Fruits of Resistance:
Hawai`i Islanders Stop Oji Paper ltd.
By Ira Rohter
Printed in the journal Social Processes in Hawai`i, Spring 2001
Average citizens overcome political bosses'
plan to establish pulptree plantations;
marching towards a more democratic political-economy.
Although the worldwide expansion of global
capitalism is a hot topic, the Hawaiian Islands came under the influence of
offshore capital interests soon after 1779, when Captain James Cook of the
British navy sailed into Kealekekua Bay.
Since then — from the sandalwood trade in the early 1800s, to the
provisioning of traders and whaling fleets in the mid-1800s, to the era of sugar
and pineapple plantations, and after WWII the growth of the tourism industry —
Hawai`i's economy has been primarily oriented to
satisfying foreign markets [Kent, 1983].
Hawai`i provides a classic example of dependency:
* Its economy is heavily export oriented, not
self-reliant, balanced, or diversified (today: tourism and military spending);
* Its major economic sectors are controlled
by foreign-owned corporations;
* Its class structure is sharply stratified;
* Its political institutions and processes
disproportionately benefit a ruling élite linked to global capital.
Beginning in the 1830s, the growth of sugar
and pineapple plantations spawned a small group of Isle Barons — the Big Five —
who dominated all facets of the economy and politics. In
1896 they literally overthrew the Kingdom of Hawai`i government and soon annexed the Islands to
the United States. Although a
Democratic Party-led regime captured political power in the mid-1950s, its
officeholders worked closely with large landowners, banks, and construction
companies. They all found they could
profit greatly by cooperating with major corporations from all over the world
who began buying up large chunks of Hawai`i land and businesses to promote
international tourism and land development.
The top-down centralized plantation political system merely morphed into
a quasi-democratic variant.
the oji lease: a "done deal." So,
in 1997, when some 10,000 acres of government-owned prime agricultural lands
became available on the Hamakua coast of Hawai`i Island, few people were
surprised that Mayor Stephen Yamashiro wanted to lease the land (at a super
cut-rate price) for 55 years to his old business associates — Oji Paper
Ltd. of Japan. Also typically, Governor Cayetano later met
in O`ahu with executives from Oji Paper Company Ltd. and Marubeni Corporation,
and enthusiastically agreed to rent them State lands and aggressively push
State agencies to approve the project [Gillingham, 1997]. Though the pulpwood tree project would
actually cost the State more to administer than it would produce in income,
create few jobs and benefits for local businesses, and was environmentally
destructive, everyone thought that because it was support by two exceedingly
powerful politicians — the Big Island's Mayor and the Governor — it was a
"done deal."
Surprisingly, in November of 1997, an
important component of the bureaucratic system — the State Board of Land and
Natural Resources — unanimously rejected the plan to lease 4,400 acres of State
lands to Oji Paper Ltd.
This was an extraordinary victory for local residents
who had taken on the combined might of the State and County
administrations. This essay examines
the question: "Why did Hamakua's residents win?," and argues it
portends the emergence of a more democratic politics on Hawai`i Island and
hopefully, in all of Hawai`i.
The Land Board's on-the-surface answer that
the community "didn't want the Oji project" ignores the fact that
State agencies usually disregard the wishes of ordinary Big Islanders. The deeper answer to the "What's happening
here?" question is that the plantation-era system of political control is
breaking down on Hawai`i Island. Old
attitudes are changing among locally-born residents, and new people have moved
in who are willing to speak out. Local
organizers were helped by experienced activists from their own island, and
received information and assistance from sophisticated environmental activists
based in Honolulu, the U.S. Mainland,
and Japan. Also, government
decision-making processes are being opened up to public scrutiny, and allow
greater public participation and legal intervention. Finally, a few recently-elected Councilmembers are playing
significant roles in leading the Big Island in a more democratic / green direction.
Unlike in the past, when political docility
reigned, hundreds of Hamakua and North Hilo residents turned out at a series of
public meetings, over nine months, to resist the Mayor's and State's
plans. Slowly, three themes emerged. First, many Big Islanders overwhelmingly
rejected the idea of recreating another 19th century-type plantation system,
this time one owned by one of Japan's largest conglomerates, who intended to
grow low-value pulpwood trees and employ only a small number of residents.
Second, residents developed an alternative
vision for their future. They wanted
the thousands of acres of former Hamakua Sugar land to be rented out to local
businesses and farmers, to create diversified agriculture, family farms,
ranches, and high-value hardwood forests that could supply profitable building,
furniture, and crafts materials.
