Scientific Colonialism in Indigenous Spaces: a Case Study in Hawai´I

SCIENTIFIC COLONIALISM IN INDIGENOUS SPACES: A CASE STUDY IN HAWAI´I

ANNA CORDOVA

B.A., University of Colorado at Colorado Springs

A thesis submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the

University of Colorado at Colorado Springs

in partial fulfillment of the

requirements for the degree of

Master of Arts

Department of Geography and Environmental Studies

2016

This thesis for the Master of Arts degree by

Anna M. Cordova

has been approved for the

Department of Geography and Environmental Studies

______

Emily Skop, Chair

______

Minette C. Church

______

David Havlick

Contents Figures ...... iv Glossary ...... v Hawaiian terms ...... v Acronyms ...... vi Introduction ...... 1 Literature Review...... 2 Background ...... 10 Research Questions, Methods, and Analysis ...... 16 Results ...... 21 Mauna Kea Summit, Hawai´i, Island – TMT Project ...... 21 Haleakalā, Maui Island –ATST Project ...... 35 Moku´ula/Mokuhinia Restoration –Lāhainā, Maui Island ...... 43 Interviews with Community Members ...... 51 Discussion ...... 54 Persistent Colonialism ...... 54 The Value of Alternative Sciences ...... 58 Conclusion ...... 64 References ...... 66 Appendix ...... 74

iii

Figures

Figure 1 – The Cultural Impact Assessment Process…………………………………….16

Figure 2 – Mauna Kea Observatories and site of proposed TMT project……………….22

Figure 3 – ATST being constructed on Haleakalā……………………………………….37

Figure 4 – A satellite image of the proposed restoration area with an overlay of proposed project plans………………………………………………………………………………...……45

Figure 5 – Protesters of TMT block construction vehicles on Mauna Kea……………...57

Glossary

Hawaiian terms ahu—altar, shrine (generally made of stacked stone) ahupua´a—traditional Hawaiian land division extending from the mountains to the ocean ´āina—land ali´i—Hawaiian royalty ´aumakua—a Hawaiian deity in the form of an animal kanaka maoli—a Native Hawaiian person kapu—sacred, prohibited, or consecrated Kumu Lipo—the Hawaiian creation story limu—seaweed lo´i kalo—taro patches loko—pond makai—toward the sea mana´o—wisdom, knowledge mauka—inland mauna—mountain mele—traditional Hawaiian poem or chant mo´o—lizard na kanaka—the people (referring to Hawaiian people) ´ohana—family piko—umbilical cord, navel, center wahi la´a—highly sacred place wahi pana—a place of the gods wao akua—a place inhabited by spirits

Acronyms ATST—Advanced Technology Solar Telescope

BLNR—Board of Land and Natural Resources

CIA—Cultural Impact Assessment

CMP—Comprehensive Management Plan

DKIST—Daniel K. Inouye Solar Telescope

EA—Environmental Assessment

EIS—Environmental Impact Statement

FOM—Friends of Moku´ula

HO—Haleakalā High Altitude Observatories

IFR—Integrated Feasibility Report

KOH—Kilakila ´O Haleakalā

MCC—Maui Community College

NEPA—National Environmental Policy Act

NSF—National Science Foundation

OEQC—Office of Environmental Quality Control

OHA—Office of Hawaiian Affairs

PASH—Public Access Shoreline Hawai´i

SHL—Session Law of Hawai´i

TCP—Traditional Cultural Property

TMK—Tax Map Key

TMT—Thirty Meter Telescope

USACE—United States Army Corps of Engineers

UH—University of Hawai´i

Introduction

Using a case study of three key sites in the State of Hawai´i, this research explores the effectiveness of certain legal regulations designed to ensure the protection of key cultural and natural resources that are considered important to indigenous communities.

This research analyzes environmental impact assessment documents and interviews with

Native Hawaiian individuals to explore the efficacy of these State and Federal regulations. The three sites were specifically chosen because they are considered extremely sacred to many Native Hawaiian people. The results of this analysis illustrate that these regulations are not always adequately heeding the indigenous connections with and concerns about these spaces.

Results of this research reveal that, due to the required legal proceedings in the state, Native Hawaiians and their advocates are technically able to clearly communicate their concerns in these legal contexts. However, the results also disclose that mainstream, non-indigenous worldviews often take precedence in these proceedings, and Native

Hawaiian voices are marginalized to the point that they often have little to no sway in government decisions about the approval permits that allow for petitioning agencies to proceed with plans. Oftentimes, these plans end up having a detrimental impact on cultural resources. By viewing this research through a geographic lens, it is possible that this research will contribute to geography by illustrating indigenous notions of geography within the context of legal spaces like Environmental Impact Statements (EIS). In terms of broader significance, this research may assist both indigenous groups and scientists/agencies to better communicate by recognizing variations in different

1 geographies and ways of knowing and employing them in geographic research and planning.

Literature Review

Social geographers have long been aware of their work’s impact upon indigenous people (Desbiens & Ruddick, 2006; Godlewska & Smith, 1995; Katz, 1992; Kobayashi

& Peake, 2006; Panelli, 2008; Shaw, et al., 2006). The nature of this discipline has often brought to the forefront indigenous struggles with sovereignty and ongoing colonialism.

However, scholarly interest has increasingly recognized the role of the social sciences in propagating modern-day colonialism (neo-colonialism). Thus the focus has turned to topics that include the need to decolonize the discipline, ways in which this can be accomplished, benefits of decolonization of geography, and potential impacts this can have on both indigenous and non-indigenous peoples (Coombes & Howitt, 2012a;

Desbiens & Ruddick, 2006; Gibson, 2006; Godlewska & Smith, 1995; Katz, 1992;

Kobayashi & Peake, 2000; Panelli, 2008; Shaw, et al., 2006).

While the terms “Western worldview” and “indigenous/Native worldview” are massively oversimplified, this paper utilizes them to speak in general terms about the conflicting views that are found in the research material. There is sometimes push-back over the binarism in comparing Western vs. indigenous epistemologies. In his book The

Settler Complex: Recuperating Binarism in Colonial Studies, anthropologist Patrick

Wolfe defends this terminology, writing “But the existence of major differentiations within settler (and, for that matter, within Native) societies does not alter the binary nature of the Native/settler divide. The respective differentiations are of different orders”

(2016, p. 2). Linda Tuhiwai Smith (1999) also discusses this noting that for indigenous people, the nuances of Western cultures are irrelevant when it comes to how many

Western scientists conduct research on native people and spaces. In this way, the use of these terms does not ignore the heterogeneity of Western cultures and Native cultures, but is employed to study colonial repercussions on Native people.

The term “decolonization of geography” is meant to convey the idea that traditional geographers have generally approached the discipline from a Western, imperialistic mindset (Clayton, 2003; Gibson, 2006; Shaw, et al., 2006). Therefore, the decolonization of geography would require researchers to view geography through different lenses –namely, indigenous viewpoints in how geography is thought about, spoken about, and conveyed to both insiders and outsiders of indigenous groups. The term “Western”, when used to speak about mindsets, ideas, etc. is meant to convey the mainstream worldview of many academics and other individuals in the US—this encompasses ideas that are often in contrast with indigenous worldviews by detaching humans from nature and giving them mastery over it (Rifkin, 1992). Decolonization of geography will never come to fruition until the foundations of Western knowledge building are deconstructed by coming to terms with the fact that knowledge is “a cultural artifact which reinforces social, political and economic norms” (Shaw, et al., 2006, p.

273). Several authors also point out that conducting indigenous geographic research will benefit mainstream geography by bringing into question the Western prejudices present in the discipline (Kobayashi, 2006; Kobayashi & Peake, 2000; Panelli, 2008; Shaw et al.,

2006).

Viewing one’s discipline through another lens first requires the researcher to fully recognize his or her own inherent bias and the ways in which it skews their studies.

Feminist geographers were among the first to write about this topic. Monk and Hanson

(1982) openly criticized geographic research and social scientific research for not recognizing knowledge as a social creation. Cope writes about the production of knowledge and says, “Knowledge is not something that we can passively or actively acquire because we are always involved in its production and interpretation. Similarly, knowledge production is never a ‘value-free’ or unbiased process” (2002, p. 43). This recognition is exactly the kind of thinking a post-colonial geographer needs to incorporate. Too often mainstream geographers have unfairly ignored other ways of knowing. The recognition of this fact is pertinent to opening up to sciences and geographies that are indigenous at their foundations. Interestingly, Sundberg (2005) combines both feminist geography and post-colonial geography in her writings on critical geographies in Latin America, where she critically views her own biases as a US-born, middle-class, woman and the ways in which that affects her research. She goes on to emphasize that no researcher can step out of their own biases to become completely objective when conducting geographic research. These ideas are particularly true in the instances where researchers need to account for indigenous geographies.

In research that aims to collaborate with indigenous people, geographers must recognize the imperialism that has been present in the discipline since its founding.

Shaw, et al. (2006) frame mainstream geographers as a product of their culture who cannot separate themselves from their Western mindset. Gibson (2006) agrees with this notion and takes a critical view of the ways in which scholarly research is conducted and

4 in how academic knowledge is produced. In particular, he criticizes academic texts by writing about the struggles he faced while conducting indigenous research in what he calls “a problematic, and inherently political, research context” which works to disallow indigenous thought and perspective in social geography (Gibson, 2006, p. 280). Other geographers have pointed out the role of geography in empire building (Clayton, 2003;

Godlewska & Smith, 1995). Clayton (2003) notes that geographic knowledge stems from power relations between indigenous people and researchers; and geographers must be mindful of the biases this imparts on geographic research.

Some indigenous scholars have specifically discussed their worldviews in the context of their senses of place and their connection with all things (Cajete, 2000;

Deloria, 1969; LameDeer, 1972; Wildcat, 1994). These authors point out the dichotomies between their worldviews and Western ways of thinking. This is particularly important in geographic thought. Cajete (2000) in particular, points out the fact that land is not something to be owned or divided when one is functioning in a traditional indigenous mindset. Western ways of thinking frame land as a resource to be utilized, whereas many indigenous cultures see it as part of an interconnected system of existence (Shaw, et al., 2006). The Western context of quantifying land as a resource to be exploited has historically been in direct opposition to indigenous ways of being

(Deloria, 1969). Furthermore, main-stream geographers often do not take into account the spiritual/sacred significance imbedded in numerous geographical locations for many indigenous people. Indigenous scholars argue that it is imperative that geographers keep this in mind when working with indigenous groups (Coombes, 2012a).

These indigenous ways of thinking and functioning in the world have led Shaw, et al. (2006) and Panelli (2008) to insist that geographers must pull themselves out of strictly Western ways of thinking to include many viewpoints. Shaw, et al. (2006, p.273) write, “Engaging with indigenous geographies thus allows us to remove the epistemological blinders which perpetuate residual, static and uniform forms of ‘truth’ to reveal instead a cornucopia of worldviews that open up new vistas to understanding the world and humanity’s place within it.” Examining the multiple ways in which various indigenous people connect to the land opens up more lenses through which to view and conduct social geographies (Panelli, 2008). Conducting indigenous geographies can transform geographers’ understandings of land, place, and environment and the different meanings they have to different people (Berry, 2006; Coombes, 2006; Koschade &

Peters, 2006; Panelli, 2008; Porter, 2006; Murton, 2006; Shaw, et al., 2006; Suchet,

2002). Because indigenous geographies frequently do not separate environmental, social, economic, political, spiritual, and cultural aspects, they have the potential to contribute to the discipline by bringing in a more holistic approach to geography (Panelli, 2008; Louis,

2007; Shaw et al., 2006).

Some geographers have looked at the struggles indigenous people face when attempting to mold their geographies into the framework of mainstream geographic terms due to their involvement in cases where they are striving to gain legal rights in resource management cases. Larsen (2006) showed the dichotomies of Western ways of knowing and indigenous ways of knowing by researching a case that involved the indigenous

Dakelh Nation of Canada. In this study, he looked at aboriginal politics and their struggle to interject their own ways of conduct in their cultural landscape into their

6 dealings with the Canadian government about territory and natural resources.

