Doing a second update.
here in Kuiaha.
Kaneali’i Williams found documents that could prove
he’s the legal heir to this land in Hawai’i.
But up until last year,
he didn’t know it existed.
Copies of our birth certificates,
death records, marriage licenses
to show that not only am I the descendant of this person,
but that he had title to this land.
In 2021, he returned to Maui
to assert the land rights of his
great-great-great-great-great grandfather.
But as he tried to farm,
he saw that his river was dry.
After last night’s rain,
All this,
prematurely dead.
He began to document his journey
and dig for answers.
Is it really that
there’s not enough rain, or
For 150 years,
sugar plantations drained water from streams,
displacing Native Hawaiian farmers
who relied on it.
The river still has no flow.
There’s still no stream flow in the river.
So, where is Kaneali’i’s stream water now?
And how have other Native Hawaiian farmers
stood up against these sugar plantations?
As heirs to the original
title holders of the royal patent,
Kaneali’i’s documents could prove
he has something called Kuleana rights
over this land in Maui.
The rights date back to the mid-1800s
when the Hawaiian Kingdom awarded Native Hawaiians,
who are called Kānaka Maoli,
land parcels to farm on.
Kaneali’i stumbled upon a land title registered to his ancestor
when he was researching his family’s genealogy.
This is our land commission award,
royal patent that
was given to our kupuna,
our ancestor, Nalopi.
He's actually my fifth great-grandfather.
This land was given to him by the Hawaiian Kingdom government
in the 1850s.
There's a lot of these signs around Maui
of the families who are also
returning to restore their lands
and assert their right
to their 'āina, or their land.
The land remained forgotten by his family for generations.
Kuleana land titles are inherited,
even if the land is unoccupied for decades.
So in May 2021, Kaneali’i moved into a tent
to stake his claim and start farming taro,
called kalo in Hawai’i.
In Kānaka Maoli culture,
kalo is a dietary staple, and also sacred.
Their creation story begins with a kalo plant.
The loi kalos are wetland terraces,
which means that the water is actually
supposed to be inside each terrace.
It comes off the river, goes inside the loi
and then goes down, back into the river.
So, it's a very sustainable way of making sure that
the water again stays within the Ahupua'a
and we don't impact the families that
would be downstream of us
that also have rights to the water.
However, as you can see,
there's no water in our loi kalo.
His cousin Jolynn Alconcel
has been bringing him supplies.
She would also be an heir to the land.
I didn't even know he was on the island
until he contacted me and told me what
he's been doing and what his plans are.
When we first came here, I'll admit,
it was kind of overwhelming
just to see, and just to know that
this was here and we didn't even know about it.
I felt the need to help.
Kaneal’i was raised in California with his mother,
who left Maui at 18 because it was too expensive.
His mother was also unaware of the land title.
She finally had the opportunity to come home.
Even her generation didn’t know about this.
It’s a generational struggle
and it’s a generational healing as well
for our family.
I will put my life on the line for this land.
Because that is what my Kuleana is.
In the state constitution, Kānaka Maoli are guaranteed their right
to maintain cultural practices like farming taro.
This includes the right to water their crops.
So by law, Kuleana farmers have
priority water rights above all other industries.
But sugar plantations still drained streams dry,
displacing kalo farmers who relied on them.
Conditions of climate and soil make it possible
for Hawai’i to produce
large quantities of sugarcane.
Hawai’i’s economic life
depends in great part on its sugar crop.
Sugar plantations have long dominated
politics on Hawai’i,
even before it became a state.
In 1893,
a group of American sugar planters
forcibly overthrew the queen
of the Hawaiian monarchy.
They created their own government,
which advocated for the sugar industry.
In 2016,
Hawai’i’s last sugar plantation closed on Maui.
But some sugar companies diversified
into other industries
and continued to drain stream water
for private development.
A sugar company, Alexander & Baldwin (A&B),
now controls a water company
called East Maui Irrigation.
They’re still pursuing water permits.
We are on the Hana highway
and we're going to Honopou.
Honopou stream is the east farthest stream
that East Maui Irrigation
and A & B took water from.
There were no watchdogs
and they were able to put in
as many diversions as they could.
It was their aim
to get as much water as they could.
Our little piece of heaven -
which starts up the stream,
across the stream and it
goes to that grassy land over there.
And we have our own cemetery,
where my mom, my aunt and my cousin are buried.
They were in this water fight.
Kalo farmers all over Maui
were in legal battles for decades
to get their water back.
Lyn Scott is the heir to this
Kuleana land in East Maui.
For generations,
her ancestors have farmed kalo here.
