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The Board of Health expanded its fire policy to Kahului's Chinatown on the island of Maui, and continued to deal with a divided Hawaiian Medical Society and a hostile Citizens' Sanitary Commission in Honolulu. Though hounded by businessmen, labor bosses, ethnic communities, and commercial interests, the physicians refused to end the emergency until Honolulu passed thirty days without a bubonic plague death, which finally happened April 30, 1900.

Health outreach for small, rural communities is often difficult and dependent on developing long-standing relationships. On the eastern side of Maui, a remote Native Hawaiian community of Hāna is the site of many health outreach programs because services are limited and outreach efforts from various Native Hawaiian health organizations are continually seeking to empower the health of Hāna. The author re-discovers Hāna in the context of her health promotion activities, and reconnects to an ancestral home. The journey reconnects her to Hāna through her initial visit and then 12 years later when she returns to initiate more significant activities. What remains consistent is the personal connections made that have endured over time enabling the work to continue and persevere based upon the foundation of trust established upon each visit.

Rituals express conflict as well as conformity; and rites of passage, by confronting their celebrants with a socially uncontrollable Wild, provide a paradigm for the mythical explorations of questing heroes such as Maui and the Navajo twins—a paradigm of radical separation from the known, perilous sojourn in an alien yet alluring liminal realm, and transformative re-incorporation into a world defamiliarized and reoriented by the heroes' triumphant return. Just as the stake of the dead in continuity of their living descendants gives ancestor worship a “future orientation,” so the seemingly static ceremonies of the ritualized Maori or Navajo actually open toward a future initiated by the heroes of old but still—like the myths that tell of their exploits and even the slowly changing rites which enact them—in the process of formation.

This chapter discusses Samuel Alexander, who was the father of Annie Montague Alexander. It begins by stating the similarities that Annie shared with him, as well as the impact his death had on her. The next section narrates the story of Samuel's life: his early childhood in Maui, his engagement to Martha Eliza Cooke, and his search for gold in California. This is followed by a discussion on his return to Hawaii, where he planted banana trees and raised sugar cane. This led Samuel to become the operations manager of a sugar plantation in Maui. At this point, the discussion introduces Henry Baldwin, who was Samuel's business partner. Together they began a sugar plantation, and soon became the largest sugar producers in Hawaii. The chapter also takes a look at Samuel's move to Oakland, California, a move that did not suit his daughter Annie.

This chapter describes a re-engagement with Hawaiian archaeology through research efforts in Kahikinui, one of the twelve ancient districts (moku) of Maui. Some might have thought Kahikinui an odd choice in which to investigate the rise of archaic states in ancient Hawai‘i, as it is considered a kua‘āina, or “backwater” district (literally “back of the land”). Yet it proved to be the right place to investigate the rise of archaic states in ancient Hawai‘i. Being ecologically marginal Kahikinui had not suffered from the effects of nineteenth- and twentieth-century land development; the archaeological landscape of an entire moku, or district, was intact. More importantly, the radical shifts in economic production, land tenure, religious organization, and social structure that accompanied the transition to archaic states would likely be reflected more clearly in such outlying kua‘āina lands than in the “salubrious core regions” frequented by the chiefs.

This chapter chronicles fieldwork focusing on the intensive dryland agriculture that had underwritten the staple economies of the emerging archaic states of Hawai‘i and Maui Islands in the centuries leading up to European contact. With a generous budget of $1.4 million granted by the National Science Foundation and a multidisciplinary team of scientists, the author set out to prove how Hawai‘i acted as a kind of “model system” for investigating linkages among population, land, intensive agriculture, and sociopolitical organization. The processes that had driven intensification and sociopolitical change in ancient Hawai‘i might be broadly applicable to many other parts of the world. In short, Hawai‘i was a microcosm of the world.

