a positive self-identity can influence how active the individual is within the political environment.

The relational level of well-being considers the network of support an individual is involved in (Nelson and Prilleltensky, 2005). Having a sense that one’s input is has an effect on the factors affecting his or her life is integrated into relational well- being (Nelson and Prilleltensky, 2005). This is analogous with having political influence, as is discussed in relation to individual well-being. Safety and security within one’s relationships is also integrated in relational well-being. A large part of this safety and security is respect for diversity (Nelson and Prilleltensky, 2005).

Feeling emotionally supported and understood by relationships promotes feelings of connectedness. If one is able to relate to the people he or she is surrounded by, it can aid in promoting self-esteem and positive self-identity. In this way the individual level of well-being is inseparable from the relational level.

At the level of collective well-being, basic resource fulfillment, such as income, education, and housing, is considered (Nelson and Prilleltensky, 2005). Having access to clean, potable water and healthful food supports a community’s well- being. Access to education, in this level of well-being, also includes the access to ancestral knowledge and the support to diffuse this knowledge rather than discourage and stifle it. Access to social and health services support the collective well-being. These aspects are the fruition of social activism. If an oppressive power is ruling over this community, it can degrade the overall well-being. If Harshman 27

empowerment can be achieved for the individuals within this community, however,

a divergence from that oppressive power may be possible. Participation in the

community itself is a large contributor to self-empowerment (Nelson and

Prilleltensky, 2005). In this way, a healthful community and healthful individuals

are codependent (Figure 5).

The United States and Chile, the

powers over Hawai’i and Rapa Nui,

respectively, are not currently actively

oppressive to the islanders. Rapa Nui and

Hawaiians, however, still feel lingering

Figure 5. The synergy of well-being (Nelson and oppression impeding upon their well- Prilleltensky, 2005) being within the three levels. One

method of combatting this oppression is

through support of the ancestral growing systems. The lo’i and manavai have a large

focus on communal work to produce a healthful, culturally significant product. All

the while, the participants are able to connect to the land and to themselves.

Additionally, supporting local growing would reduce the necessity for imports and,

therefore, reduce the reliance on mainland products. This would begin to localize

the economy. In this way, these agricultural systems touch on the individual,

relational, and collective levels of well-being. Harshman 28

Localizing the Hawaiian and Rapa Nui economy would increase their economic autonomy. Not only is a greater economic autonomy a necessary step for any geographic region to become a sovereign nation, it could provide a great sense of empowerment for the native populations. Currently, though, becoming self- sustaining is not feasible because of the booming tourism industry on both Rapa Nui which brings in over 70,000 yearly tourists (Delaune, 2012), and Hawai’i bringing in over 9 million tourists yearly (Williams, 2015). If all imports were cut off from

Hawai’i, the islands food supply would last the current population (tourists included) four days (Williams, 2015). From this, the islands’ dependence on mainland resources is obvious. Without a complete upheaval and paradigm shift, altering the land back to an ancestral design would not be feasible. Converting areas of the islands to be used for traditional agricultural purposes, however, has benefits beyond economic autonomy, including gaining a political foothold for natives.

For Rapa Nui, supporting the ancestral culture may have considerable implications for the island’s future political control. Many Rapa Nui are serious about fighting for their independence to the point of developing an anti-western standpoint. This anti-western attitude was obvious during some of my interactions with Rapa Nui people. While it is not uncommon for those of Rapa Nui descent to speak primarily Rapa Nui, the Rapa Nui that publicly protested my presence on the island did so in Spanish. I was told on countless occasions to pack up my things and leave their island. Harshman 29

Even though I had multiple encounters that were unwelcoming, in general, people of Rapa Nui descent are very hospitable and generous. In fact, whenever a plane lands on the island (about 2 entirely full planes everyday), locals will offer free transportation to the guests’ accommodations. They would reject any monetary payment because they consider the opportunity to spread their culture as a form of payment. I was told that the hospitality demonstrated by the Rapa Nui islanders is an attempt to uphold their past and extend, by word-of-mouth, the importance of cultural preservation. In a similar way, the act of rebuilding the manavais is almost an act of rebellion. It is an act to fight for their sovereignty. It is a brave first step towards attempting to support themselves off of their land once again while limiting their reliance on mainland Chile. In this way, the manavai is much more than an archeological growing system. The economic value of ancestral agriculture cannot be determined because it is representative of Rapa Nui freedom and autonomy and of support for the ancestry that gave the Rapa Nui their entire ideology.