Instead of growing a cheap export crop, with most profits going to
outsiders, Big Islanders wanted to control their own economic destiny.
Three, ordinary citizens showed they no
longer would passively accept commands from the top down. They wanted instead more open and responsive
government, with more participation in decisions that affect them. Breaking political subservience is thus
another important message of the Hamakua story.
This
success story ties into profound changes taking place in Hawai`i itself and, in a world being overrun by
global capital institutions and ideology, illustrates how local communities can
set their own parameters for economic development. Organizing successful political resistance in a neocolonial state
requires a sophisticated analysis of the situation, great political organizing
skills and dedication, and a population ready for change. These elements came powerfully together on Hawai`i
Island in 1997.
When Mayor Yamashiro carried out his own
private negotiations with Oji Paper (and no other company) to lease County
lands, he followed a pattern common among Island élites. For two years, Mayor Yamashiro repeatedly
refused to lease former Hamakua Sugar land to local farmers. It didn't vex him that he had a direct
business relationship with Oji Paper going back to the 1970s, nor that he
out-of-hand rejected a much better proposal by New Zealand forestry company Fletcher-Challenge
to create a diversified wood products industry [Christopher, 1997].
That Governor Cayetano would gladly meet with
Oji's executives, while refusing to meet with Hamakua Community Association
representatives, and that he and State agencies had pushed the pulptree
plantation scheme without meaningfully consulting with members of the County
Council or affected communities, is likewise standard practice in what some
have called a "Banana Republic."
Hawai`i,
though a part of the United States, is struggling to overcome its neocolonial
roots. For generations Hawai`i Island (or Big Island as it is popularly
called) has been led by a small political clique. First, there was the Monarchy, whose Hawaiian ali`i
(nobles) were strongly influenced by haole missionaries and merchants. During the reign of Big Sugar (from the
mid-1850s on), the plantation owners ran the islands in tandem with their
political appointees and loyal officeholders.
Even after World War II, when the labor unions gained considerable
power, labor leaders worked in league with the plantation owners, who sought to
keep their taxes low, avoid environmental regulations, and control the local
economy. With the decline of sugar and
advent of tourism, the making-money game switched to resort and urban development.
As the 518 page book Land and Power in
Hawai`i: The Democratic Years documents, the politically well-connected on
all the islands worked comfortably together and prospered mutually [Copper and
Daws, 1985]. On the rural islands
especially, a small clique made up of elected officeholders, their appointees
to government posts, their close advisors and friends, in tandem with
investors, real estate developers, bankers, and construction industry members,
pretty much ran County governments as their own mini-principalities. Government agencies and commissions (such as
the State Land Use Commission and county planning boards) were staffed with
loyal appointees willing to approve nearly every project that promised jobs, no
matter what their impacts might be on the environment, local community, or
Hawaiian rights.
The
present élite retains the mindset of the plantation era, and accept as normal
an economy that is dominated by a few large companies. They have consistently sought, with the
support of friendly State officials, to attract big offshore investors to build
large-scale tourism, urban development, and industrial projects in undeveloped
areas [McNaire, 1998c]. But because of
major demographic and economic changes, these kinds of projects have been
increasing challenged by an aroused public.
The plantations have closed, and no strong
business leaders have replaced the old sugar bosses. Union membership rolls have dwindled and labor's visionary
leaders have died off. Among locally-born
residents, the younger generation is more educated and less seeped in
plantation docility than their parents.
Many newcomers — many of them from the U.S. Continent — have settled in Kona, Hawi, Waimea, and Ka`u, and
started to standup for the environment and their rights.
One
result of these changes was a number of anti-development skirmishes being
fought all over the island — and especially in the Kona resort area. Again and again community members opposed
golf courses, luxury condominiums and homes, and hotels and resorts being sited
on nearby pristine areas and beaches.
But two huge battles erupted in the rural Puna-Ka`ű area in the late
1980s, lasting for several years, that launched a whole new level of organized
citizen activism. The first was over
siteing a frequently malfunctioning and health-threatening geothermal energy
plant set right in the midst of a Puna subdivision. The second confrontation was over the State's efforts to
construct a giant missile launching complex — the "Big Island
Spaceport" — in Ka`u.
Beginning in the later Seventies, angry
residents and native Hawaiian groups have fought against building a geothermal
power plant in Puna [Keyser, 1999]. It
became a training ground for activists.
Even today the battle still rages, and recent events well illustrates
the typical dynamics of citizen-led resistance.