Specifically, Larsen discussed the opposition between Western and Dakelh mindsets when it comes to notions of past and future and the abstraction of space in relation to concepts of territory. Ultimately, Larsen (2006) suggests that geographers who understand indigenous geographies will be more capable of assisting indigenous people in resource management cases.

Koschade and Peters (2006) explore this idea more in their work with the Ardoch

Algonquin First Nation. This nation became involved with the Canadian government in an attempt to establish jurisdiction using indigenous geographic modes of thinking. Their attempt to convey Algonquin ideas of jurisdiction and stewardship in the Canadian legal system was ultimately unsuccessful because of the Euro-Canadian legislative policies and their inability to allow for indigenous ideas of jurisdiction. Many of the Algonquin individuals involved in this case felt they had to settle with terms they were uncomfortable with in order to be accepted by non-indigenous people. Koschade and

Peters used this case to highlight the difficulties indigenous people face when trying to shape their ways of knowing to fit certain ethnocentric, Anglo modes of thinking as reified in legal processes.

Coombes (2006), too, looked into the struggles that some Maori people faced when working with the New Zealand government to restore Lake Whakaki. In this case, he noted that certain Western concepts of territory conflicted with particular Maori concepts that included environmental, ancestral, economic, spiritual, and legal terms.

Coombes (2006, p. 69) suggests that “indigenous geographies might stimulate social

7 geography, namely via encounters with ‘country’ and rethinking of society-environment and human/non-human relations”.

Lastly, tourism at the site of Uluru in Australia plays a role in the exploitation of an indigenous culture and highlights the unequal histories of these areas (Palmer, 2004).

Here Palmer discusses how indigenous histories, sense of place, and connection with

Uluru are used for the benefit of government officials to increase tourism to the site. All the while, indigenous voices protesting the exploitation of their culture and the site itself are oftentimes silenced. It is suggested that social geographers can use these types of cases to look at racialization of space, emotional connections to the land, and the abuse of indigenous knowledge.

There are both benefits to and potential negatives of conducting indigenous geography. The protection of indigenous traditional knowledge is important. Sensitivity to certain issues is necessary when working with indigenous people (Shaw et al., 2006;

Kobayashi, 2000; Katz, 1992). Coombes (2006) and Katz (1992) argue that investigations should not be conducted until scholars ask who is ultimately benefitting from research into indigenous lives. This needs to be done in order to protect indigenous people from those who would exploit their knowledge (Kobayashi, 2000; Katz, 1992).

Shaw et al. (2006) note that mapping and documentation of sacred sites and other culturally relevant resources have the potential to make indigenous groups vulnerable to outside exploitation, while cartography conducted on indigenous lands has the potential to portray lands as “empty” and therefore unutilized in the eyes of the colonizer.

Meanwhile, Coombes, et al. (2012a, 2012b) contend that geographers should exercise caution when working with indigenous groups so as not to juxtapose the individuals and

8 their causes as either exclusively good or bad. They caution geographers to not exaggerate post-colonialism to the point that indigenous causes are framed as localist, separatist, or outmoded. They also caution against over-simplifying indigenous motivations, as resource access is tied to recognition among non-indigenous peoples, sovereignty reclamation, and resistance to imperialism and capitalism (Coombes, et al.,

2012a). Coombes et al. (2014) also emphasize that indigenous people have the desire and right to lead the research into their own lives, and that research partnerships with indigenous people should be sought. Clearly, indigenous concerns over land and natural and cultural resources are highly complex, and geographers need to tread carefully when researching such cases.

Sacredness of landscapes is a common theme throughout many indigenous communities. On this, Andrew Gulliford (2000, p. 68) writes, “Although the word

‘sacred’ may have multiple meanings, for most native people, it connotes respect, whether applied to song, a dance, or a landscape.” Gulliford also goes on to explain that this differs from a Western view where places are generally only revered when religious activities are taking place there. He goes on to note that the very connection indigenous people have with certain spaces makes them sacred throughout time. Native scholar Vine

Deloria (1973, p. 275) noted that there are “places of overwhelming holiness where the

Higher Powers, on their own initiative, have revealed Themselves to human beings. This tradition tells us that there are places of unquestionable, inherent sacredness on this earth, sites that are holy in and of themselves.” Writing on traditional stories associated with landscapes considered to be sacred by some indigenous people, Kelley and Francis (1994, p.1) note that they are “a material anchor for those stories and thereby store them as a

9 physical link between people of the present and their past.” Indeed, the sacredness of landscapes is a common theme throughout many indigenous communities that serves to connect many indigenous people to specific spaces.

Several authors agree that the need to incorporate indigenous geographies into mainstream, scholarly geography is important (Coombes, 2014; Desbiens & Ruddick,

2006; Kitchin, 2005; Panelli, 2008; Shaw et al., 2006). While this topic is difficult for geographers to take on due to its high level of complexity, it is highly important, and more research needs to be conducted in this capacity. Overall, indigenous geography is currently on the fringes of mainstream geographic theory and practice, but it is essential that it be brought to a wider audience so as to make a larger impact on both indigenous people and mainstream geography (Shaw et al., 2006). Because scholarly interest in the decolonization of geography is relatively recent, much more research is left to be conducted in this important sub-discipline.

Background

In order to begin the discussion about legalities and indigenous voice in Hawai´i, it is first necessary to provide some background that includes a brief history of Hawai´i, a short synopsis of some fundamental ideas of traditional Hawaiian geography, legal processes in Hawai´i, and how this project came about. I have chosen this particular study site for my research project for several reasons. The State of Hawai´i has more laws in place for the purpose of protecting its cultural resources and the rights of its indigenous people than many other states in the country. This makes Hawai´i an advantageous place to look into the effectiveness of these types of laws and regulations.

Hawai´i is also a rarity among states due to the way in which it was colonized.

Assimilation into mainstream American society and oppression of Native Hawaiians differ in some ways from the assimilation and oppression of Native people in other states.

Another is the fact that the Hawaiian Monarchy remained in place until 1893 (Kirch,

1985). This fact has far-reaching implications on kanaka maoli (Native Hawaiian) influence in the general culture of the State of Hawai´i today. One significant historical event is the Great Māhele which took place in 1848, at the suggestion of King

Kamehameha III. Native Hawaiians were allowed to make claims on the lands they cultivated and occupied in a process that was well-documented and mapped (Kirch,

1985). This contrasts with the histories of native peoples on the United States’ mainland on many levels and gives researchers in Hawai´i the unique ability to visually connect individuals with specific places.

More evidence of the unique colonization is apparent in contemporary Hawai´i in several ways. For the purposes of this analysis, some of the most important products of this history lie in the fact that the government of the State of Hawai´i recognizes and implements Native Hawaiian geographic place names and some traditional ways of sectioning the land while also implementing laws and regulations aimed at protecting indigenous rights. For example, the State of Hawai´i still uses what is called an ahupua´a

–a traditional Hawaiian land section that generally extends from the uplands to the ocean

(Pukui, et al., 1974). Also, the terms mauka and makai are commonly used to delineate the direction inland (mauka) and toward the sea (makai). Some Hawaiian geographical terms are so common that outsiders who come to live in or visit the islands often need to quickly assimilate these terms into their lexicons.

Place names play a big role in the culture of Hawai´i as well. Eighty-six percent of place names in the state are not English but are Hawaiian in origin (Pukui, et al.,

1974). Hawaiian geography is a living entity in these islands today, and this comes into play and influences the ways in which individuals think about and connect with the land.

Furthermore, Hawaiian geography still influences the implementation of certain laws regarding land, as well as the manner in which Cultural Impact Assessments (CIA) are conducted.

At this point, it is imperative to expound upon some of the fundamental notions of

Hawaiian geography. For the purposes of this paper, the term “Hawaiian geography” refers to the ways in which Native Hawaiians think about the land and their relationship with the entire ecosystem(s) in which they live. There are some major dichotomies between Hawaiian geographies and ways of knowing and the way in which Western- minded individuals produce knowledges and view their places in the world. In the Native

Hawaiian worldview, individuals are literally kin with the natural environment (Herman,

2015; Klieger, 1998; Maly, 1999). Cultural Specialist Kepa Maly gives important insight into Hawaiian geography and relationship with the landscape when he writes:

Cultural attachment is demonstrated in the intimate relationship (developed over generations of experiences) that a people of a particular culture share with their landscape –for example, the geographic features, natural phenomena and resources, and traditional sites, etc., that make up their surroundings. This attachment to environment bears direct relationship to the beliefs, practices, cultural evolution, and identity of a people. In Hawai´i, cultural attachment is manifest in the very core of Hawaiian spirituality and attachment to landscape. The creative forces of nature which gave birth to the islands, mountains, and all forms of nature, also gave birth to na kanaka (the people). In Hawaiian tradition, islands and humankind share the same genealogy (1999, p. 27).

To put it simply, traditional Native Hawaiians view themselves as merely a part in the web that makes up the world around them. This is indicative of the beliefs systems of many indigenous people, and stands in stark contrast to Western ideas of man vs. nature

(Cajete, 2000; Deloria, 1969; LameDeer, 1972; Shaw, et al., 2006; Wildcat, 1994).

Importantly, Native Hawaiian connection with the land places kanaka maoli individuals into the role of caretaker of the land. This contradiction with Western worldviews is expounded on in this statement by McGregor, et al.:

The practitioners stay alert to the condition of the landscape and the resources and their changes due to seasonal and life cycle transformations. This orientation is critical to the preservation of the natural and cultural landscape. The land is not a commodity to them. It is the foundation of their cultural and spiritual identity as Hawaiians. They proudly trace their lineage to the lands in their region as being originally settled by their ancestors. The land is a part of their ‘ohana and they care for it as they do the other living members of their families (1996, p. 55). Again, it is reiterated that in Hawaiian geography, kanaka moali are literally kin with the land and their natural surroundings. This is a common theme mentioned many times by

Hawaiian individuals in community meetings and interviews conducted for CIAs (Dagan, et al., 2007; Lee-Greig, et al., 2013; Maly, 1999, Simonson & Hammatt, 2010).

Scale is also an important distinction to take into account in Hawaiian geography.

Places are not only thought of in isolation, but are also viewed as parts of landscape with interconnected spaces. In his book Places That Count: Traditional Cultural Properties in Cultural Resource Management, Thomas F. King notes that many indigenous groups conceive of places differently than mainstream social scientists, and he recommends that researchers think of these spaces “as parts of networks rather than individually and in isolation” (2003, p. 49). This is certainly true for many Native Hawaiian people, and

13 thinking of particular places in such a manner helps to better understand this indigenous concept of place.

The traditional Hawaiian, deep-rooted connection with the land is also apparent in the concept of the piko. The term has several connotations, but is generally used to mean navel, center, and/or umbilical cord (Pukui & Elbert, 1986).

The piko is important in Hawaiian geography, and particularly in its implications for the sites explored in this research, because of the way in which it ties na kanaka to the land and to these places. A Hawaiian traditional cultural practice involves burying the umbilical cord of a child at a specific location. This is done to represent the deep connection a family has with that particular place. Maly writes of the importance of the piko:

The piko is that part of the child that connected the child back to the past – connected the child back to the mama. And the mama’s piko is connected back to her mama and so on. So it takes it back, not only to the wā kahiko [ancient times], but all the way back to Kumu Lipo (Creation). So it’s not only the piko, but it is the extension of the whole family that is taken and put up in a particular place, that again connects to the whole family line. And it not only gives mana (energy/life) to that piko and that child, but life again to the whole family (1999: p. A-376). Not only does this act bind a child to this place, it also reiterates the idea that this land is a living entity that is literally kin with this child and his/her family and ancestral line.

This practice symbolically ties the child to the land as s/he was once physically tied to his/her mother. In this way, the people and the land become one.

