Mālama Mauna: An Ethics of Care Culture and Kuleana

I don't believe in safe spaces, especially when under constant state surveillance and awaiting the return of National Guard or police forces in riot gear with loaded guns, LRAD (longe-range acoustic device) sound cannons, pepper spray, and tear gas. Instead, I strive to embody an ethics of care in the midst of chaos, and to create brave spaces. The Hale Mauna Māhū, Hale Mauna Wahine, Hale Kūkākūkā, Pu'uhuluhulu University, Hale Ho'olako, and 'Aha Kia'ialoha,¹ as well as a series of personal tents and tarps, were my efforts at home-making in the Wao Akua, in the realm of the gods that was never intended for humans. When dwelling in liminal spaces, where time stretches and the elements can sometimes support and sometimes destroy our place-making, we quickly realize we are not the ones in control. And to maintain a sense of security and sanity, we desperately need containers to hold our vulnerability, to encourage us to be fully who we are at any given messy moment, and to allow us to soften into accepting the reality of uncertainty. So how did I come to cultivate courage, deeply abiding aloha, and joyful militancy in the malu of the Mauna?

We were ready and waiting for the kāhea from Mauna Kea. Kāhea means to call, and often comes in a call and response form. As Hinakia'imauna for Haleakalā, we defended our Mauna on Maui in all four major standoffs. Alongside my partner Kahala Johnson and my sister Noelani Ahia, I was arrested after chaining myself in PVC lockboxes and laying my body down multiple times in front of big rigs to stop the transporting of Daniel K. Inouye Solar Telescope (DKIST) equipment up Haleakalā. Since Mauna Kea kia'i came to stand with us at Haleakalā, we knew we would repay their support someday. We also understood principles of place-based activism: although all Kānaka Maoli are genealogically connected to Mauna Kea, our kuleana (responsibilities, privileges) to someone else's 'āina would be to step back, not overstep.

Some of us living on O'ahu began organizing early toward self-sufficiency; by anticipating needs, we might avoid overwhelming Hawai'i island folks' requests for food, lodging, and transportation. By travelling in small affinity groups, we could look out for one another; we were set to meet Marie Alohalani Brown at Kona Airport, who would transport us and share camping resources and adventures. Kahala and I prepared our kia'i bags, worrying that we would be stopped by Honolulu airport TSA or that our checked baggage would be diverted. We needed our gear! In order to look as inconspicuous (non-kia'i) as possible, Kahala shaved his hair short and wore bright USA-flag red, white, and blue boardshorts, and I sported a peace sign T-shirt and a wide-eyed smile.² Besides bags of protein bars, jerky, trail mix, an asthma inhaler, antihistamines, vitamins, Advil PM, sunscreen, sunglasses, sleeping bags, rain jackets, beanies, gloves, hiking boots, and a small tent, we were also carrying chains, goggles, and milk of magnesium in case of tear gas, N95 masks and bandanas for pepper spray, ear plugs and large headphones to protect us from LRAD sound cannons (which Maui police had used at Haleakalā to weaponize Hawaiian language messaging against us), two-way walkie-talkies in case cell service was purposely interrupted—which it was—extra batteries for our headlamps, and a variety of power chargers for the camera-phones needed to film police interactions. We carefully packed doubles of almost everything to share, knowing our friends might not show up as prepared as we were.

We brought with us our memories of standing for our own Mauna. We had already witnessed Maui police use excessive force by thrusting their fingers up one kia'i's nose and yanking his head back while he was chanting prayers. We watched in helpless horror as Kahala's 'ohana was pushed facedown into the asphalt with his hands tangled behind his back. As he cried...