Puna Geothermal Venture (PGV) has drilled
several wells to tap energy for electrical power generation from reservoirs of
hot, pressurized brine in Kilauea's East Rift Zone. But there have been endless problems with the wells, and there
have been demonstrations, arrests, trials, and contested case hearings,
especially in the early Nineties. Most
recently, in April of 1999, between 150 and 200 Puna residents attended a six
hour hearing called by the Department of Health and the federal Environmental
Protection Agency to review — yet again — permits for the troubled geothermal
plant. It was a familiar scene on the
Big Island, yet another angry group of residents testifying overwhelmingly
against an intrusive project being built next to their homes by an impersonal
distant corporation, with the support of their own government officials.
Over 40 people spoke at this recent
meeting. Only a handful from business
and labor organizations, or with direct financial ties to the company, spoke in
favor of Puna Geothermal Venture's operation.
They emphasized that the geothermal plant supplies one fourth of the
island's electricity, and reduced the environmental effects arising from
burning millions of barrels of oil normally used to run generators. They repeatedly called PGV's operation
"safe" and "economical."
But the vast majority of speakers bitterly
opposed the plant's operation, contending that it is not safe, and that "they
were paying for the island's electricity with their own damaged lives."
Several residents, both men and women, were
in tears as they testified of being spattered with caustic chemicals, breathing
toxic gases, and enduring a twenty-four-hour barrage of airport-level
noise. Nurserymen testified of plants
dying and vegetation coated with caustic dust; homeowners told of being unable
even to sell their homes and move away.
Most expressed despair that the county or state would ever provide them
with any relief, and accused officials of a long litany of broken promises and
betrayals. Some openly called for a
criminal investigation of some government officials involved. [McNarie, 1998b]
PGV wells tapping energy from reservoirs of
hot, pressurized brine have already suffered two "blowouts" - major
explosive releases of steam and volcanic gases, including highly toxic hydrogen
sulfide gas. And many "incidents"
went officially unnoted.
Numerous residents reported burning eyes,
headaches and nausea after smelling noxious fumes from the plant. Many linked those episodes to long-term
health problems. . .
State officials previously had dismissed such accounts as
anecdotal. But residents are now citing
mounting statistical evidence that they're right. . . .
Preliminary findings by a University of Texas study also show positive
correlations between exposure to geothermal gases and multiple health
problems. [McNaire, 1998b.]
Because the plant is built in a geologically
unstable area, residents also fear the PGV's reinjection wells will contaminate
the island's underground drinking water.
These wells return the hot brine, along with various chemicals added
during the generation process, to the underground reservoir. Wells can, and do, breach their protective
liners. PGV has admitted to at least
one incident of an existing well suffering a perforated liner. Neighbors believe other breaches have
occurred, but gone unreported.
Residents also worry that their catchment drinking water may be
contaminated from "sulfur compounds released in geothermal steam, and
from caustic soda, used to neutralize acid in the steam."
Most politically telling, was the fact that
dozens of Puna residents pleaded with federal Environmental Protection Agency
officials to protect them from their own county and state governments. PGV and government officials work in
cahoots to subvert health regulations, they claim.
Residents spoke with special bitterness
against three government officials: [Department of Health] Bruce Anderson, whom
several testifiers accused of "lying" about the safety of the plant
and making disparaging remarks about the community; Barry Mizuno, a former
health official who left government and immediately became a PGV employee; and
Mayor Stephen Yamashiro, PGV's former attorney. When residents had complained that the county was breaking a
binding arbitration agreement over the plant, Yamashiro reportedly told them,
"So sue me." [McNarie, 1998b]
Despite all of this, as usual Puna Geothermal
Venture and the State got their permits from the EPA a few months later.
The
battle over a proposed missile launching complex was another training ground
for citizen activists in their war against an anti-democratic government. In their hunger for development during the
late 1980s, Governor John Waihe`e and a few Big Island corporate executives
vigorously promoted building a huge missile facility and theme park in the
semi-rural district of Ka`ű, adjacent to Volcanos National Park. They spoke glowingly of thousands of jobs
being created — though in fact virtually all the jobs for residents would be
low-paying ones in a nearby Disneyland-type Space Park they said would attract
1-2 million visitors annually. But the
project's economic viability was so highly questionable that not one commercial
investor or operator could be enticed to invest in the project. This was despite $7 million spent by the
State over six years promoting the Spaceport scheme, with many more millions of
economic incentives promised [Davis and Rohter, 1993].
The community's widespread hostility to the
undertaking was fueled by insurmountable questions about environmental impacts,
along with the troubling social impacts this huge industrial complex would have
had on the semi-rural Ka`u district [Rohter, 1993]. Government officials, as usual, ignored these protests.