The majority of the information gather for this research is found in CIAs and

EISs. In Hawai´i any proposed project that requires an EIS or Environmental Assessment

(EA) must also include a CIA. To understand why these documents have been chosen, I

14 must first make it clear what a CIA entails. According to Hawai´i’s Office of

Environmental Quality Control (OEQC), as stated in their Guide to the Implementation and Practice of the Hawai´i Environmental Policy Act (2012b), a CIA is meant to gather data about cultural practices and features that may be affected by actions that require compliance with Hawai´i’s environmental review process under Hawai´i Revised Statute

(HRS) Chapter 343. The Hawai´i State Legislature also approved Act 50, SLH (Session

Law of Hawai´i) 2000 to include adverse effects on cultural practices to be included under the term “significant effect”. Chapter 343 effectively requires that an EIS or EA be carried out to determine the types of impact a proposed project will have on both the environment and cultural resources. See Figure 1 for details of how the process works.

Historical and Environmental enthographic Impact Permit studies of past, Overall Statement approval or If the project is present, and findings of the which includes denial based on approved, the ongoing Cultural impacts to overall final product of traditional Impacts cultural and findings of the the project cultural Assessment natural EIS practices of the resources project area

Figure 1 – The Cultural Impact Assessment Process

The OEQC guide also states, “Articles IX and XII of the State Constitution, other state laws, and the courts of the state require government agencies to promote and preserve cultural beliefs, practices, and resources of native Hawaiians and other ethnic groups” (OEQC, 2012b, p. 11). This guide gives many recommendations on how a CIA should be conducted –this includes looking at the entire ahupua´a in which a project is located, and not simply the project site itself. This is recommended to broaden the

15 geographical scale of a CIA in order to ensure that other resources in the area and access to them are also taken into account.

However, there are no regulations in place that detail who is eligible to conduct a

CIA. This means planners are able to hire anyone they wish to fulfill this part of an EIS – including employees of their own companies. This can certainly be viewed as a conflict of interest. Nevertheless, anyone conducting a CIA should conduct themselves according to the OEQC’s guidelines. Despite the fact that there are many guidelines in place, according to Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation’s Staff Attorney David Kimo Frankel, actual laws regarding permit approval based on recommendations within a CIA vary depending upon which agency hands down final approval for a project to proceed (2016).

This gives us our first implication that CIAs, though oftentimes required by law, do not have enough teeth when it comes to protecting Hawaiian rights due to their inclusion in

EISs. Ultimately, the purpose of requiring and conducting a CIA is to make clear the impacts to the community (particularly the Native Hawaiian community) that a project may have. In turn, this input should have an effect on if and how a project is approved to proceed.

Research Questions, Methods, and Analysis

The undertaking of this research began as a query about the effectiveness of CIAs that are compulsory for all EISs and EAs in the State of Hawai´i using the following research questions: 1) Concerning construction projects which have the potential to impact traditionally utilized, indigenous natural and cultural resources, are Native

Hawaiians effectively able to convey their concerns and geographic notions into Western

16 notions of space; 2) are these notions then incorporated into the final recommendations of the EIS/EA?

In the project, I analyzed the lawful process by reviewing all the legal documentation for three proposed projects and conducted informal interviews with

Native Hawaiian community members. Several attempts were made to interview planners and government officials about this process, but none were willing to participate on record. OEQC guidelines on how a CIA should be prepared and various laws that necessitate them were analyzed. I also analyzed CIAs to determine the Native Hawaiian community’s thoughts as given in interviews and at community meetings throughout the scoping process. This also involved a detailed look at the conclusions and recommendations made by the preparers of CIAs that were then submitted to preparers of the EIS or EA for the particular project. As the process dictates, CIAs are then added as an appendix into the Final EIS, and the submissions and other information contained in them should be considered in the overall recommendations made in the EIS. Therefore, I also reviewed the Draft Environmental Impact Statements (DEIS) as well as EISs. The final EISs contain the accepted CIA, responses to their drafts, other documents written for the assessment of environmental factors, and the final opinion of how a proposed project will impact both environmental and cultural resources.

I then looked into the outcomes of the EISs for two projects and an EA for the other. The three researched projects/sites were chosen because all three are considered highly sacred places by traditional Native Hawaiian people. The first location is the site for the proposed Thirty Meter Telescope on Hawai´i Island’s Mauna Kea. The second case is another proposed telescope on Maui Island’s dormant volcano Haleakalā. The last

17 location, and the one that first interested me in this project, is a proposed wetland restoration also on the island of Maui.

In August and September of 2015, I conducted research into the Native Hawaiian community’s attitude towards the CIA process. I specifically chose eight participants who had previous experience as participants in CIAs for various projects. An added criteria was that the CIAs showed that these individuals had a strong connections with the areas of proposed projects and deep concerns that the sacredness of the sites in question be factored into any proposed disturbance caused by the potential projects. I did so using informal interviews to inquire as to whether or not they feel their concerns are generally taken into account in the final outcome of projects that had the potential to impact their cultural resources. I used a set of questions as a semi-structured guide to explore each participant’s relation to the project site(s) and their opinions and possible concerns about ongoing and future proposed projects. I also wanted to know about their knowledge of how the CIA process works, and if they felt it worked as efficiently as they would have liked. If they answered that they felt the CIA review process did not have the impact they would have liked, I wanted to know how they thought it should be improved. As some researchers have pointed out, and from my own experiences in working with various indigenous people, it is often to the researcher’s advantage to let the interviewee guide the conversation (King, 2003). I employed specific questions such as:

 Do you feel your voice and those of your fellow community members are being

heard?

 In your experience, how much effect have CIAs had in projects you have

participated in?

 What do you know of the CIA process once it has been submitted to the writers of

the EIS/EA?

 Who do you think should be reviewing these cases?

 Do you think they could be made more effective?

My goal was to use these open-ended questions to cover relevant themes while also leading to broader discourse that I could probe to bring out further complexities of their feelings about the project, the place itself, and the CIA process. A few weeks after these interviews took place, six of the eight participants asked that I not use their interviews in my research until further notice. While I cannot delve deeply into why my participants decided to remove themselves from this project, I can say their retreat is indicative of the highly contested nature of this work and the reality that the CIA process is highly politicized. This leaves me with only two participants, making me much more reliant on document analysis than was originally planned.

Thus, discourse analysis became an important part of this research as I looked for themes concurrent throughout the Hawaiian community and attempted to ascertain the importance of various topics (Kvale & Brinkmann, 2009). I endeavored to pull out notions of colonialism and indigenous ideas of place, space, and identity, as well as the role of Western colonization in the project’s implementation, final outcome, and repercussions of it all. Overall, I looked at both the recommendations and the outcomes, and reviewed the language used to frame the discourse. Because interviews and testaments from the Hawaiian community followed a very different type of discourse than the more prescribed, legal discourse found in the other types of documentation, I focused on how these two ways of communicating interconnect or do not connect with

19 one another. In the end, it became clear that there are diverse epistemologies and ontologies and ways in which they interface and/or disconnect.

A key reason for choosing this project lies in the fact that I am acquainted with the project, the area, and many of the interview participants. Oftentimes, unfamiliarity with these things can be roadblocks for completing research on time, but my familiarity with this place and these people, as well as my own ideas on the importance of this project, led me to want to research this case. From 2007 to 2013 I worked for a firm in

Hawai´i that specializes in archaeological, historical, and cultural research. While there I was able to build relationships with many Native Hawaiian community members via my involvement with many CIAs conducted for various projects. In fact, I was a major participant in conducting the CIA for the last site I will discuss –Mokuhinia.

On a personal note, I myself am both an indigenous person and an academically trained social scientist. These two worldviews are sometimes in conflict with one another. While I do not claim to be a traditional indigenous person, my views certainly make me sympathetic to many traditionally indigenous notions of connection with the land that are often in conflict with Western ideas of human dominance over it. This likely slants my document analysis in this research and perhaps makes me more critical of Western-minded discourse than would be if viewed from a non-indigenous scholar’s lens. My background has also possibly given me both an insider and outsider perspective when conducting some of this participatory research. All these factors influence my research and should be noted.

Results

The three sites researched are all highly sacred to Native Hawaiians. I will discuss these site by site as they happened in chronological order. This will involve the document analysis of CIAs, EISs, and an Integrated Feasibility Report (IFR). Lastly, I will discuss the results of the two interviews that were conducted. It should be noted that these documents represent several different voices of the community and planners/officials. However, the strongest voices are those of the traditional Native

Hawaiian community and the planners/officials. This, and my focus on those voices in the research, means that the broader picture of the project and community-wide opinions on these projects are greatly simplified. This focus brings out two strong (and often opposing) viewpoints that come off as an “us vs. them” mentality. While this dichotomy may appear to oversimplify these cases, the purpose of this research is to specifically look at the indigenous voices and the planners’ voices, and it cannot be denied that much of the time, these voices are in direct conflict.

Mauna Kea Summit, Hawai´i, Island – TMT Project

The first case is located on the summit of Mauna Kea on Hawai´i Island. At this location, several environmental/cultural assessments have been conducted as part of the

University of Hawai´i’s (UH) proposed plans for the Mauna Kea Science Reserve.

Beginning in the 1960s, astronomers with the University of Hawai´i have utilized the summit of Mauna Kea as an astronomical observatory. There are currently thirteen telescopes in this space making it the world’s largest astronomical observatory. This reserve consists of 11,288 acres that the university leases from the state. This land is

21 ceded crown land meaning that this land was a portion of land that was held by the

Hawaiian monarchy until it was overthrown in 1893. Upon statehood, this crown land was then entrusted to the State of Hawai´i to be held in trust for the citizens of Hawai´i.

For Native Hawaiians this sacred cultural landscape is featured in the Kumulipo that connects it to the sky god Wākea, the fire goddess Pele, and various other deities.

Kanaka maoli traditional chants also refer to Hawai´i Island as the first born of Wākea and Papahanaumoku (the earth mother) with Mauna Kea as the piko of this island (Maly

& Maly, 2005). It is home to Lake Waiau where sacred water is collected for different ceremonies. Also located here is one of the most important basalt quarries in all of

Polynesia. Past, present, and ongoing cultural practices and resources of this place include traditional trail systems, placement of religious shrines, collection of indigenous plants, water and lithic materials, piko deposition, traditional chants, and various other religious practices. The summit of Mauna Kea is a living entity in Hawaiian geography that connects na kanaka to their ancestors, the landscape, and each other. The meaning of the name Mauna Kea translates to “white mountain” (Pukui, et al., 1974), possibly referring to the snow that frequently caps its summit. However, others have also suggested that this name is short for Mauna a Wākea, acknowledging Wākea the Sky

Father and progenitor of the Hawaiian race (Simonson & Hammatt, 2010). In

1999 the University of Hawai´i at Hilo contracted Paul H. Rosendahl, Ph.D., Inc. to conduct a Cultural Impact Study in compliance with the EIS required for their plan to develop a master plan for the science reserve land. This was conducted in August of that year by cultural specialist Kepa Maly. The result of this study is a document entitled

Cultural Impact Study: Native Hawaiian Cultural Practices, Features, and Beliefs

Figure 2 - Mauna Kea Observatories and site of proposed TMT project (Maunakea Observatories Support Services, 2016)

Associated with the University of Hawai´i’s Mauna Kea Science Reserve Master Plan

Project Area. For this study, over one hundred individuals and groups were contacted.

Twenty-two individuals were formally interviewed. Maly puts great emphasis on the fact that this place is highly sacred to many Native Hawaiians. Informants in this study heavily emphasize this place as being wahi pana –a place deemed sacred by the gods.

Mauna Kea is also important in the Hawaiian worldview as a place where ´aumakua

(ancestral deities) dwell.

