Disclaimer: This essay was submitted as part of the America 250: A Republic Built on Native Land National Native Youth Essay Contest. The views and opinions expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of Native News Online, Native StoryLab, the Center for Native American Youth at the Aspen Institute, or contest sponsors.

Essay for America 250: A Republic Built on Native Land

As the United States prepares to ignite the sky with fireworks for its 250th anniversary, many in the Pae ʻĀina o Hawaiʻi will look at the horizon with a complex gaze—a reminder of the 133 years of colonization and regression since the illegal overthrow of Hawaiʻi in 1893.

For Kānaka Maoli (indigenous peoples of Hawaiʻi), the year 1776 is a distant bell that rang out the warning of a changing world. To dedicate oneself to the lāhui Hawaiʻi (the nation/people of Hawaiʻi) is to live in the tension between two realities: the “Republic” as it defines itself, and the land as it remembers us. 

As a Kānaka Maoli, a proud descendant of both enrolled citizens of the Hawaiian Kingdom and the bloodline of High Chief Kaumualiʻi, I view 1776 as a forerunner to the displacement of Hawaiʻi, its cultures, values, and language. There is a vital truth I want Nā poʻe o Amelika (the American People) to understand: the United States did not expand itself to free territories that were “ripe for the taking.” It invaded a map already filled with sophisticated, sovereign legal systems, and inhabited by people who had stewarded land for generations with complex agricultural technologies and deep moʻokūʻauhau. 

In the case of Hawaiʻi, my home, the “education” most receive overlooks the fact that the Aupuni Mōʻī o Hawaiʻi, Kingdom of Hawaiʻi, was a recognized, independent kingdom with more than 90 international treaties, including Great Britain and the United States of America. Hawaiʻi was a constitutional monarchy with a sophisticated legal system and an active, respected participant in global diplomacy.

At a time when the U.S. still grappled with its own internal divisions, the Hawaiian Kingdom had already secured formal diplomatic recognition from the world’s great powers as an independent state. During the Civil War, which pitted Americans against one another over their shared values of liberty, the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi didn’t even possess the concept of “slavery.” We were not a “primitive” people waiting for a Republic to save us; we were a peer nation to the United States, governed by laws, treaties, and a deep-seated intellectual tradition that laid the foundation of our lāhui today. By the mid-19th century, the Hawaiian Kingdom was one of the most literate nations on Earth, with a literacy rate exceeding 90%, surpassing that of the United States at the time. We were a nation of readers, writers, and thinkers, fueled by a vibrant Hawaiian-language press. 

While the American education system celebrates 250 years of progress, it fails to mention the atrocities committed against Kānaka Maoli. The tides of ʻeha and pain truly swelled in 1887 when an armed militia of businessmen forced our sovereign, King David Laʻamea Kalākaua, to sign away his executive power under the threat of violence. This paved the treacherous path for U.S. Marines to land six years later, backing an illegal coup and ultimately forcing the imprisonment of Queen Liliʻuokalani in her own palace, and for the indescribable sadness when citizens of Hawaiʻi watched in 1893 as their beloved Hae Hawaiʻi (Kingdom of Hawaiʻi Flag) was lowered and replaced with the United States of America.

The concept of manifest destiny was a ploy constructed to exploit our culture and people. We continue to feel the ongoing bastardization of our culture. Our hula turned into entertainment for malihini (foreigners); Wahi Pana (sacred sites), bulldozed for large resorts. When nearly 60% of Kānaka Maoli struggle to survive in the most expensive state in the United States, I ask: For whom was this “pursuit of happiness” intended? 

Recognizing that the United States was built on Native land while promising democratic intentions is the ultimate falsehood. It is a house that declines to acknowledge the foundation on which it was built. The principles of the U.S. Constitution, from justice, general welfare, and the blessings of liberty, are beautiful in their language. Still, they remain incomplete so long as Native land is treated as a historical footnote. Native sovereignty is not a concept of the past; it is very much present today. 

Because Kānaka Maoli do not possess the same federal tribal status as Indigenous nations on the continent, my political reality is distinctly complex. To be Kānaka Maoli with an American passport is to carry a citizenship imposed by force. It is a duality where I reside within the borders of the Republic, yet my soul remains steadfastly bound to Ke Aupuni Mōʻī o Hawaiʻi. My dream hopes for tangible restoration. It is a future where the United States fully honors our inherent right to self-determination, where stewardship of our ʻāina returns to the hands of its original caretakers, and where the laws of the Republic yield to the deep wisdom of our moʻokūʻauhau.

Tribal Sovereignty is an inherent right that predates the United States and survives despite it. Rarely is the cost of land displacement taught. For fifty years, the island of Kahoʻolawe, a sacred piko (center) of our navigation and sustained our people, was used as a target for live fire. This is the ultimate symbol of a Republic built on Native land: a nation that finds security by scarring the very earth that sustains its first people. To be Kānaka Maoli is my ihe (spear) and guide; it reminds me that, while America turns 250, my connection to Hawaiʻi, my kulāiwi (homeland) is thousands of years old. Stand tall, patriots of our ancestral homelands. We paddle on together in our pursuits of civil justice… until our dignity is restored. 

Kū ha’aheo e ku’u Hawai’i. Mamaka kaua o ku’u ‘āina. ‘O ke ehu kakahiaka o nā ‘ōiwi o Hawai’i nei. No ku’u lahui e hā’awi pau a i ola mau 

Stand tall, my Hawai’i. Band of warriors of my land. The new dawn for our people of Hawai’i is upon us. For my nation, I will give my all so that our legacy lives on

About Kamahao Halemanu

Kamahaʻo Halemanu is a Kānaka Maoli leader and advocate proudly hailing from Hilo on the Island of Hawaiʻi. A proud graduate of Kamehameha Schools Hawaiʻi, he is currently an undergraduate student at Amherst College, pursuing degrees in Indigenous Studies and Educational Studies. On campus, Kamahaʻo is highly active as a Rural Students Ambassador for the Office of Admissions, a board member of the Amherst Hawaiʻi Club, and an indigenous advocate who authored a landmark resolution supporting indigenous admissions policies.

Deeply committed to the upliftment of Hawaiʻi and its people, Kamahaʻo has been a prominent voice in student-led advocacy, speaking on issues on Hawaii News Now to highlight youth civic engagement and sustainability efforts. He is also a Pūkoʻa Fellow with the Center for Native American Youth and serves as an appointed Hawaiʻi County Commissioner under Mayor Dr. Kimo Alameda. Looking ahead, Kamahaʻo aims to leverage his background to stand on the front lines of protecting Native Hawaiian rights.