Most residents preferred small-scale economic
diversification instead. A community
planning initiative envisioned a post-sugar era economy based on Ka`u's natural
assets. The new multidimensional economy would emphasize
sustainable agriculture and
processing cooperatives. It would also
have a strong cultural tourism component.
Visitors interested in the area's historical past would be drawn to a
plantation village built around a refurbished Ka`u Sugar Plantation; they could
stay in locally-owned small inns and Bed & Breakfasts. Educationally-oriented Hawaiian cultural
sites based on old villages, temples, trails, and agriculture sites found in
the Ka`u and South Point areas, and crafts, woodworking, and Hawaiian handarts,
would attract visitors interested in more than surf, sun, and glittzy
golfcourses.
Coalitions emerged, and by 1993 an
anti-Spaceport alliance made up of the Hawai`i Green Party, Life of the Land,
Informational Network for the Spaceport, Common Cause Hawai`i, Ka Lahui
Hawai`i, Big Island Sierra Club, and many other community groups, put major
pressure on the Legislature, Council, and the new Governor to kill it [Rohter,
1993a]. On this issue, they succeeded.
The Old Guard refuses to acknowledge that
their pet projects evoke widespread opposition because:
* they benefit a small economic élite much
more than average citizens;
* they do grave harm to local communities,
the environment, and Hawaiian rights;
* much better economic opportunities are
desired, and feasible, that will benefit local businesses and average citizens
more;
* a large number of citizens want their views
heard and respected by decision-makers.
This activism, and changing demographics,
have been slowly yielding a new politics on the Big Island. Non-machine connected office holders began
being elected. In 1990 the County
Council contained nine Democrats, eight of whom were loyal to the Old Guard's
agenda that favored land development and tourism facilities built by
multinational corporations. In 1992,
under a new vote-by-district scheme, a disgruntled liberal Democrat running as
a Green was elected councilwomen in the Ka`ű district, along with two
Republicans from the Kona area. By 1995
the Council consisted of four Democrats, four Republicans, and the Green, who
was now Chair. In 1996, Green Party
challenger Keiko Bonk lost her bid to upset the incumbent Mayor Stephen
Yamashiro by only 3,148 votes. He
outspent her four-to-one.
opening up backroom deals. Government
was beginning to be more open. In the
good old days, decisions were made at the County Office Building without much
public notice or debate. The Mayor,
Council members, and State legislators, worked out mutually beneficial land
deals with the business community, large landowners, labor leaders, and
developers. Today, to the distress of
insiders, sunshine laws are being enforced that require more open
government. Government information once
kept secret is now being released for public scrutiny. Public hearings — some even televised —
allow opportunities for questions and critical testimony. Activists are uncovering and publicizing
information about decision-makers' conflict of interests as they vote on
matters affecting their large campaign contributors or business
associates. More than ever, the public
is observing first-hand their elected officeholders or commission-appointees
making policies.
Community associations and coalitions made up
of ordinary citizens are also demanding that their views be taken seriously in
the making all kind of decisions that affect their communities, especially
zoning changes and development plans.
They have gone to court, and won, in their demands to have more
accessible policy making processes [Clark, 1998].
The now famous PASH Hawai`i Supreme Court
ruling, for example, began with a suit filed by a Big Island citizens' group
against County planning officials, who had refused to properly consider native
Hawaiian access rights in granting a permit to build an oceanside resort. In December of 1998 a citizen suit prompted
the Circuit Court to rule that the County Council intentionally violated state
law when it pushed through revised zoning law changes in 1996, without allowing
proper public participation.
It was within this context that the residents
of the Hamakua-North Hilo region — the Democratic machine's most stalwart
voters — began to challenge the machinations of Mayor Yamashiro's plans to
promote more pulptree plantations on Hawai`i Island. The initiating incidents were the repeated spraying and smoke
drifting over adults and children by a company owned by Prudential Insurance
Company, who was clearing the former sugar lands by repeatedly spraying
herbicides from planes and burning rubbish vegetation. Prudential (doing business as Hamakua
Timber) was renting privately-owned Hamakua lands to grow eucalyptus trees for
chip wood.
Residents complained of "unprecedented
numbers of acute illness, upper respiratory aliments, unusual and unexplained
symptoms, and many lost work days." Local physicians verified these
charges. As usual, the State's
Departments of Health and Agriculture — based in Honolulu — were unresponsive
to the complaints. But not as usual,
people did not shut up. Meetings were
organized. Over 1,500 signatures were
collected by a grassroots group, Friends of Hamakua, in March and April of
1997, pleading with Prudential-Hamakua Timber to stop their spraying and
burning.