A person who understands Hawaiian geography will understand that places like these are kapu –meaning they are consecrated, sacred places in which a person is required to treat the land with great reverence. Maly notes that traditional cultural practices are still carried out in this area. He also emphasizes the kinship Native Hawaiians have with

Mauna Kea as a living entity when he writes, “In Hawaiian practice elders are revered – they are the connection to one’s past –and they are looked to for spiritual guidance.

Because of its place in the Hawaiian genealogies, Mauna Kea, the landscape itself is a sacred ancestor” (p. D-25). Repeatedly, Maly conveys Hawaiian deities, landscapes, and ancestors as critical to Hawaiian ways of knowing. He underscores the traditional cultural practices as ongoing as well as the laws in place that are meant to protect them.

He notes that these practices are protected under Article XII, Section 7 of the Hawai´i

State Constitution and affirmed by the Public Access Shoreline Hawai´i (PASH) decision of 1995. The PASH decision can be viewed as another product of the unique way in which Hawai´i was colonized. In this decision, the court refused to “place undue reliance on Western understandings of property law” (PASH, 1995). This decision came about mainly due to Native Hawaiian concerns that the privatization of shorelines greatly restricted their traditional gathering practices. Maly also pointed out that there are at least two federally-recognized Traditional Cultural Properties (TCP) in the project area.

He makes note of these because agencies such as the State Historic Preservation

Department (SHPD) take these into account when passing on their recommendations about how a project should proceed or be limited (King, 2003). Ultimately, because this

CIA was conducted for a plan not yet designating any specific use, Maly recommended a comprehensive plan to protect the many significant traditional cultural resources. He hoped this plan would include “careful limits set upon future development within the proposed Astronomy Precinct and restrictive guidelines” (p. D-52).

A decade later, the University of Hawai´i at Hilo filed an EA entitled Final

Environmental Assessment for the Mauna Kea Comprehensive Management Plan (CMP).

It is important to note that for this plan, UH is both the proposing agency and the accepting agency of the EA. UH notes that this plan is meant to enhance, preserve, and

24 protect natural and cultural resources by endeavoring to create a plan for future scientific use of the area (UH, 2009). In this evaluation UH utilized Maly’s CIA to fulfill that portion required by HRS Chapter 343. Despite the fact that the CIA conducted for this impact statement recommended that there be “no further development” (Maly, 1999), this document begins with a summary of the cultural and historical resources in the project area using language that clearly diminishes the opinions of Native Hawaiians who are opposed to it. Much of the discourse is framed in a way that leads the reader to believe those in opposition to the project feel that way based only on their negative experiences with past projects. This quote is indicative of that sentiment: “Some comments expressed the sentiment that due to the lack of respect shown in the past and by other projects, many Native Hawaiians stand opposed to any further projects on the mountain, regardless of whether the project would or would not have impacts” (p. B-1). In this way, the university officials employ an imperialistic tactic to diminish the Hawaiian voice and their concerns by implying that their knowledge of the impacts of this particular project is lacking. As can be seen in the review of the previous CIA conducted for this location, this is absolutely not the case. Na kanaka demonstrated a deep understanding of how any further development would impact their cultural and natural resources.

Contained in this document, in what seems to be an effort to pacify Native

Hawaiian resistance to what they view as continued desecration of a sacred space, UH offers to add a plan for education and community consultation, saying:

An important component in resource management is the human community. Mauna Kea is a sacred site to the Native Hawaiian community. Mauna Kea also serves as an important astronomical site, educational facility, and recreational

area. These human uses of the environment can directly conflict with the protection of cultural and natural resources. The CMP recognizes Mauna Kea’s importance from both the cultural and natural standpoints while also attempting to provide for evolving astronomical use. Stakeholder cooperation in the long-term management of Mauna Kea’s resources is therefore essential. To address this need, the CMP offers processes for on-going education and community consultation in the management of the UH Management Areas (p. 6-10). This discourse attempts to take in all of the actors that use the space that is the Mauna

Kea summit. The discourse used here recognizes the Native Hawaiian view of this place while noting that this view is in conflict with the scientific goals of the university. This excerpt strongly implies that the CMP brings with it the intention to continue development. This is in complete contrast to what many Native Hawaiians made known in the scoping process of the CIA. It is colonialist and paternalistic in that it offers further consultation with the community, all the while disregarding consultation that had already been done for this space in the past. Clyde Namuo with the Office of Hawaiian

Affairs (OHA) criticizes the draft EA for this project saying: “So few environmental or cultural specifics were provided in this document that a true analysis or decision making cannot be conducted from it. Instead, this document generally recognizes the significance of the place for Native Hawaiians and environmental components of the mountain, but does not provide any detailed description of those components in either the document or any appendices” (UH, 2009, p. 329). UH responds, “Thank you, your opinion regarding OHA’s ability to meet its statutory mandate is noted. No change to the

Draft EA is required to address this comment” (p. 329). This serves to lessen the indigenous voice. Essentially, UH is offering to hear out more community voices making it clear that, in this instance, the university plans to proceed in the name of scientific curiosity notwithstanding what those voices are saying.

This EA also seems to conflict itself in that it seems to emphasize past religious observances as being exclusively in the past and all but wiped out in some portions of the document, while also noting that there are many important ongoing religious practices taking place in modern times. On page 7-1 it is stated, “traditional oral histories and written documentation of historic religious practices and any associated beliefs on Mauna

Kea remain virtually non-existent.” This is in direct contradiction to the evidence laid out in the CIA, but it serves to diminish the importance of current traditional cultural practices on Mauna Kea. The EA quotes Barrere saying, “In areas further removed from

Christian centers, where new religious teachings had less appeal, traditional religious practices may have continued” (Barrere et al., 1980, p. 34 in UH, 2009). Yet, in many portions of this document, it is openly acknowledged that this place in important for

Native Hawaiians today due to their connection to it and its status as a wahi pana where traditional cultural practices are still carried out.

Also contained in this EA, UH conveys a plan to ask for rule-making authority to develop, implement and enforce rules and regulations for public activities within UH management areas. These public activities would include those conducted by Native

Hawaiians. Though some traditional cultural activities are protected by law, there are some gray areas. UH writes that there will be no impact to cultural resources saying,

“Similarly, the potential effects of the Proposed Action will not affect cultural practices in the community or State. The Proposed Action will not restrict access to the

Management Areas for cultural practitioners nor will it restrict the exercise of cultural and religious practices, except where safety, resource management, cultural appropriateness, and legal compliance considerations require reasonable restrictions on

27 access” (p.7-2). If UH were to have rule-making authority, it would give them the power to decide which of the Native Hawaiian practices are safe, culturally appropriate, and whether their actions would affect resources. This works to give UH a paternalistic role in the mold of scientific colonialism by placing themselves as the overseers above Native

Hawaiian community members.

An example of this can be seen in a response to the draft of this EA which can be found in its appendix (UH, 2009). In this response, KAHEA –The Hawaiian-

Environmental Alliance takes issue with a recommendation to develop a management policy for dealing with ahu (cairns/altars). While the proposed management does not restrict the building of new ahu, it does include a plan to remove new rock piles. UH notes this will have no effect on cultural practices and that the intention is to provide room for new cultural features (presumably new ahu). KAHEA takes issue with this saying:

It defies common sense to say there is no effect on cultural practice when individuals erect a shrine in fulfillment of their traditional and customary practices and religious observances on the sacred summit of Mauna Kea, only to return to find that it has been removed. To suggest as much without providing any form of supporting documentation or scrutiny of any kind is not only extremely offensive, but fundamentally fails to meet the basic standards of evaluation required by HRS 343 (UH, 2009, p. 356).

It should be noted that this plan to “deal with ahu” was left in this final version of the EA.

Through this example and other discourse used in this EA, it is clear that UH is delineating between protection of what they deem to be older, traditional practices and newer Hawaiian practices. Maly (1999) reacts to the notion that, while some non-

Hawaiians have argued in the past that certain practices are modern, they are tied to older traditional practices, and therefore fall under the laws that protect them. These non-

Hawaiian notions are evidence of the imperialistic mindset that requires indigenous people to remain static from the time of contact with Europeans (Echo-Hawk &

Zimmerman, 2006). In this mindset, they are not allowed to grow and change like other cultures. Clearly, what UH deems as contemporary is of less importance and does not require the university to respect them as being traditional cultural practices. Once again,

UH also sets their employees up as the distinguishing judge between the two. Clyde

Namuo with the OHA responded to this delineation in the draft EA saying, “OHA has concerns that the CMP attempts to clearly delineate between traditional and contemporary Native Hawaiian practices. We would like to point out that Native

Hawaiian culture is a living, constantly evolving culture and consists of both traditional and contemporary practices. Separating the two is offensive” (p. 319). As was previously pointed out, the notion that contemporary indigenous people are not as legitimately traditional as their ancestors is not only offensive, it is pandering and an example of colonialism in action.

UH’s final determination of the EA is this: “Based on the information contained in this FEA (Final Environmental Assessment) the University has determined that the proposed action will not have a significant impact on the environment” (p. 7-1). The term “environment” here includes the cultural environment. Thus, as both the proposing agency and the accepting agency, UH sanctioned its own finding of no significant impact, and the BLNR approved this EA in 2009.

The story of Mauna Kea as it pertains to this research continues with the UH’s proposal to construct yet another large telescope in 2010. This proposal was allowed to proceed based on the previous findings of no significant impacts to the environment and

29 cultural resources of this area and in spite of the recommendation of the previous CIA.

Because this was a new, specified plan, an EIS (including the required CIA) was required by law. This project proposed to construct a Thirty Meter Telescope (TMT) within the

Mauna Kea Science Reserve. The proposed project would involve land disturbing activities for the telescope itself and the subsurface utilities along with grading in the access way.

The CIA for the proposed TMT project was conducted in 2010 by Mindy

Simonson and Hal Hammatt of Cultural Surveys Hawai´i, Inc. (CSH), and it was entitled

Cultural Impact Assessment for the Thirty Meter Telescope Observatory Project and

Thirty Meter Telescope Mid-Level Facility Project, Maunakea, Ka´ohe Ahupua´a,

Hāmākua District, Hawai´i Island –TMK: [3] 4-4-015: 001 por., 009, por. 012, por..

This document begins by pointing out that there are three officially recognized TCPs within the project area. Community members (including lineal descendants of the area), various Hawaiian agencies, and state agencies were contacted. As a part of this CIA community meetings held by the planners were attended and sentiments of the community participants were recorded. Sixty community members were contacted as a part of this scoping process and 25 responded with major concerns about the project.

Simonson and Hammatt noted that many participants of the CIA stressed the sacredness of the landscape of Mauna Kea. They also stressed that Mauna Kea has deep connections throughout greater Polynesia. Community members conveyed that this landscape is one of the most sacred places in all of Polynesia partially due to its importance in Polynesian lore and its status as a place connected with navigation and astronomy in Hawaiian geography.

Throughout the scoping process for this CIA many participants also discussed their concerns about how human use affects the watershed of Mauna Kea as the principal aquifer of Hawai´i Island. They also expressed concern about the threats the project proposed to native plants and animals in this unique environment. As did Maly in his

CIA in this area, Simonson and Hammatt discussed the Native Hawaiian community’s utilization of Mauna Kea Summit as a sacred place where traditional cultural practices are both ongoing and recorded in traditional chants and stories. Again, the emphasis of

Mauna Kea as the piko of the island and the importance of current piko deposition was a common theme in this CIA as well. The authors also clearly conveyed the fact that for many, many kanaka maoli their very identity was tied to this place as a cultural landscape.

Several of the official agencies contacted for this CIA responded with concerns about this project’s adverse impacts on cultural and historic resources. SHPD responded with the opinion that UH should treat this place sensitively while considering the genealogical connections, spiritual connections, and kanaka maoli worldview. They suggested that the entire summit be treated as one traditional cultural landscape.

Ultimately, SHPD recommended “no more development on this sacred mountain” (p.

