T. ILIHIA GIONSON

HŌLUALOA KAI RESIDENT, HIEHIE COMMUNICATIONS PRINCIPAL, CONGRESSWOMAN TULSI GABBARD HAWAI’I COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR & HAWAI’I ISLAND UNITED WAY CHAIR

My daughter Kawaipōmaikaʻi was carried and born during the 2018 eruption of Kīlauea, when Kona’s clear blue skies were enveloped in thick, muggy, gray vog. She was the third generation of the ʻOpihikao-rooted Kahaloa ʻohana to be carried during an eruption of Kīlauea - her mother in 1983, and her maternal grandfather in 1955. It was as if Pele’s huliau - the transformative change and creation in Puna - manifest in the family.

In an early demonstration of the strong will to come, Kawaipōmaikaʻi decided to emerge into the world before we expected her - a time of huliau for our little family, for sure. She spent some time in an incubator at Kapiʻolani Medical Center, isolated from all but those closest to her with all the precautions of cleanliness being taken.

When we brought her home to Hōlualoa Kai, we cautious first-time parents kept her indoors until the hazy gray blanket of vog was lifted to reveal bright blue skies, the likes of which some old-timers recalled hadn’t been seen in decades. We were still very conscious of cleanliness since she was born prematurely, limiting visitors and burning through hand soap and sanitizer.

Between the end of Kīlauea’s vog and the emergence of COVID-19 and a global pandemic, Kawaipōmaikaʻi grew to be a cheery, friendly, social, well-traveled baby and toddler. With business taking our ʻohana to other islands often, we joked that she already would have achieved Pualani Platinum status on Hawaiian Air if she had her own seat. So the global slowdown enacted to reduce the spread of this illness puzzled my well-traveled socialite toddler. Why haven’t we been on a plane? Why haven’t we eaten out? Why haven’t we visited family? Why are Mommy and Daddy talking to their computers so much? The return to a simpler, slower lifestyle – with the addition of video conferences – is itself a huliau.

Times of huliau, of great transition and change, are notable in that the day after is markedly different than the day before. Hawaiʻi was different the day after the battle of Kuamoʻo. Hawaiʻi was different the day after Cook landed. And indeed, Hawaiʻi will be different after the threat of COVID passes. In the quiet of the early morning, watching Hualālai light up in brilliant purples and reds, and in the still of the late night, under brilliant stars with the crashing waves of Hōlualoa Bay in the distance, I ponder what this huliau will mean for Kawaipōmaikaʻi and her contemporaries. To go back to business as usual would be a disservice to those suffering now, and a failure to which future generations should hold us accountable.

Will we rebuild an economy better and more resilient than we had before this crisis? Will we honestly work to address the inequalities and need that is heart-wrenchingly apparent in these times? Will we end our addiction to fossil fuels and power our future with clean energy? Will we ensure every family has access to broadband, the great equalizer of the 21st century? Will we put our hands, hearts, and money where our mouth is to ensure our island’s food security?

Only time will tell, but such is the nature of huliau.