Hawaii

In 2017, Kā‘eo Izon gathered a group of 11-to-16-year-old boys in Hawai‘i to learn ulana lauhala, the art of weaving pandanus leaves. He named the group Hui ‘Ala Hīnano. For seven years, they met weekly, not just to weave, but to learn in a culturally immersive environment. This wasn’t a craft class; it was an act of cultural continuity in a state where the practice was nearly lost. The question this article investigates is not just how lauhala weaving is done, but how a practice dating back over 2,500 years is being actively rebuilt for a sustainable future, and

Mālama ʻāina is a deeply ingrained Hawaiian value. Mālama ʻāina is a deeply ingrained Hawaiian value. That sentence, from a BBC Travel feature on the word embodying the spirit of Hawaiʻi, sounds simple. But the phrase carries weight that most visitors only begin to grasp. Mālama ʻāina translates roughly as “care for the land.” In practice, it means something closer to kinship: you tend the land that tends you, and the relationship is reciprocal, not charitable. This article unpacks where that value comes from, how it shapes conservation and agriculture today, and what it asks of people who come

Hawaiian music, far from being a static collection of ukulele tunes, boasts a rich, dynamic history that mirrors the culture of Hawaii itself. From the sacred chants (oli) that connected people to their ancestors and the natural world to the contemporary sounds blending tradition with modern influences, Hawaiian music tells a story of adaptation, resilience, and enduring cultural identity. The Dawn of Sound: Oli and Hula Before the arrival of Western instruments, music in Hawaii was primarily vocal. Oli, or chants, served as the backbone of Hawaiian life. They weren’t just songs; they were prayers, historical records, genealogies, and