This chapter examines the ongoing fallout from the rise of the Mau in Sāmoa and New Zealand. One major development was the founding of the Mau newspaper, the Samoa Guardian in 1927 and how this publication was intended to be mouthpiece for the movement and combat the extensive conservative press coverage that supported the government. It also focuses upon the debates in the New Zealand parliament that entwined the Sāmoan present with the Māori past, especially as it connected the non-violent community of Parihaka with the Sāmoan Mau. It also outlines the main parliamentary actors, especially Labour Leader Harry Holland and Sir Māui Pōmare, both who impacted this history in considerable ways. These debates articulated many ideas about British Empire, its past and how it could operate in the new conditions of the 1920s. The discussion also centered on the history of exile and how it had been used in numerous contexts. The chapter also delves into the little known but highly significant confidential parliamentary inquiry – the Joint Samoan Petition Inquiry Committee – which held in camera hearings where Ta’isi was virtually the sole witness. This inquiry preceded a Royal Commission to be held in Sāmoa and the chapter shows how the petition inquiry was a ploy to keep Ta’isi and his legal team out of Sāmoa so they could have little influence on the more public royal commission that was orchestrated by General Richardson.

This chapter explores the immediate aftermath of the Black Saturday Massacre through the experiences of Ta’isi. Though New Zealand forces tried to stop the Mau through exiling Ta’isi and then the killing Tupua Tamasese (which may have been intended or not) the Mau continued to disrupt New Zealand’s rule. The Women’s Mau, in which Rosabel played a prominent role, also came to the fore in 1930. Administrator Allen enraged these women, Ta’isi and Sāmoans generally, when he wrote in the annual report to the League of Nations that these women were of ‘light moral character’. The crisis of the Great Depression began to impact Sāmoa and for Ta’isi personally; his enforced absence from Sāmoa began to bite into his business operations. This chapter explores the New Zealand’s part in continuing attempts to publically damage Ta’isi’s status amongst Sāmoans. It also explores the impact on Ta’isi and the Mau with the death of Sir Māui Pōmare, who had been Samoa’s staunchest supporter.

This chapter first delves into excavations at Nu‘u Bay in Kaupō, before reflecting on the author's book, How Chiefs Became Kings (2010). Kaupō, today a sleepy ranching community, was one of twelve districts (moku) of Maui's ancient kingdom. Around A.D. 1710, almost seven decades before British captain James Cook broke the sea barrier that had isolated the Hawaiian archipelago from the rest of the world, Kaupō was the royal seat of King Kekaulike. Revered to this day by Hawaiians on Maui, Kekaulike was a descendant of the great Pi‘ilani, who first unified the island kingdom around A.D. 1570. A survey on Kekaulike's life paves the way for reflections on the shift from complex chiefdom to archaic state in Hawaiian society, which is explored in the book, How Chiefs Became Kings.

Hawai`i officials understood the connection between scenic roads and tourism by the late 1800s. Scenic motor roads that provided an up-close view of nature were an early twentieth-century highway innovation. Although a multi-purpose route, the Hāna Belt Road is Hawai‘i’s foremost example of a locally developed scenic byway. Its history demonstrates the evolving reasons for its construction, which began with the premise of opening East Maui for settlement and agriculture, but ended with the concept that scenic byways were commercial enterprises designed to build tourism as a new, third “industry.” Maui's public-spirited civic leaders wanted to use scenic byways to provide access to unique landscapes and natural wonders, especially the Hāna Coast and Haleakalā Crater. Building the Hāna Belt Road through the isolated, sparsely populated East Maui wilderness was a substantial civic achievement for a remote island community and required a great commitment of financial, political, and engineering resources.

The period after annexation saw rapid industry growth. HC&S’s Puʻunēnē factory was the largest and most modern in the world, and in 1908 East Maui Irrigation was formed to deliver water to the plantation. By 1912 the industry could boast 53 sugar plantations. Improvements included widespread use of large steam plows, chemical weed control, fertilizers, and steam railways. The industry led the world in the use of biological control of insect pests. The success demonstrated by hybridizing sugarcane species and identifying superior varieties dramatically increased sugar yield per acre and total sugar production. Extensive efforts were made to reforest Hawai`i’s watersheds which were damaged primarily by unrestricted cattle grazing. After World War I gasoline and diesel tractors began to replace steam plows. Irrigation ditch systems were renovated and sealed to minimize leakage, and “Maui-type” wells tapped the fresh water aquifers under the islands. Factories installed more powerful mills, more efficient systems to clarify and concentrate juice, and improved centrifuges to separate sugar crystals from molasses. By the early twentieth century Hawaii was among the most technically advanced sugar industries in the world. But Japanese labor unrest caused the HSPA to recruit Filipino immigrants, and plantations began to employ contractors for field operations.

