Aloha Wale Mauna Kea, Aloha Wale Ku'u Po'e Hoapili Kia'i ma ke Anuanu

Abstract

Aloha Wale Mauna Kea, Aloha Wale Ku'u Po'e Hoapili Kia'i ma ke Anuanu Marie Alohalani Brown (bio) Just after sunset on July 12, 2019, leaders of the Protect Mauna Kea movement held a meeting at Spencer Beach Park on Hawai'i island with Hawaiians and supporters, at least a hundred of us, who had answered their kāhea (call). The leaders did not specify the reason behind this kāhea, but we imagined that it concerned Mauna Kea. All those present participated in the ritual to protect and guide us before the meeting began. As suspected, it was a call to action. We were told that the Royal Order of Kamehameha, the stewards of Pu'uhuluhulu, had established a pu'uhonua (refuge) at its base for us, and that we were to set up camp that night at Pu'uhonua o Pu'uhuluhulu to protect the Mauna from further desecration by holding space to prevent the equipment for the construction of the Thirty Meter Telescope (TMT) from being delivered to the summit. It was an evening filled with emotion born of aloha 'āina, determination, and hope. This was the beginning of what would become the second stand at Mauna Kea to protect it—one that would last nine months. I was there for the first five months until I became ill and needed to leave the mountain to recover. While every day of those five months was memorable and life-changing, there are a few moments that especially stand out for me. Arrival to Pu'uhonua o Pu'uhuluhulu I was part of an affinity group with Māhealani Ahia and Kahala Johnson, seasoned activists and coordinators for the recent stand to protect Haleakalā. During that stand, some kia'i (protectors) experienced police brutality—as testimonies, photos, and videos reveal. We were also aware of the horrific violence that Standing Rock protectors had experienced. We knew that this could happen. It was a somber thought, but not nearly as distressing as the thought of failing to protect Mauna Kea. When we neared Pu'uhuluhulu after buying our camping supplies early in the morning on July 13, our na'au were filled with emotion that flowed out of us in the form of tears. The Mauna was speaking to us. I had the strangest feeling—as if I was coming home to a place that I hadn't known was my home until that moment. A [End Page 581] few weeks later, I realized that I would forevermore think of my life in terms of pre- and post-Pu'uhonua o Pu'uhuluhulu. The first week was rough as I acclimated to the altitude (circa 6,600 feet) and cold. At first I shared a small tent with Māhea and Kahala, but because I didn't want to disturb them with my frequent night-time trips to the porta potties (there were only two at the time), I began sleeping in my car. Because I am very tall (6'1"), sleeping in the car was uncomfortable. Hale Ho'olako During the first few days, I helped out wherever needed—kitchen duty, porta-potty duty, recycling duty. At that time, there were thirty or so of us who were camping 24/7 at the pu'uhonua, but many others came and went, mostly to bring food and other goods. It is important to know that it wasn't the leaders who sorted out who ran what (with the exception perhaps of the logistics tent and kapu aloha kia'i). It was an organic process—kia'i attracted to certain kuleana just kept at it, and pretty soon, others recognized them as po'o (head, as in director). Because there was an overwhelming amount of donations being delivered, it became clear that someone needed to take on the responsibility of organizing and distributing them, and so I stepped up. This was the beginning of Hale Ho'olako, which I ran with the help of other kia'i. When Hale Ho'olako got its own tent, we were finally able to organize the donations. Some people began calling our tent "Kanaka Costco," which I felt didn't reflect its sacred...