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I AM A FARMER U‘ILANI ARASATO You should stop and listen, the ‘äina is trying to speak. Screaming for a voice to be heard over planning and development: can you hear it? Building blocks stacked on rich soils from the works of our küpuna before us, dirt-stained hands embedded into the creases of our ‘äina: can you feel it? Overturned lifestyles and agreements between Ali‘i and Maka‘äinana as promised to work the land for generations to come, but you see, where is our land? Farmers that fight for the right to produce food for you. See, I am a farmer, holding strength and determination in my left hand, a pick and a pen in my right; while love, respect, and the willingness to work reside in my heart. You see, I am a farmer. Concrete mixes bury my boots as I stand here and fight, what about us? See, 100 new jobs that they put in our visions even though they know we would never be able to reach them. Potential drained bodies wait for answers as promises are being broken by people who don’t even know my first name. By people who don’t bother to stick around to hear what I have to say. Money-hungry monsters rip their claws of envy into our ‘äina, blindly leading us into a deep bucket with all the other ‘A‘ama crabs trying to fight their way out. Arasato, I am a Farmer 69 With no guarantee of our future or a lifeline to help pull us out, what is the point? They say this is my future, then why is it so dark? Causing chaos upon chaos at intersecting roads that can never be re-routed. Causing inconveniences to us while you convenience other people. Spending money we don’t have on things we don’t need. Why? Do you say that the youth can’t be farmers even as we picket outside your homes, screaming that we are here. Learning like our küpuna. We’re trying. Instilling values that we partake of in our everyday lives, handing us an education that we alone would never be able to afford. See, I’m just trying to make it out like everyone else, but still. With your signatures and forced handshakes you ignore our hard work, as we struggle, striving for a better tomorrow for our children and our children’s children. I hope that one day my children will be able to see all of this . . . but how? When soon the ‘Äina will be covered in concrete. See, this will never cease to exist. But luckily, like my küpuna, I know this . . . When I plan for a year I’ll plant Kalo. When I plan for ten I’ll plant Koa. But if I’m planning for a hundred or more years then I’ll teach my keiki how to Mälama ‘äina, and in return the ‘äina will take care of them. So if you ever find time between your busy schedules, stop. Try and listen because I promise that you can hear it as it is trying to speak to you. So push aside your signatures and forced handshakes, and listen to me. My name is U‘ilani Hideko Kalawe O Kou Ola Ana Kokaua Pulama Arasato. I am a Farmer. Who Are You? ...

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