200). OHA also responded referring to the summit of Mauna Kea as wao akua (a dwelling place of the gods). They noted that generations of Hawaiians have worshipped and recognized the sacredness of this place. They specifically expressed their concern about the impact the proposed project may have on the waters that maintain a healthy environment for all parts of the ecosystem of the island. Both SHPD and OHA recommended looking at the 40-year history of the project area since scientists began

31 using it. They asked for UH to view not only the impacts of the current project but also the cumulative impacts over this time period on the cultural resources and practices.

Simonson and Hammatt wrote that many of the participants did not feel there were any mitigation measures that would address their cultural concerns. Ultimately, the authors attempted to give a clear picture of how Native Hawaiian people connected with the landscape of the project area. Their overall recommendation was “no further development” on Mauna Kea (p. 203).

This CIA was then included in the Final Environmental Impact Statement for this project in 2010. This document was prepared by UH and is entitled Thirty Meter

Telescope Project –Mauna Kea & Hilo, County of Hawai´i, State of Hawai´i, TMK 4-4-

15:9 (por.), TMK 4-4-15: 12 (por.), TMK 4-4-15: 10 (por.), TMK 4-4-15:1 (por.) –Final

Environmental Impact Statement. In this statement, UH speaks openly, clearly, and deeply about the importance of the landscape of Mauna Kea’s summit to past and present

Native Hawaiians. They are very honest about the Hawaiian community’s deep-rooted, generations-long connection to this place. However, UH also frequently frames

Hawaiian connection to this place as tantamount to the connection that the scientific community has with it. They even go so far as to appropriate the term piko to do this.

They write, “For the Hawaiian People, Mauna Kea is their cultural connection or piko

(umbilical cord) to Papa and Wakea, it is the beginning and the end. For the astronomical community Mauna Kea is the scientific umbilical cord to the mysteries of the universe”

(p. S-4). This rhetoric downplays that connection for Hawaiians by commandeering the term “piko” to mean simply a “tether” or “tie”. This discourse reinforces the fact that

UH, in their Western science mindset, either does not grasp the much deeper, all-

32 encompassing Hawaiian connection with this place, or does not mind exploiting the concept to push their agenda.

Because UH openly acknowledges the concerns of the Native Hawaiian community, this EIS includes an offer of a Community Benefits Package to go toward the island’s community through a plan to pay the State a rental fee of $1 million annually. It is possible that this offer came about due to some community complaints that UH’s science reserve was located on ceded crown land, supposedly held in trust for the citizens of Hawai´i, while the university only paid $1 of rent per telescope annually. This amounted to the university paying the state $13 annually. In this document UH also offered to furnish the project facilities “with items to provide a sense of place and acknowledge the cultural sensitivity and spiritual attributes of Maunakea” (p. S-12).

Again, this fundamental misunderstanding of what is truly important to the Native community demonstrates a direct conflict with indigenous Hawaiian geography and

Western geography. In Hawaiian ideology, it is not objects put on display that give traditional Hawaiians a sense of place, nor is money an adequate replacement for the desecration of this space. Also, the idea that items put on display will speak to the sacredness and spirituality of Mauna Kea is insulting. What the Hawaiian community made clear in the CIA is that the sacredness of this place can only be respected by not building TMT.

In their findings UH blatantly notes the inevitable adverse impacts the proposed project will have on the site stating, “From a cumulative perspective, the impact of past and present actions on cultural, archaeological, and historic resources is substantial, significant, and adverse; the impacts would continue to be substantial, significant, and

33 adverse with the consideration of the Project and other reasonable foreseeable future actions” (p. S-8). However, a few pages later it is written, “The Projects impact on cultural practices and beliefs will not exceed the HRS significant criteria” (p. S-12).

According to HRS Chapter 343, “’Significant effect’ means the sum of effects that…adversely affect the economic welfare, social welfare, or cultural practices of the community and State.” In these statements, UH once again employs the colonial mindset to acknowledge the negative effect the proposed project with have on the Hawaiian community’s lawfully protected rights, while also making it known that they plan to proceed regardless.

Shortly after this EIS was submitted to the OEQC, Hawai´i Govenor Linda Lingle gave her approval to proceed even though the project area is located in a conservation district. The BLNR then issued a Conservation District Use Permit to allow construction of TMT. This happened despite the fact that Hawai´i State law prohibits agencies from giving permits for projects in conservation districts that show evidence that they will cause significant adverse impacts to cultural resources. In early 2015 construction of

TMT was slated to begin. However, members of the community, mainly made up of and led by kanaka maoli, began protesting by literally placing themselves in front of construction equipment. This forced UH to delay construction for many months. In

December of the same year, the Supreme Court of Hawai´i invalidated building permits in light of the fact that due process was not followed when the BLNR prematurely issued a permit to proceed before a contested case hearing was finished. Governor David Ige then overturned the land use permit. Very recently, on February 24th, 2016, Hawai´i’s

Third Circuit Court filed an Order of Remand pushing the case to the BLNR so that a

34 contested case hearing could be held. This action vacated the TMT Conservation District

Use Permit. All of this does not mean that TMT will never be built. It is only on hold until the contested case hearing is concluded; after which the proposed project may or may not proceed depending on the ruling. What it does mean is that Native Hawaiians have not been able to rely solely on the effectiveness that CIAs are supposed to have in this case. This event, and particularly the protesting against the project, have garnered international media attention. That kanaka maoli are forced to resort to standing in front of bulldozers and getting the attention of the world in order to force legal officials to act speaks volumes about the conflict between Western ideas of “progress” and indigenous notions of place.

Haleakalā, Maui Island –ATST Project

The next site of research is located on top of East Maui’s dormant volcano

Haleakalā. Haleakalā’s name literally translates to “house used by the sun”, and is traditionally associated with the demigod Māui who, according to Hawaiian lore, used this place to lasso the sun to slow it down to its current pace across the sky (Pukui, et al.,

1974). This legend is well-known throughout all of Polynesia (Dagan et al., 2007).

Various places on Haleakalā are spoken of in numerous Hawaiian mele (chants/poems) and appear in many legends. Traditional cultural practices both past and present include gathering of plant resources, Hawaiian birth and burial practices, traditional hunting practices, and more. This place is also considered wahi pana and sacred as the piko of

East Maui. Like Mauna Kea’s summit, Haleakalā’s summit (including the proposed project area) is located on ceded land. In addition, it is located within the boundaries of

Haleakalā National Park in an International Biosphere Reserve and, therefore, a

Conservation District. This place is the home to a unique and fragile ecosystem that supports a number of endangered species.

The goal of the proposed project is to build a solar telescope near the summit of

Haleakalā at the Haleakalā High Altitude Observatories. This location is already home to four telescopes owned by the UH’s Institute for Astronomy. Like the land for the Mauna

Kea Science Reserve, this land is leased from the State by UH. The proposed telescope was originally called the Advanced Technology Solar Telescope (ATST). The National

Science Foundation (NSF) proposed to fund this endeavor collaborating with UH. Its location and the source of the funding make this project subject to both Federal and State of Hawai´i Environmental Regulations, including the National Environmental Policy Act

(NEPA) and Section 106. The name was changed in December of 2013 to the Daniel K.

Inouye Solar Telescope (DKIST). For the purposes of this research, I will continue to refer to it as ATST since that is the name used throughout both the CIA and Final EIS.

For this project, the DEIS relied upon and used a cultural assessment done by

CKM Cultural Resources, L.L.C. entitled Cultural Resource Evaluation and Traditional

Practices Assessment of the Proposed Advanced Technology Solar Telescope at

Haleakalā High Altitude Observatories (Maxwell, 2006). In its abstract, Native

Hawaiian religion (and even connection with the land) are spoken of as “bypassed and eventually forgotten” (Maxwell, 2006, p. iv). Throughout this document, author Kahu

Chales Kauluwehi Maxwell, Sr. speaks of construction on the site as something that is inevitable. It is even noted that if the site had been recognized for its sacredness in the

36 first half of the 20th century, it would be easier to stop construction now. It then goes on to imply that it is too late, and mitigation is now the only option. Many community

Figure 3 - ATST being constructed on Haleakalā (National Solar Observatory, 2014) members contested the validity of this document, and gave opinions that this assessment was completely inadequate in its projection of the concerns of the Native Hawaiian community (Dagan, et al., 2007). Interview participant Kiope Raymond also expressed his thoughts on the inadequacies of this assessment in the interview he participated in for this study.

Partly due to the Hawaiian community’s dissatisfaction with Maxwell’s original cultural assessment, the NSF contracted CSH to conduct another CIA. This was written by Colleen Dagan, et al. in May of 2007 and entitled Supplemental Cultural Impact

Assessment for the Proposed Advanded Technology Solar Telescope at Haleakalā High

Altitude Observatories Papa´anui Ahupua´a, Makawao District, Island of Maui, TMK:

(2) 2-2-07:008. In this document Dagan et al. summarized the traditional and historical background, discussed their findings while they attended eight scoping meetings, and summarized feedback from twenty-two informal interviews with community members.

All throughout the document, the authors spoke of the project area as a place that plays an important role in that Native Hawaiian community. They emphasized the connection that kanaka maoli have with Haleakalā as one that is tied to their very identities. The indigenous voices recorded in this CIA also commonly express frustration and anger over the fact that they do not feel their words are heeded.

As recorded in this CIA, in his description of Haleakalā, Hawaiian community member Edward Lindsey states, “It is a spiritual entity that crisscrosses and has deep spiritual meaning to cultures not only here…but throughout Polynesia” (Dagan, et al.,

2007, p. 46). An audience member at a community meeting for ATST expressed his frustration with the fact that his Hawaiian worldview was not regarded stating, “When is a site too sacred to be built upon? Obviously, there has to be something in the language that describes when it’s alright to, when it’s not all right to. Would you construct this on

Machu Picchu, Stonehenge, Pasapa, Mt. Fugi, Mt. Everest, and Mt. Zion?” (p. 55). Yet another audience member suggests that this meeting is essentially irrelevant since Native

Hawaiians/those who oppose to the project are not heard and exclaims, “It doesn’t matter what we say, how we feel or how much it’s going to hurt us. Now you as a lawyer come and tell me if this means that we can stop it, because we don’t want it to happen. Or, you tell me right now that the government doesn’t give a damn, and it’s going to be built anyway” (p. 55). Some participants even stated that it was insulting that these community

38 meetings were held since their feeling was that although the overwhelming consensus was that the Native Hawaiian community did not want these types of projects to go through, the planners and governing agencies would go through with them no matter how many times they heard people object. Speaking of the kanaka maoli voice, community meeting participant Ms. Mikahala Helm clearly stated her feelings on its lack of impact when recorded in legally required assessments by stating, “My concern is where is the voice that you continue to hear this evening? Where is the voice in that DEIS (Draft

Environmental Assessment), besides small little sentences that say the consultation occurred?” (Dagan, et al., 2007, p. 67). She goes on to express her concern that input and objections from Native Hawaiians is not clearly pronounced in the Section 106 process. Despite the fact that the CIA he wrote for the DEIS for this project was deemed inadequate, Kahu Maxwell was a regular participant in at least five of the eight community meetings held in compliance with the Final EIS. In these meetings he made it known that he is not for the project. He repeatedly spoke about his and his community members’ frustration with the fact that they feel their opinions on projects such as these are not here and even states, “Whether we like it or not, it is built” (p.51).

Several agencies also expressed their opposition to ATST. The Superintendent of

Haleakalā National Park attended a community meeting in which she stated that the

National Park Service “strongly oppose the construction of this facility” partly due to the fact that the DEIS was grossly inadequate in evaluating the cumulative impacts to preservation of the scenic character and Hawaiian cultural resources (p.70). A representative for the County of Maui Department of Planning Cultural Resource

Commission suggested no action based on destruction of a site sacred to Native

Hawaiians. Mr. Hinano Rodrigues, History and Culture Branch Chief with SHPD responded to Dagan et al. by noting that there are few archaeological sites atop

Haleakalā. He then went on to explain “…sometimes the absence of any tangible cultural and archaeological feature is a manifestation of the importance and sacredness of the area…To many Kanaka Maoli, the very unobstructed view of the mauna itself is a part of their daily religious observations” (p.95). Several other participants also expressed this view that the unobstructed view is essential for the various religious practices that take place on Haleakalā. Also contained in this CIA is a list of 599 names garnered by the group Kilakila O Haleakalā (KOH) that were found on a petition supporting the No

Action alternative for ATST (p. B1-B7).

