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As I watched the flames of the wildfires consume my beloved Maui, it felt as if the very pages from the Book of Revelations were coming alive.
Homes, sacred structures, and institutions flattened. Over 100 lives were lost, with a thousand more unaccounted for. Even the ancient 150-year-old Banyan tree, a guardian of my youth, was marred by the inferno. Each ember seemed to tell a tale, a memory, a piece of a narrative that connected countless generations.
The harrowing wildfires paired with a fierce hurricane wasn’t just a tragedy. It felt like Goddess Papahānaumoku—Earth Mother, herself—raging at humanity’s hubris. The disturbing silence left by the missing and the mourned souls tells of a disaster that’s unnatural, shaped by the human hand—a byproduct of the dangerous dance between climate change and centuries of colonial greed.
While West Maui is no stranger to wildfires, the magnitude of the blaze that tore through Lāhainā is emblematic of a changing climate. Our once-wetland haven has been transformed into a vulnerable tinderbox. Compounding the problem was Hurricane Dora—made fiercer by the warming climate—which propelled the fire further. All of this underscores a painful truth: the first and most severely impacted by the climate crisis are often indigenous, Black, brown, and low-income communities. These groups have contributed the least to climate change, but have suffered the most, and must be prioritized in our transition to a better world.
We can’t ignore the scars of history which set the stage for this disaster. Before the hotels, before Hawaii was known as a state or even a territory (and way before its illegal annexation), Lāhainā was the cradle of our civilization. It was the heart and capital of the Hawaiian Kingdom. The waters were so abundant that boats once surrounded the iconic Waiola Church….
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