'Ane Halapohe: Endangered

He Hawai'i au. He 'ane halapohe no ho'i au.
I am Hawaiian. I am endangered.


'Ane Halapohe. Endangered. It's hard to fathom just what endangered means until you're staring at the proof. Even though it was four months ago, our visit to Keauhou Mauka still lingers with me. I recently vacationed in the mountains of North Carolina and I had several experiences that brought home to me just what it means to be endangered.

I felt like something of an oddity or an attraction of sorts by virtue of where I come from. The few people I met were fascinated by the fact that I'm Hawaiian, and that made me simultaneously proud and depressed. It's hard to represent your people when you're on your own, without another person there who just 'gets' it when you want to say something. There were several instances when I'd experience something, and there wasn't anyone else there to share that moment with me.

I wore my Pualeilikolehua hooded sweatshirt on the plane over, my Keahihanakahi scarf when I went to the Mount Pisgah Inn, I had my Le'ie Hualalai blouse to wear to dinner one night.... I made it a point to educate people to just what these designs meant, not only to our culture, but to me personally. It was carrying a piece of home around with me everywhere I went.

Asheville is a beautiful place, and I was there during what they call "leaf season", what we'd think of as autumn or fall. We don't get to experience the changing of the seasons in such a dramatic fashion, and I think they're very lucky that they get to see these sorts of things every year. While I was there, my friend took me to a nature conservancy center, and it reminded me strongly of home.

We walked around and looked at animals that are native to her home: river otters, golden eagles, raccoons, white wolves, red foxes. It was fun, and I took lots of pictures. And then the surreal moments began to hit. There we were, looking at these animals in (for lack of a better word) a zoo-like setting. And in the trees, in the parking lot, everywhere around us were crows. They're a bit of a nuisance, evidently. They travel in flocks, the noise they make toward twilight as they gather in trees can only be described as a cacophony. And yet they were crows.



That 'eha (hurt) I felt the day we saw the 'alala at the Keauhou Bird Conservation Center had nothing on what I felt when I first came across the American crows. There they were flying wild and free, while at home, the few survivors we have left are forced to dwell behind cages. This is for their safety, too, to protect them from predators and disease. I followed the birds with my eyes everywhere I went, and each day, the sadness grew.

These are pictures of what the 'alala's existence is like today, and for the foreseeable future. Are we going to let their future, let the future of other endangered species end up the same way?


One of the habitats the birds live in. It's not much more than forty feet long -- hardly room enough for them to really stretch their wings and exercise.




These two 'alala were kept in adjoining, but separate cages because they were strangers and there was the fear that they might attack one another if allowed to mingle. The one on the left was a male and the one on the right a female. The hope is that they will eventually relax enough to perhaps become a breeding pair.




You can see that the wall is painted with a bit of a forest scene here, perhaps to make the habitat more friendly.




These birds' day to day existence goes on behind these caged walls. This is for their safety, too. The fanciful part of me thinks that they probably grow depressed after a time. The 'alala is a gregarious, social animal by nature, and its days are spent in solitary most of the time. Very sad.




Their lives are observed from behind one-sided glass. This is the room we got to see them from.




Even their reproductive behavior is monitored. Some of the birds don't know how to behave with their eggs or hatchlings, so they are closely monitored to try and ensure the best survival rate among new birds.


The hatchling below was a three-day old Puaiohi, a native Kaua'i Thrush, and one of the Conservation Center's ongoing projects. They too are critically endangered, though they've had some success in being reintroduced in the wild. The 'alala doesn't even have that.




Another moment came when I was visiting the glass conservatory at the Biltmore estate. This hothouse was home to plants that made me think of home. There were tree ferns, orchids, plumeria, pineapple -- all the sorts of plants we take for granted as just being part of our landscape here in the islands. And then I saw a plant being lovingly tended and it made me ill: miconia.

Miconia is a fast-growing weedy tree from South and Central America and it has been invading Hawai'i's forests for years now. They grow in both sunlight and full shade, and block out native forest plants and species. It's done the same in Tahiti, where it is estimated a full 25% of their natives are endangered because of the miconia's influence. And there it was in all its glory in that hot house. I wanted to kill it!

Why? That's the question I continually come back to. Why do we do this to nature, to our brothers and sisters, our ancestors as taught to us by the Kumulipo? Why? Our ancestors lived in harmony with the 'aina, respected that which was there, and learned to conserve, to malama, so that we all could live together. Why did we let that way of life fall by the wayside? And what are we going to do about it?