The majority of participants emphasized their deep connection with Haleakalā.

Some spoke of it as a part of themselves and member of their family. At a community meeting, Native Hawaiian Mr. Albert Napahi Dizon stated, “Any time somebody poke a hole in the ´āina, I cry. Every time when they try to build, whether it’s for water and now another telescope, it hurts me inside because I am of this land. I am kanaka maoli. I’m born of this land. And to build something up there where only the gods live, we

Hawaiians know…it’s only for the gods” (p. 61).

Taking into account all the responses gathered for this CIA, the ultimate recommendation of No Action was recommended. This was due to “significant adverse impacts on Native Hawaiian traditional cultural practices and belief” that were deemed

“unmitigable” (p. ii). Dagan et al. also noted that if the proposed project was approved to proceed it would be pertinent for planners to seek open communication with the

Hawaiian community stating, “As Haleakalā plays a central role in the history and culture

40 of Maui Island kanaka maoli, it is imperative that there be open lines of communication and that every effort is made to hear, understand, and respect the cultural concerns and beliefs of the community” (p. ii).

Following the completion of the CIA written by Dagan et al. and various other studies mandatory for fulfillment of the requirements for the EIS, the NSF collaborated with other agencies and contractors to draft the Final EIS entitled Final Environmental

Impact Statement for the Advanced Technology Solar Telescope (NFS, 2009). Writing on the significance of this space to Native Hawaiians, the NSF summarizes the CIA written by Dagan et al. by noting that this study found that Haleakalā holds great symbolism for

Native Hawaiians, and that this mountain is seen as a living entity. NSF also notes that the summit is eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places due to its status as a TCP. It is also mentioned that this place is “important in maintaining the continuing cultural identity of the community” (p. ES-19).

In sections discussing current land use of the area, there is very little mention of

Native Hawaiians. The NSF does mention that the Haleakalā High Altitude Observatory is not open to public use, but does state, “Native Hawaiians, however, are welcome at any time to enter HO (Haleakalā High Altitude Observatories) for cultural and traditional practices, as the sign also indicates” (p. ES-18). This statement is confusing because the very next sentence states, “The HO area of the Conservation District is set aside for

‘…Haleakalā High Altitude Observatory site purposes only’” (p. ES-18). Again in another section of the document, NSF notes that a sign at the entrance of the observatory property states that, as in the surrounding Haleakalā National Park property, Native

Hawaiians are not restricted from practicing their traditional cultural practices. However,

41 the stipulation is then made that the activities are allowed as they are deemed

“appropriate under NPS policy” (p. 4-8). As on Mauna Kea, this notion is paternalistic and colonial in its inception. By infantilizing the original caretakers of the land, these ideas have hugely negative implications towards the Hawaiian community. Also like the

TMT project, the commissioners of this project offered to “compensate” the desecration of this sacred site with money. NFS writes that they are willing to “fund an educational initiative at MCC (Maui Community College) to address the intersection between Native

Hawaiian culture and science” (p. 4-216).

NSF is open and honest about the impacts that the construction and operation of

ATST will have on the summit of this TCP. They repeatedly note that these activities will have “major, adverse, short-term and long-term direct impacts” (p. 4-9). They also note that the construction of this telescope would impede the unobstructed view that many community participants deemed essential when taking part in ceremonial activities.

They recognized this would add to the cumulative adverse impacts of the facilities already in existence. NSF also goes so far as to point out the deep connection with this place writing, “Responses…were deeply emotional and, for some, the idea of an additional building atop the summit was physically painful. Overall, there is a belief that to go forward with the proposed ATST Project would result in the desecration of a sacred site, with some equating the effects to building an observatory next to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem or within the city of Mecca” (p. 4-9).

Despite the clear recognition that the ATST Project would have significant adverse effects on cultural resources, the project was approved for procedure. This DEIS was accepted by UH’s Institute for Astronomy as “the accepting authority for the

42 proposed Project” (NSF, 2009, p. 5-2). The website for KOH states that the BLNR granted a Conservation District Use Permit for this project and approved a management plan for Haleakalā’s summit in 2010 (KOH, 2015). However, they did so without first holding a contested case hearing. Construction of ATST began in January 2013, and has not yet been completed as of March 2016.

In 2012, KOH was also involved in legal proceedings that led to the conclusion that UH, in conjunction with Governor Neil Abercrombie’s office and U.S. Senator

Daniel Inouye’s office, had “been applying political pressure on the hearing officer” with the BLNR (KOH, 2015). In other words, officials at the BLNR had been influenced by officials to approve permits in spite of the fact that their policies “prohibit construction of a project that would have substantial adverse impact to natural and cultural resources” in a conservation district (KOH, 2015). As it stands now, KOH has successfully won two of the four lawsuits filed to challenge the construction of ATST, and is waiting to hear the

Hawai´i Supreme Court’s decisions on the other two. As recently as August 2015, there were attempts to continue construction for ATST. This led to protesting by many in the

Native Hawaiian community where, like in the case of TMT, protesters physically blocked construction vehicles, and many were subsequently arrested.

Moku´ula/Mokuhinia Restoration –Lāhainā, Maui Island

The last case involves the restoration of a site that is sacred to many Native

Hawaiians. The site was once a wetland area fed by a natural, freshwater spring that included a pond called Loko o Mokuhinia and a small island in the pond by the name of

Moku´ula. The origin of the place name itself is summed up with this statement from the

Figure 4 - A satellite image of the proposed restoration area with an overlay of proposed project plans (Friends of Moku´ula, 2014) CIA: “Past and present traditional cultural practices were identified within the current study area, first and foremost of which is the deification and worship of Kihawahine

Mokuhinia Kalama´ula and the ritual significance of the loko which bears her name”

(Lee-Greig et al., 2013, p. 112). For many reasons, this place is extremely sacred to many Hawaiian people. The site at Moku´ula is said by some to be the piko, or navel, of all of the Hawaiian Islands, and is thus the center of the world that draws and connects every Native Hawaiian individual (Klieger, 1998). Several participants of the CIA noted that this may be the most sacred site in all of Hawai´i (Lee-Greig et al., 2013).

The sacredness of this place is also closely associated with the Hawaiian goddess

Kihawahine. The daughter of 16th century King Pi´ilani and Queen Lā‘ieloheloheikawai, this sacred princess was born Kihawahine Mokuhinia Kalama´ula Kalā´aiheana. She was deified upon her death, and her bones were placed in Mokuhinia, where she became the mo´o (lizard) goddess Kihawahine (Kamakau, 1991). The placement of her bones into

Mokuhinia acted to transfer her mana (power/energy) to the pond. In addition to being the guardian of Mokuhinia, she is the goddess of a long line of Hawaiian royalty as well as their ancestor.

Mokuhinia and Moku´ula have been important in Hawaiian history from the

1500s through to present day. In addition to being the home of Kihawahine, Moku´ula also served as the royal residence for Hawaiian ali´i (royalty) from the 16th century up through the 19th century when King Kamehameha III resided there in the 1830s and 40s.

In the 1800s, Queen Keōpuolani and Princess Nahi´ena´ena were buried near what was once the edge of Mokuhinia. This area’s association with the ali´i adds to the sacredness of this area. Because Hawaiian royalty were apotheosized in both life and death, their association with Moku´ula and Mokuhinia served to make the area kapu for Hawaiian people. Yet, beginning around the time of Kamehameha III’s reign, the influence of

European missionaries became stronger and stronger. Worship of Hawaiian deities such as Kihawahine was discouraged and Mokuhinia and Moku´ula became neglected by officials. European influence also manifested itself in the planting of sugar cane and other crops that diverted water away from Mokuhinia. This caused this wetland environment to become stagnant. With stagnation came increasing concern over the area becoming a breeding ground for mosquitoes that spread diseases such as malaria and

45 dengue fever. In 1914, government officials filled in Mokuhinia and it was eventually turned into a park (Klieger, 1998). Today, there are tennis courts and a baseball field on top of a highly sacred space.

Despite its current state, this space is still highly revered by many modern

Hawaiians. Since at least the 1970s, there have existed organizations mainly made up of

Native Hawaiians who wish to restore Moku´ula and Mokuhinia to their original form.

There are traditional cultural practices still being conducted at this site, including traditional chants, prayers, and offerings. There still exist lineal descendants of the area that feel a deep and abiding connection with this place.

From an ecological standpoint, the uniqueness of this place stands as a prime example of a landscape that intricately ties the land to the ocean. Before European contact, the waters that began as rainfall at the top of the West Maui Mountains converged in streams that once fed into Mokuhinia. These combined with the waters from the fresh water springs of the loko (pond) and then flowed out into the ocean. The brackish water created at this junction contributed to a unique ecosystem for birds, plants, and other marine life. According to the Integrated Feasibility Report for this area, “These wetlands provide important hydrologic and biogeochemical functions, as well as habitat for wetland dependent species, including Hawaiian waterbirds, migratory waterfowl and shorebird species” (CH2M Hill, 2013). At least three Hawaiian waterbirds are listed as officially endangered due to habitat loss of these once abundant wetland areas (Reed et al., 2011). Because this former wetland area was once part of a larger network of natural coastal lands, its restoration would have far-reaching effects.

The County of Maui, in conjunction with Friends of Moku´ula (FOM) and the

United States Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) is now interested in restoring the natural wetland environment that once existed here. While their main goal is in restoring the ecosystem, they must also abide by Federal and Hawai´i State regulations in order to conduct any work.

Pursuant to these regulations, USACE commissioned CSH to conduct a CIA for this project. This CIA was completed in April 2013. As an employee of CSH at the time this CIA was carried out, I contributed to this report under the direction of Ms. Tanya

Lee-Greig. The CIA is entitled Cultural Impact Assessment for the Mokuhinia Ecosystem

Restoration Project, Waine´e Ahupua´a, Lāhainā District, Maui Island 15 TMK (2) 4-6-

007:002; 036 – 038 (Lee-Greig et al., 2013). This document contains testimonies taken from phone calls, community meetings, letters, interview transcripts, and personal communication with Native Hawaiian community members and Hawaiian organizations.

In this document, the authors (including myself) expound on the importance of this place as it related to other places on Maui and to sacred sites throughout the

Hawaiian Islands. They note that, in addition to Kihawahine, there are three different mo´o ´aumakua on three other islands that create a connection. Participants also emphasized that four different streams from upland areas originally fed Moku´ula and physically connected this space with other places on the island. Many also expressed sentiments about their connection with this place in the past, present and future; and many noted that their very identity is connected to Mokuhinia and Moku´ula. The importance of Kihawahine as a living, ancestral ´aumakua who is still being worshipped at the site could not be stressed enough by some participants. This is an excerpt from the

CIA regarding participant Owana Salazar, a direct descendant of the area and

Kihawahine herself: “Owana says, ‘What Kilauea is to Pele, Mokuhinia is to

Kihawahine.’ She wants it to be known that the ´aumakua is still present, and should not be thought of as a thing of the past but rather an ancient Hawaiian ´aumakua, a deity that is present” (p. B-15). So many participants expressed this type of sentiment regarding

Kihawahine, that authors of the CIA note that perhaps the most important finding is that this loko is a place for “the continued worship and veneration of the mo´o Kihawahine”

(p. 42).