The modern generations, however, are losing touch with their cultural identity as many Chileans are becoming residents on Rapa Nui, and commercialism is becoming more and more present. While there are still many festivals to honor the Rapa Nui traditions like their traditional dances, the festivals are convoluted with commercial influence. For example, there has been an introduction of embarrassment while wearing the traditional showy clothing due to body image issues arising. This is an issue associated with the introduction of television and media and the western conceptualization of the ideal body. This has also been see in Harshman 30 rural Fiji, where, like on Rapa Nui, media and television are being introduced. A study demonstrated that weight issues and body dissatisfaction were rising in these

Fijian adolescents (Becker, 2004). While the presence of modern technology, including brand new sound systems and television sets, and advertisements for clothing from western brands seemed very out of place amidst the Rapa Nui environment, the westernizing of day-to-day life is obvious, especially in the ideals of the younger generations. Therefore, it possible that if dependence on western commercialism was reduced through the support for local agriculture there could be benefits for adolescents’ self-esteem, resulting in positive psychological effects within the population.

Psychological impacts of colonization on Rapa Nui and Hawai’i extend past body image issues. A loss of community and a transition to westernized commercialism, along with the economic marginalization (Keawe‘aimoku Kaholokula, 2007) lead to feelings of detachment. This detachment is embodied as depression and general emotional suffering (Crabbe, 1999). Violence is a more severe materialization of this psychological dissatisfaction, and it comes as no surprise that higher rates of violence by Hawaiian youths than other ethnicities have been recognized

(Keawe‘aimoku Kaholokula, 2007). Violence is high on Rapa Nui, as well, from my firsthand accounts of five fistfights in two months. Today, Rapa Nui has a very stable economy and practically no unemployment, but there is evidence that frustration and helplessness have ensued from the cultural disarticulation the Rapa Nui have experienced (Delaune, 2012). Singularly, cultural appropriation is enough to create widespread emotional disease. Harshman 31

In part, the visible violence may also stem from the greater rates of alcoholism documented on the Hawaiian islands (Keawe‘aimoku Kaholokula, 2007) and on

Rapa Nui. While working in an all-locals bar on Rapa Nui, I was exposed to the worst of the island’s alcoholism. From this work experience, I may provide a biased exposition in this regard. The family that I worked with in the bar compared their clientele to the patients in a mental institution. One Rapa Nui man, dressed in the attire of a western businessman, was getting in his car outside of the bar during a colorful sunrise. It had been a long night of drinking Johnny Walker whiskey, one of the only hard alcohols on the Island. After starting his car and attempting to drive away, he fell out of the moving vehicle and passed out on the road while his car continued to move forward. There was another instance outside of the bar when a

20-something Rapa Nui was leaving the bar, and as he mounted his motorbike, he drunkenly fell down with his bike on top of him. These anecdotes are plentiful. In fact, during my two months on Rapa Nui there were three funerals held for young

Rapa Nui men that had crashed on their motorcycles while driving drunk. In addition to alcohol, drugs are a growing issue on Rapa Nui. From multiple accounts, cocaine is being brought onto the island from Chile and is becoming more and more present. This issue is mirrored by the exceptionally high rates of drug abuse by

Hawaiian youths (Mayeda et al., 2006).