This chapter begins with a discussion of the history of archaeology in Hawaii and its links to the Bernice Pauahi Bishop Museum. It then presents the author’s account of his fieldwork on Maui in the summer of 1966 while he was a sophomore at Punahou School. The Bishop Museum had received a three-year grant from the U.S. National Science Foundation for a program of archaeological research in Hawaii. One objective of this program was a settlement-pattern survey of Kahikinui. As part of the two-man surveying team for the project, the author was tasked with precisely mapping sites located by others, along with the topography. For short intervals during the mapping, his group also took time out to dig in a few sites which yielded several artifacts.

This chapter presents the author’s account of returning to Kahikinui nearly thirty years after he spent the summer of 1966 mapping archaeological sites. With thirty years of experience behind him, the author realized that the pioneering settlement-pattern data collected in 1966 would provide a good starting point. But to answer many of the questions swirling in his head required a new research effort, to build on that foundation. They needed to not just recheck the original data but to add substantially to it. There were big gaps in the 1966 survey—a large piece of the uplands of Kīpapa as well as most of the intermediate zone between the uplands and the coastal strip would need to be surveyed. To understand how the ancient Hawaiians had adapted to this lava landscape would require filling in these gaps.

This chapter describes the formation of the Kahikinui landscape. The land of Kahikinui was formed of endless lava outpourings that cascaded for tens of thousands of years from the craters and cinder cones that gash and dimple the slopes of Haleakalā. More than anything, Kahikinui is a land of lava, congealed after the fiery flows scorched everything in their path. Far from being monotonous, Kahikinui exhibits significant differences between its older eastern and younger western regions. These differences reflect a quarter of a million years of geological time over which Pele sent down countless lava flows. Meanwhile the inexorable forces of wind and water simultaneously transformed the ʻaʻā and pāhoehoe surfaces into landscapes that the Polynesian colonizers of Kahikinui were to inhabit and farm.

For Native workers returning to Hawaiʻi in the second half of the nineteenth century, they found an almost unrecognizable economy and environment. Following the Māhele, Euro-American settlers had made Hawaiʻi their home and were intent on reorganizing labor and land to serve global capitalism. Chapter six examines the rise of the sugar plantation system in Hawaiʻi, and how Hawaiʻi’s sugar history—so often linked with histories of U.S. empire—was actually part of the same trans-Pacific story of oceanic industrialization through sandalwooding, whaling, guano mining, and gold mining. But the new migrant workers at this time were not Hawaiian “kanakas,” they were Chinese “coolies.” George Beckwith’s plantation at Haʻikū, Maui, is used as a case study for exploring the intersections and entanglements of Hawaiian and Chinese labor in this period. By 1880, Chinese and other non-Natives outnumbered Hawaiian workers in the sugar industry, and across the Pacific World the collapse of extractive industries such as whaling, guano mining, and gold mining left Hawaiʻi’s diasporic working class disjointed and disempowered. The end result was the dismemberment of the Hawaiian working class.

As noted toward the end of the previous chapter, the very existence of collective values or citizen interests adds to doubts that privatizing federal lands would better satisfy our desires. But it may also be argued that we are better for having such concerns and, accordingly, that privatization would not be in our interest, inasmuch as it would eliminate opportunities for developing them. Joseph Sax observes that “at a moral and ethical level, collective values can be judged just as personal preferences can be,” though he refrains from judging them. In discussing the desire to be a part of some larger enterprise, he speaks the language of social psychology, not ethics: “there is a great deal of evidence to suggest that one of our strongest urges is to identify ourselves with a source of moral or communal authority, and to subordinate our autonomy to it; that we draw strength from values external to our purely personal convictions; and that we draw values from collective solidarity.” Yet Sax clearly thinks that instead of denying this part of “human nature,” we should arrange for its constructive fulfillment. And he evidently thinks that giving people the opportunity to join with others of like mind and debate the use of public lands in a broadly democratic system does so. Mark Sagoff’s views are similar: other things equal, it's good for people to develop and pursue common ends. As something of a Kantian, he thinks of communal action as at once constrained and called for by respect for persons. The constraint is partially embodied in certain basic rights that communal action must not violate; for example, death threats made by Idaho ranchers against USFS personnel in a controversy over grazing are clearly out of bounds. But Sagoff would argue that respect for persons demands more than merely securing the person and other property of each individual. For it is in the roles they assume that individuals develop the interests and values that give them a sense of who they are, that define them as persons, that give direction and purpose to their lives.