Participants in this CIA also spoke of many cultural practices of the past that they would like to continue once restoration takes place. These practices include: fishing, gathering of limu (various types of seaweed), gathering of ulu (breadfruit), gathering of medicinal plants, and many others. Some also mentioned the need to maintain pathways from mauka to makai. The pathways up mauka were necessary to cultivate taro in lo´i kalo (taro patches) that still exist today. They also noted that pathways that fully connect the waters from the mountains to the ocean were important for many reasons, including the health of both ecosystems. Both the participants and authors of this CIA clearly stated that of utmost importance for this place was the recognition of non-Hawaiians that

Loko o Mokuhinia is a wahi la´a (highly sacred place). They also wanted to highlight the fact that bringing back the waters to this place was an enormous responsibility. To many this means that it is essential to involve Native Hawaiians with the ongoing maintenance of this sacred space. Several participants expressed their concern about keeping this place kapu and not allowing the County of Maui to turn it into a tourist site.

Unlike the other two proposed projects, the Mokuhinia restoration project is overwhelmingly backed by the Native Hawaiian community. Lee-Greig et al. write,

““The majority of individuals consulted support the proposed Mokuhinia restoration project and believe that the pond restoration will be beneficial to the ecosystem, water bird habitat and near shore fishing resources, as well as, enormously supportive to

Hawaiian cultural practices, cultural awareness and with tremendous Hawaiian historical significance” (p. 112).

Keeping the support in mind, Native Hawaiians also had some concerns about how the project would be carried out and about how the area would be treated after restoration. In addition to the aforementioned trepidations expressed, the following questions taken from the CIA give a picture of these concerns (p.111):

 Who will be financially responsible for the maintenance and upkeep of the

pond?

 Who will be physically responsible for the maintenance of the pond?

 How will the pond water circulate with the ocean?

 What would the impact of the pump station located adjacent to the loko

have on the restored waters of Mokuhinia?

 How would the potential impacts of this pump station be addressed?

 How will mosquitos be controlled?

 Who will have access/use of the pond and island?

Participants were particularly concerned with proposed plans to have a sewage pump station near the site. Many felt this would be inappropriate and disrespectful to the sacredness of the space. Ultimately, the recommendations of the CIA were that the project/restoration proceed while the USACE and the County of Maui take into account the concerns of the community.

At this point in time, an Integrated Feasibility Report and Environmental

Assessment has been produced for this proposed project. This report was written in

August of 2013 by CH2M Hill at the request of the USACE. It is entitled Integrated

Feasibility Report and Environmental Assessment –Mokuhinia Ecosystem Restoration

Project. In this report, authors note that this site falls within the boundaries of the town of Lāhainā’s designation of National Historic Landmark. It is also within a Historic

District and on the Hawai´i State Register of Historic Places. Overall, this EA utilizes the

CIA to talk about past and present gathering and fishing practices, past and present worship of Kihawahine, and also acknowledges the sacredness of the site by quoting an interview participant as saying, “Moku´ula may be the most sacred site in Hawai´i” (p. 3-

28).

The ultimate finding of the report as it pertains to cultural resources is that the proposed restoration is not expected to destroy cultural resources, but would restore the possibility for future cultural revitalization of the site and gives the ruling of Finding of

No Significant Impact. CH2M Hill notes that restoration will be “beneficial to Hawaiian cultural practice and cultural awareness by providing a tangible connection to a culturally sacred place” (2013, p. 10-4). As of the time of this writing, Maui County had removed

50 public recreational facilities from the area, but plans are on hold until further archaeological testing is completed, and Federal funds are secured for the implementation of this restoration.

Interviews with Community Members

As noted previously, in total, eight informal interviews were conducted as a part of this research. Unfortunately, six of the Native Hawaiian participants were forced to withdraw from participation until further notice. Because I had previously worked with

CSH, I was able to choose participants partially based on my familiarity with them or people they know. I felt this would serve to make participants more comfortable in the interview process. I also deliberately chose additional participants who had taken part in several CIAs over the years. Their contact information was acquired through internet searches and some were given after participants recommended I speak with other individuals.

Interview participant Kiope Raymond is an Assistant Professor of Hawaiian and

Pacific Studies at Maui Community College. He is also President of Kilakila ´O

Haleakalā –an organization formed to protect Haleakalā from the harms of further development. During an in-person interview in August 2015, he spoke openly about the

ATST project noting that the original CIA conducted by Maxwell was inadequate. He felt that the CIA conducted in 2007 by Dagan et al. was acceptable since it accurately reflected the Hawaiian community’s overwhelming opinion that there should be no further development. As for the effectiveness of CIAs in general, Mr. Raymond stated that in his experience they had very little effect unless community members followed up

51 to make sure they were taken into account. He remarked on the fact that, in the case of

ATST, it was necessary to get the Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation involved to ensure that planners were forced to comply with legal regulations restricting further development. When asked who he thought should be reviewing recommendations made by CIAs, Mr. Raymond suggested that there should perhaps be a non-profit, unbiased party bound by certain rules to act as a watchdog. He also noted that due to the lack of restrictions on who can conduct CIAs, he felt some of the people who actually carry them out are biased toward the planners and against Native Hawaiian interests.

Ke´eaumoku Kapu is the head of cultural group Na ´Aikane o Maui. He offered his mana´o (knowledge) during an in-person interview in August 2015. As a long-time activist for Native Hawaiian rights, Mr. Kapu has participated in a large number of CIAs.

He began by noting that the County of Maui does not understand the weight of the information provided by Native Hawaiians in CIAs. He felt that CIAs are not effective enough and could only be operational if there were some Native Hawaiians in county positions. Mr. Kapu also made it known that government officials are sometimes backed by and involved with real estate and commercial developers, and therefore do not necessarliy have the interests of Native Hawaiians in mind.

More than once, Mr. Kapu stated that EISs put too much emphasis on history and not enough on ongoing traditional practices. He also noted that planners do not look at their project area’s connection with other places. This narrow focus, he believes, works to the detriment of the ´´āina, stating that the scale at which CIAs are conducted needs to be even broader than just the ahupua´a. He noted that Hawaiians see a bigger picture where everything is connected from the celestial, to other sites in the islands, to Greater

Polynesia. He lamented that what is kapu to Native Hawaiians is not recognized in U.S. law. Mr. Kapu said that he became involved with CIAs because developers and planners are not from Hawai´i, and do not understand the importance of the Hawaiian worldview.

When asked who he thought should be reviewing CIAs in the permitting process,

Mr. Kapu stated that he felt a good option would be the Native Hawaiian Caucus made from representatives from the State House and Senate. These are generally people of

Hawaiian descent. He felt that ideally, the Native Hawaiian Kingdom would return governed by original Hawaiian Kingdom laws with representatives on each island. He noted that the people in the review process should be familiar with not only the history of

Hawai´i but also the politics involved. Mr. Kapu feels strongly that planners are simply rubber-stamping the process, and feel free to do as they please once the CIA has been completed. When asked about some details about specific Hawaiian organizations and their roles in the CIA process, he stated that organizations like OHA could be a good resource, but are limited by fear that passing on too many recommendations in opposition of planners would make them prone to have some of their funding cut.

As for how Hawaiian geography and U.S. law intermesh, Mr. Kapu stated that there are many conflicts. Speaking of Mokuhinia, he said that mo´o ´aumakua

Kihawahine serves to connect Native Hawaiians to the land as the longest genealogical line for na kanaka, but religious beings do not translate into the law. Similarly, he noted that ahupua´a are how Hawaiians know the land, telling them how they are connected to it and who will know how to care for it. But, this also does not translate into other, more

Western-centric epistemologies. He says planners only care about their own agendas and collect information about Hawaiian concerns because they are required to by law.

Lastly, Mr. Kapu says that in order for CIAs to be as effective as they need to be, there needs to be the right minds at the table. He felt that it would be greatly beneficial to have a few specific sites in which CIAs were effectively used to force planners to heed the Hawaiian community’s concerns. These sites could then be used as templates for how to proceed in other cases. He says, “We (Hawaiians) always need to be involved in the process; otherwise, someone else is going to do it for us.”

Discussion

Persistent Colonialism

The breakdown of the CIA procedure occurs due to the conflict between Western and Hawaiian worldviews. As can be seen in the two telescope cases, exploratory sciences seem to brush aside indigenous concerns in order to proceed with their plans.

However, the Moku´ula restoration project reveals that, in some cases, Western sciences and indigenous sciences can come together for a common goal. Although the State of

Hawai´i has gone further than most to attempt to include the Hawaiian voice in legal procedures, it fails when colonialism surfaces in the final decision-making processes.

When Western science is in opposition to indigenous worldviews, the non-indigenous planners are able to assert their colonialist power over the colonized through rhetoric and superior social and economic sway. To engage in activities that will irreversibly change a landscape without consulting with and incorporating indigenous concerns and advice is a form of colonialism, particularly when those voices are documented due to legal requirements. Scientists and government officials have a history of doing this very thing for centuries. In the case of TMT, many proponents of the project noted that over 20

54 community meetings were held, consultation was done with the Native Hawaiian community, and Hawaiian groups and agencies were also consulted; however, none of these people note exactly what was gleaned from these meetings and consultations (UH,

2010). In her essays on nuclear colonialism on Indian land, Danielle Enders (2009, 2012) takes a critical look at public participation models for projects that will significantly impact indigenous traditional cultural practices. She notes that they are

“technocratic…are conceived of by decision-makers as a one-way transfer of information, and ultimately do not allow the public to influence the decision” (2009, p.47). She then goes on to argue that these models also determine what counts as genuine arguments, favoring what they view as scientific arguments over “social, political, and emotional arguments” (2009, p.49). As seen in the two telescope cases, these consultations and meetings are clearly viewed as a step that must be completed in order to proceed with the project. They are a box to be checked off on the to-do list on the path to “scientific progress” no matter the cost to indigenous people, and Western notions of land-use supersede Hawaiian arguments.

In fact, after an audit in 1998, the State of Hawai´i found that the University of

Hawai´i was putting exploratory scientific research ahead of the best interests of Mauna

Kea and it’s natural and cultural resources and demanded they draft a new plan to show how this would be remedied (Ghorayshi, 2015). In a similar vein, in 2012 the

Environmental Council Annual Report found that the State of Hawai´i’s “valuation methods ignore important Hawaiian values, for example, the cultural importance of some of the land use changes, in terms of traditional use or symbolism of natural resources, agriculture, natural resource management, ahupua´a, and so forth” (2012a, p. 51). When

55 discussing how the TMT project differs from past projects (telescope constructions) on

Mauna Kea’s summit, astronomer Michael Bolte pointed to the fact that, among other things, there have been consultations with Native Hawaiians saying, “Look, we made a lot of adjustments in how we do business there. But there are zero legal barriers here.

Someone standing in front of your bulldozer is not a legal issue” (Ghorayshi, 2015). This quote completely ignores the fact that Native Hawaiian voices are not heeded even when there are regulations forcing planners to collect them through legal processes. Bolte’s statement that there are no legal barriers is false. Both (HRS) Chapter 343 and Act 50,

Figure 5 - Protesters of TMT block construction vehicles on Mauna Kea (Falk, 2015) SLH state that permits are not to be approved in conservation districts where significant impact is possible to cultural and traditional properties. As was seen in both of the telescope cases, laws should have prevented permitting of those projects. However, planners found a way to get those permits despite restrictions in the law that should have

56 stopped them. Bolte’s argument serves as a clear testament to the fact that many exploratory scientists and planners would completely ignore the indigenous voices and ways of knowing and being if laws were not in place to force them to gather them.

Again, indigenous knowledge and the recommendations produced by it are brushed aside, and disregarded. In reaction, kanaka maoli are forced to resort to standing in front of construction vehicles. Clearly and unfortunately, requiring that CIAs are conducted as part of the legal procedure leading up to permitting is not enough to protect Hawaiian interests in their cultural landscapes. Government officials appear to be willing to ignore indigenous trepidations about these projects, and too many planners rubber-stamp the process, and proceed as they see fit, despite laws designed to do otherwise.