If a greater sense of purpose could be harnessed while a sense of community is fostered, these issues may decrease. The manavai and lo’i have the potential to provide these, while giving a greater sense of cultural pride to natives, lending towards a greater positive identity. As was demonstrated by the Mauka Lo’i, which Harshman 32 was successful in preventing further water divergence in Hawai’i and made an effective political statement, the manavai and lo’i are ways of exercising the right to support culture and to gain a form of political power. Having political rights is a part of individual well-being which could be supported by these sustainable growing systems. Having a purpose politically and culturally could have an effect of decreasing alcoholism and drug-use. In fact, one of the main focuses for the Office for Substance Abuse Prevention is on reinforcing cultural resilience for those affected (Orlandi et al., 1992).

For Pacific Islanders, diabetes is widespread because of the introduction of unhealthy, sedentary living along with the poverty that has been forced on families with native backgrounds (King et al., 2012). This lifestyle leads to obesity and heart diseases, as well (Keawe‘aimoku Kaholokula, 2007). The introduction of the western fast food industry, which provides high-calorie food with low nutritional content, has also contributed to these unhealthy trends. The agricultural systems reduce the dependence on these introduced industries while providing a more healthful food alternative. While making a choice between taro and French fries may be difficult, having this choice to make can make all the difference. The agricultural systems also give exposition to a local and healthy alternative. With growing areas devoted to manavais and lo’is, there is a greater opportunity for people of all backgrounds to contribute and connect with the land, all the while moving their bodies and promoting their health in this way. Exercise and healthful eating promotes a higher self-esteem, and the people involved would also be connected to a broader network of support. In this, the individual and relational level of well-being are addressed. Harshman 33

Conclusion

Through addressing individual, relational, and collective levels of well-being, the manavai and lo’i provide an immense societal service. While the economic benefits may not be transparently substantial, the cultural support that the agricultural systems provide may help face some of the most troublesome issues present on Rapa Nui and Hawai’i. These issues include substance abuse, emotional and mental disease, diabetes, and heart problems. The regeneration of these ancestral growing systems is a method for Hawaiians and Rapa Nui to internally reestablish some of what has been taken from them during the long periods of colonization and oppression. The reconstruction of the lo’i and the manavai can be seen as a peaceful revolution for the islanders with a healthful, culturally important by-product: taro.

Though, ultimately, the outcome of larger scale regeneration of the manavai and lo’i could not be determined until generations after the implementation, the personal fulfillment and community connection I felt from working with both systems were undeniable. As an outsider to the Hawaiian and Rapa Nui culture, working on the ancestral land, with the same plants and the same agricultural techniques that had sustained the islands’ societies for hundreds of years, gave me an appreciation for the Rapa Nui and Hawaiian culture that remains dear in my heart. I observed families grow even closer because of their involvement with the manavais and the lo’is, and I observed a pride that was fostered in the community because of the reconstruction of these systems and the community programs that Harshman 34 arose because of them. In a way, the systems provide and rebuild the bridge to an

ancestry that many were forced to

reject and feel ashamed of. The

cultural symbolism of the ancestral

growing systems shows those of

native descent that their heritage

is something to be accepted and

celebrated.

The impacts of installing

the manavai and lo’i are future

oriented, especially on Rapa Nui

where there are fewer efforts

Figure 6. Photo of author being put forth to build new manavai and more legal restrictions in terms of reconstructing previously existing manavai. As the Rapa Nui’s fight to establish a more sovereign nation continues, though, the support for the Rapa Nui culture will continue. It is the hope of many

Rapa Nui to continue the support of ancestral agricultural techniques, and as is seen in Hawai’i’s lo’i, through increasing support, a greater sense of community will likely continue developing.

As the Rapa Nui and Hawaiian language and cultural revival continues, it is likely that more land area will be devoted to the ancestral growing systems, and it is possible that with the understanding of the systems’ beneficial impacts, their Harshman 35 backing will be expanded. On a broader scale, the expansion of knowledge of ancestral agricultural sustainability could inspire current agricultural practices outside of Hawai’i and Rapa Nui. These islands present two different modes of sustainable agriculture that stem from a deep connection with the land. Because the environments vary greatly between the two locations, the manavai and lo’i systems provide models of alternative agricultural methods for varying geographical areas.

Harshman 36

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