Hope & Justice

HOPE

Our mission is to plant ourselves at the gates of hope—not the prudent gates of Optimism, which are somewhat narrower; nor the stalwart, boring gates of Common Sense; nor the strident gates of Self-Righteousness, which creak on shrill and angry hinges (people cannot hear us there; they cannot pass through); nor the cheerful, flimsy garden gate of “Everything is Gonna Be All Right.”  But a different, sometimes lonely place, of truth-telling about your own soul first of all and its condition, the place of resistance and defiance, from which you see the world both as it is and as it could be, as it will be; the place from which you glimpse not only struggle but joy in the struggle.  And we stand there, beckoning and calling, telling people what we are seeing, asking them what they see.

—Victoria Safford, shared often by Aunty Pua

Aunty Pua shared with us what she learned from Aunty Pilahi Paki: The deepest layer of pono is hope. According to the aunties, there are layers to pono.  First we have justice and fairness, then we get to equity. If we’re on a seesaw, and we are different sizes, we would need different weights in order to balance the seesaw. It isn’t just two for me and two for you, it’s deeper than that.  Equity acknowledges that in order to even the odds, some folks need less, and others need more.  Once you get through all of that, through equity, the deepest layer of pono, another translation of pono, is hope.  

I saw an Instagram post today by @adamkeawe, whom I don’t know but admire (you should follow them!), and they posted a photo of an old invitation from 1890 inviting folks to the Lā Ho‘iho‘i Ea celebration at ‘Iolani Palace. The translation of ua mau ke ea o ka ‘āina i ka pono in the invite reads: “The life of the land is sustained in justice.” This is a different take than the common translation, which speaks of the life of the land being perpetuated in righteousness.  

Aunty Pua often tied her stories of pono to thinking about ‘āina—“ua mau ke ea o ka ‘āina…” She would ask us: “Who speaks for the trees?” What sustains the ea of the land? What about kākou, all of us, which includes the non-two legged creatures—the rocks the trees, water, the air we breathe? Although she breaks it down to hope, and the King broke it down to justice, the kaona or deeper meaning feels similar. We need all of these things for a thriving lāhui, a thriving Hawai‘i, a thriving world. It’s hard to find hope if you are suffering, oppressed, lacking justice. The context the king was in during that time, justice was critical for the kingdom and justice ended up not serving our ali‘i and our nation. It seems that justice is subjective depending on who has taken the reigns, those who control the land at the time.

Coming out of wonderful celebrations of ea, sovereignty, self-efficacy, breath, and community power this past month, I’m so heartened by what I’ve seen all over. I’ve been to Maui, Hawai‘i Island, Kaua‘i. Folks are planting, reclaiming land, learning about their histories, processing their trauma and lives, growing together, planning, mapping, discovering kīpuka—oases of rare members of kākou (like kāhuli!), resisting and being resilient, showing up for one another, taking each other in, writing each other poetry, feeding each other delicious food from ‘āina, working hard together to create bright futures for the next generation. Ea in Hawai‘i is active, alive, sparking. Ea is individual and collective.

It seems like we can’t control or affect what is happening in other places. Sometimes this makes me feel a lot of grief. However, every day we have choices in how we show up for ourselves individually, and for our people as a collective. We have choices in how we spend our time and our money. We reach towards equity in how we share resources, power, time, energy, advocacy. And even if it’s going to take us a long time, and even though the world feels crazy and out of control, I appreciate these small and large acts within our lāhui and beyond that take care, that re-member our communities. That feels like justice, and that feels like hope.

What is bringing you hope these days? Do you celebrate Lā Ho‘iho‘i Ea? What helps you feel a greater sense of self-efficacy? Who are the people you turn to when you need support? If you ever feel like you’re disintegrating, what brings you back?

Sending you grounding, peace and aloha; sending you clarity, breath, and support.

Mahalo nui,

Dawn 

Photo taken 7/24/25 at Magic Island