As was clearly seen in the CIAs and the participant interviews, Native Hawaiians undoubtedly see and are frustrated by the colonialist attitude of many planners, scientists, and government officials. Senator Laura Thielen gives voice to this frustration stating:

The Mauna Kea protest is about the underlying anguish over the loss of control over governance, and the failure of our current system of governance to meet commitments to cultural values. No matter what is decided about the TMT permit, that underlying anguish will not go away until some just form of redress is found. Which means we will continue to see the anguish manifest itself in project after project, year after year. Which should motivate non-Hawaiians to come to the table for a meaningful dialogue with Hawaiians on what we need to do to chart a more productive course in the future. I don’t know what just redress looks like. But rather than being afraid, we should look at the opportunities that effort may provide for a better future for Hawai´i. Most of the cultural values around land and water are supported by many people in Hawai´i. These values can perpetuate the unique beauty of our islands, the elevation of our proud cultural history, and support the productivity of our ´āina (2016).

The paternalistic infantlization of Native Hawaiians by officials acting in imperialistic ways are clearly seen in two of these cases where exploratory scientists and other officials were able to place restrictions on the ways na kanaka are allowed to practice

57 traditional rights on ceded lands –lands that were wrongfully taken from Native

Hawaiians.

The Value of Alternative Sciences

One product of colonialism is a system of classification in which the epistemologies and ontologies of the colonizers is set above those of the colonized. This classification leads to discourses that play out in systems of power and domination that negatively impact indigenous peoples (Smith, 1999). Many participants in these CIAs expressed thoughts regarding colonialism as an ongoing factor in the Hawaiian Islands.

Rightfully so, planners and scientists were often regarded as perpetrators of acting on a notion that they had the right to come into a place and act as they see fit. During one community meeting, a Ms. Kamaile Kekahua stated, “A lot of times scientists that have come to Hawai´i have tried to play exactly that role as a god, to dictate the ways that we do things instead of learning exactly from that ancient wisdom that was here prior to any kind of impact to Hawai´i” (Dagan, et al., 2007, p. 66). Smith reiterates this indigenous perspective on some Western sciences writing, “From an indigenous perspective,

Western research is more than just research that is located in a positivist tradition. It is research which brings to bear, on any study of indigenous peoples, a cultural orientation, a set of values, a different conceptualization of such things as time, space and subjectivity, different and competing theories of knowledge, highly specialized forms of language, and structures of power” (p.42). These power structures are perhaps the most relevant to this research. Again, by privileging some Western sciences over indigenous epistemologies, colonialism continues to pervade the lives of traditional Hawaiian people.

It would be considered poor science to come into a place you are not intimately familiar with and proceed with your project without first leaning on the science that has been known to others in this place for centuries. However, traditional indigenous knowledges have historically been viewed through some Western lenses as unscientific and ignored. Author David Turnbull writes of knowledge as local saying, “Knowledge is produced in contingent circumstances that are site, discipline, or culture specific” (2000, p. 93). He then goes on to note that many Western scientists use selective worldviews that serve to limit the knowledge they acquire and develop.

As an example, it would be absolutely unheard of and berated in the scientific community to attempt to implement a restoration project without first consulting with fellow scientists like hydrologists, geomorphologists, botanists, etc. Yet, far more often than not, indigenous scientists who hold vast amounts of knowledge about their world are only consulted in order to fulfill State requirements. Their knowledge and recommendations may be documented, but, as seen from this research, it is rarely implemented and/or heeded. The bias in what mainstream scientists consider as “real science” is profound and works to the detriment of not only indigenous groups, but to the scientists themselves. This research suggests that modern-day scientists and academics often completely ignore indigenous science before implementing plans that have massive impacts on the land. This speaks volumes about how persistent colonialism is in today’s

“educated” world, and how important it is to utilize indigenous knowledge. For too long, indigenous people have been dehumanized and seen as backwards and barbaric. Though this is not an openly, widely held belief among scholars now, it is evidenced when

59 indigenous people are excluded from Western scientific endeavors in places they have existed in for millennia.

Doug Herman is a Senior Geographer with the National Museum of the American

Indian who comments on the conflict between the differing worldviews with these words:

What is really at stake, however, is a conflict between two ways of knowing and being in the world. For many Native Hawaiians and other Indigenous peoples, sacredness is not merely a concept or label. It is a lived experience of oneness and connectedness with the natural and spiritual worlds. It is as common sense as believing in gravity. This experience is very much at odds with the everyday secular-humanist approach of Western thinking that emerged out of the Enlightenment, and which sees no “magic” or “enchantment” in the world. And of course, seeing nature as inert facilitates both commercial exploitation and scientific exploration (Herman, 2015). The fact that many sites are highly complex, both ecologically and because human use and needs of the land are so multifaceted, makes it difficult to interconnect colonialist

Western worldviews and indigenous worldviews. However, it is essential that Western scientists start recognizing the validity of indigenous science(s). By welcoming diverse epistemologies and ontologies as actors in the scope of Western science, benefits will be reaped by scientists, indigenous people, and the broader global community.

Perhaps the most important things traditional Hawaiians and many other indigenous ways of knowing contribute to society at large is in the fundamental principles that humans are caretakers who are part of a global system- one with the entire ecology- responsible for making wise decisions and fostering our connection to and reliance on the land. This is why the indigenous voice is of such importance. This is why we need to integrate the indigenous voice and systems of knowledge into traditional

Western scientific studies and planning. In the Hawaiian worldview, there is no distinction between cultural and natural resources. Using the example of the Tjukurpa

Aboriginal people of Australia, Palmer (2015) notes the ways in which their local knowledge ties them to the land, saying, “As one’s knowledge increased, so did Anangu responsibility for the land. Thus, caring for the land was another major tenet of Tjukurpa, not a separate concept, but one that related the ancestors and the community members with one another, or in the terminology of this research, an actor-network. Everything was related to the land” (2015, p. 19). Palmer’s idea that in indigenous worldviews, humans, the land, and the entire ecosystem are all connected stands in stark contrast to

Western worldviews. In the Western-minded worldviews, he argues human are the actors in a network where the land, plants, animals, and even often indigenous people are things to be acted upon.

Many participants in this research noted that they are not opposed to science and education. Specifically in regards to the telescope projects, they wanted it to be known and recognized that Native Hawaiians have a long legacy of superior navigation skills which requires in-depth knowledge of astronomy. However, they felt that it is not only negligent to build on the sacred mauna known to be places of the gods, but it is the pinnacle in arrogance. To purport that man is the owner of land (particularly sacred land) and can simply do with it as he sees fit, is seen as overtly irresponsible and carries negative repercussions both now and for generations to come. In addition, the argument that exploratory science with astronomical endeavors trumps conservation (e.g. indigenous) science, is frightening indeed. On some Western empirical scientists’ notion that science is the future, and religion is the past, environmental activist Kristine Kubat writes about the TMK project saying:

The power this argument has over the current debate is rather astonishing given that the most important question confounding humanity has nothing to do with what happened in space a billion years ago but what is happening on Earth, right here, right now…The notion that our collective condition will be advanced by expending an obscene amount of resources building and operating a telescope in contradiction to laws protecting the environment and our avowed goal for a sustainable future is dead wrong; truth is, the TMT is anti-ethical to solutions for the problem that vexes us most (2015).

Kubat goes on to implore for “a new breed of intelligence” that does not value one science over another. This argument is exactly why mainstream, American scientists should be including other sciences into plans for large projects that have potential to impact not just indigenous lands, but all lands. Essentially, indigenous sciences are conservation sciences that prove that at times, mysticism and religion can contribute to scientific endeavors.

The case of the Moku´ula/Mokuhinia restoration project can be used as an example of how planners can incorporate Hawaiian practices of cultural resource management. In the case of Mokuhinia many fishing families had channels through the reef (with the associated Hawaiian place names to describe them) that were maintained by the families to “provide access to canoes and boats for fishing around and beyond the reef, and to slow the velocity of fresh water as it entered the ocean at these locations to alleviate sedimentation and help more evenly distribute the nutrients contained in the fresh water” (Lee-Greig et al., 2013, p.98). Consideration of allowing Native Hawaiians to revive such practices can be beneficial to the ecosystem from mauka to makai.

Restoration scientists Clewell & Aronson support this concept saying, “Once they are restored to their previous condition, traditional cultural practices must be renewed or surrogate practices substituted as ecosystem management. A cultural ecosystem can be self-sustaining only insofar as traditional cultural practices are counted among normal

62 ecosystem functions. In other words, humans belong to ecosystems and participate in ecosystem processes” (2007, p. 8). In the CIA for Mokuhinia, participant Ke’eaumoku

Kapu advised that traditionally the waters were connected from mauka to makai, and goes on to suggest that this should be integrated into restoration plans. He notes that this would help with mosquito control as well as bringing back the natural way that was maintained by Native Hawaiians. Mr. Kapu and many other participants repeatedly noted the important connections Mokuhinia has to other places on the island(s) and how those connections work to make the entire ecosystem (including humans) healthy and balanced.

Because many restoration scientists look to restore landscapes to previous conditions while also recognizing the importance of people’s connections to these places (Jordan,

2003; Lave, 2011; Popper & Popper, 1987), they often work well with indigenous scientists if they choose to consult them. With the Mokuhinia restoration project, it remains to be seen whether the USACE will incorporate Native Hawaiian knowledge into the project. Restoration science is an ideal place for this marriage of sciences.

The importance of the Hawaiian connection to the land cannot be overstated.

That connection works in many ways to protect the land for future generations. As scientists are asked to tackle global problems like global warming and overexertion on the world’s resources, it would behoove them to use this aspect of indigenous science.

Many restoration geographers are keenly aware of the importance of this connection

(Ingram, 2016; Jordan, 2003; Lave, 2011). When a people are deeply connected to the land, they become caretakers of it. Spirituality is a large contributor to the knowledge surrounding indigenous science. While oftentimes spirituality and Western science are seen as being in direct opposition, the spirituality of Native Hawaiians contributes to

63 practical, real-world lessons on how humans should interact with their world. When

Western-minded scientists are able to incorporate these types of ideas into their own ways of knowing, they will be better equipped to make better decisions for all people.

Conclusion

In order to progress in geography and other academic disciplines, decolonization is of utmost importance. These cases in Hawai´i clearly evidence that this process is far from implementation in some exploratory sciences, while in others, like restoration science, it is already at a place where this could easily be fostered. When compared to other states, Hawai´i certainly leans more toward the progressive side of decolonization with its laws that require the indigenous voice to be documented before an EIS is given approval. However, this research brings to light the alarming notion that these processes are not enough to push planners and developers to actually consider the indigenous viewpoint in the implementation of their projects. Indigenous voices are still marginalized, and oftentimes the colonial system continues to perpetuate some Western

(particularly Western exploratory scientific) worldviews as superior to native concerns and rights. Further research may be able to shed light onto how this process can be pushed forward. Should CIAs be included under the EIS process, and would separating the two serve to give the native voice more traction? Hawai´i may be an ideal setting to really put these concepts in motion. Already in Hawai´i there are councils in existence for the sole purpose of assisting State and County agencies with input based in traditional

Hawaiian resource management. Already the State of Hawai´i is far ahead of many other places in the world with legal processes in place to protect its indigenous inhabitants. All

64 these factors and many more make it a superlative place to continue on the path that will lead to the weaving of Western and indigenous ontologies and epistemologies.

This research has the potential to lend many benefits to both indigenous groups and their allies— particularly social scientists. By altering their way of thinking about the land and human connection to it, Western-minded individuals may be able to use cases like these as a stepping off point to open up to different worldviews. A geographer who understands geography from an indigenous mindset has the potential to greatly further the decolonization of geography. This also has great potential to help applied geographers and other social scientists with the cultural preservation of indigenous spaces and practices to the benefit of all people. Thus, this research may serve as a small part of a bridge linking indigenous thought and culture with empirical and social sciences and other disciplines in order to better both parties by working as a global community with multiple worldviews in decision-making processes.

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Appendix