But their stream flow was diverted
by a sugar plantation.
East Maui Irrigation drained
around 165 million gallons of water per day
from East Maui to irrigate sugar.
For nearly 20 years,
Lyn and her family fought Alexander & Baldwin
and East Maui Irrigation in court.
It's been my goal to see these taro patches
all in taro again.
When I was a young kid, this was all taro.
When we were in the battle,
Hawaii Tourism actually said
that the tourists come here
to see the sugarcane waving in the breeze
and that they needed the water
to send to the sugarcane
so that the tourists could come and see
the sugarcane waving in the breeze.
There were many summers
that tourists have probably came out here
and have not seen a running waterfall
because water was taken out of the streams.
It was so dry, there was no water.
It seems idiotic.
In 2018, they finally won their case
to have their streams restored.
As of today, the Honopou Stream is flowing.
But Lyn’s mother and aunt both died
before seeing the water return.
Out of four of us from this valley
that were fighting for our water rights,
I'm the only one left.
I miss them terribly.
But to see this water here -
I’m emotional again -
and to know my grandchildren,
my great-grandchildren will have this water,
they'll know the fight
and they'll keep up what needs to be done
to keep this water flowing,
that's important to me
and I think to all Hawaiians in Hawai'i,
because we're losing so much of our culture.
It's almost cultural genocide,
because people couldn't go back
to their taro patches.
There wasn't any water to go back to.
Alexander & Baldwin is still pursuing permits
to divert water from East Maui streams.
From my own thinking, it's not over yet.
They're still trying to get water from the streams.
In Central Maui,
Kuleana farmers have been battling
another sugar plantation for decades.
Love you brother.
Thank you so much for everything.
Like I said, we just have to strategize
and use the laws we have.
We’re not trying to change anybody’s law,
we just want to use the ones we have.
Crystal Smythe is a kalo farmer
and member of Hui o Nā Wai ʻEhā,
the organization that led the fight
for water in Central Maui.
The common thread between East Maui,
this is considered Central Maui and then West,
is corporate water users.
Plantation, golf courses, hotels,
swimming pools, private mansions.
Over the years, more and more of the taro water
that has appurtenant rights
has been diverted to those unpermitted users.
The state has repeatedly ruled
in favor of Hui o Nā Wai ʻEhā,
including in the Hawaii Supreme Court.
But after 20 years,
kalo farmers are still facing opposition.
More than a year ago,
Crystal found that her water source
was locked with a chain and padlock.
Our water comes from that valley
and Mr. Corporate Rancher,
for lack of a better word,
has decided to put a lock and a key
on that plantation gate.
Twelve months now
and we still don’t have our water.
All of this again would be water, like rice paddies,
but they're kalo, they're taro paddies.
Here, this is normally full of water,
going into the pipe, back to the stream.
All of this.
The order says
they're not supposed to have water,
the order says they're not supposed to sell,
but they're still doing it.
Like I said,
it's in your face. It's arrogant.
Crystal is still asking the state
to enforce her water rights.
But officials say that they face obstacles,
like staff shortages
and century-old diversion systems,
which are not easy to manipulate.
One year later, Crystal still doesn’t have water.
It's just unfortunate that we have
to constantly be badgered
about wanting to have our own food
and our own ancestral cultural knowledge.
Hōkūao Pellegrino
is the president of Hui o Nā Wai ʻEhā,
and also a kalo farmer on Kuleana lands.
His stream water has since
been restored to his family’s farm,
but he still helps advocate
for other kalo farmers.
He also teaches the next generation
about sustainable agriculture and kalo.
Now that we have water back, it's not like
this field of dreams, right?
You get water back in the stream,
you get water back in the auwai,
and all of a sudden you’re going to see
a flock of people coming to farm.
You have two, three generations
that lost this traditional practice
and the average age of a kalo farmer
is 65 and up.
Two of his interns lost their jobs in
the tourism industry during the pandemic.
But they now focus on farming,
food security and water rights.
People are realizing that we do need food
and our water is important to us.
And we need to protect our rights
because if we don't continue to use the water,
they're just going to take it away.
It's not going to be available for us.
Kaneali’i and Jolynn
are at the beginning of their journey
as they return to their Kuleana land
for the first time.
Their stream recently started flowing.
They haven’t yet proven that
their stream water was being diverted.
But they don’t trust that the water will remain.
As many kalo farmers before them have done,
they are determined to keep pushing for answers.
I'm not asking for much.
I want to be able to survive on my family's land.
My future goal is to have our family
who were pushed off of this island
to return back here.
And our kids and our children's children
to have somewhere to farm,
to show them how it used to be
and how it can still be.