Sophisticated environmental activists joined
the growing protests. They passed
around scientific studies showing that chemicals always "drift"
during application. Lightweight aerosol
fog-like droplets are affected by even light winds — and Hamakua is exposed to
brisk ocean winds [Cox, 1995]. They
came up with data that revealed that Hamakua's residents, many of whom have
long exposures to toxic chemicals used on sugar, were already displaying
abnormally high rates of cancer and respiratory diseases ["Breast Cancer," 1997].
The issue got expanded to Oji's pulptree
plantation plans, which if accepted, would add tens of thousands more acres to
the areas being spayed and burned. And
if Oji Paper decided to reduce its shipping costs by two-thirds and set up a
pulpmill on the Big Island, a substantial amount of additional toxins and
environmental pollutants would be released.
outside expertise. Dr.
Jim Anthony, Executive Director of the Hawai`i La`ieikawai Association in Honolulu, and a savvy longtime
environmental activist, supplied lots of scientific health-related information,
and tactical and legal advise to Friends of Hamakua. He helped add a political economy dimension to the debate by
inviting international forestry activist Larry Lohmann, the author of pulping the south: industrial tree plantations
and the world paper economy
[Carrere and Lohmann,1996], to stop over on his travels to Thailand. Lohmann spoke in Honolulu before
environmental leaders and gave multiple talks on Hawai`i Island to various
community groups. The issue expanded
from its initial focus on health to the damaging environmental impacts of
eucalyptus plantations in general, to how foreign owners exploit local
resources and people. Other community
activists added a green sustainable development dimension to the debate, and
talked about the enormously greater economic benefits that would result from
renting the land to local farmers, ranchers, and foresters.
A
politically active University of Hawai`i professor wrote a 22 page White Paper
titled "Pulptree plantations
are not sustainable forests: Facts about eucalyptus estates that mayor
yamashiro and DLNR officials don't tell you" which he circulated to leaders of
major environmental groups, DLNR Board Members, Big Island activists, and the
media. The report documented how
eucalyptus plantations cause serious environmental problems, pose serious
public health risks to nearby residents, would generate few jobs and income
while other uses of agriculture land would produce much higher revenues, the
insider-friendly decision-making process, the outcry against pulp industry
around the world, the public relations ploys used by the paper industry to win
political favors, how timber companies are bad neighbors, and alternatives such
as high value forestry and agroforestry. [Rohter, 1997a]
An op-ed piece appeared in Honolulu papers,
and the articulate author appeared on radio shows and talked with reporters and
Legislators, in order to instigate public pressure on the Board and Governor
[Rohter, 1997b, 1998]. As he
aggressively asserted:
Pulptree plantations have noting to do with
sustainable forestry, despite a recent propaganda smokescreen by State
officials. The leasing of thousands of acres to Oji Paper Ltd. will NOT improve
the environment or create many jobs, NOT result in the building of lumber
mills, or processing plants and retail outlets and craft markets and family
farms and economically independent and empowered citizens. Contrariwise, wherever these industrial
plantations have been established — in Asia, the United States, Canada, Europe,
South America, Australia, and Africa —
they have created major environmental, health, economic, and social
problems. The pulptree deal with Oji
Paper Ltd. being bulldozed thru by Mayor Yamashiro primarily benefit large
multinational corporations and a few locally-connected businessmen and
politicians, while creating few low paying jobs for local residents and
seriously damaging the `âina. [Rohter, 1997a]
In all, local activists drew on important
information contained in pulping
the South, or obtained
from the Japan Tropical Forest Action Network (JATAN), the Dogwood Alliance
(North Carolina), the Mobile Register's special report on forests
["Alabama Forests," 1996], The Northwest Coalition for Alternatives
to Pesticides (Oregon State Univ), and the Native Forest Network (US). [see
references in Rohter, 1997a]
local political leadership. In a
district with many Filipinos, first-termer Democratic Councilman Dominic
Yagong's support added legitimacy to Friends of Hamakua cause. Part-Hawaiian Councilman Curtis Tyler (R)
also worked closely with Hamakua, North Kona, and other residents, of all
ethnicity, to bring about open decision-making and the economic alternatives
they preferred [Armstrong, 1997; Yagong, 1997].
the land board showdown. One
of the final hurdles Oji had to pass was getting a lease on the 4400 acres
owned by the State. This required
approval from the Board of Land and Natural Resources, whose members are
appointed by the Governor. Because of
enormous pressure, the hearing was held in the midst of Hamakua, in Honokaa. On Oct. 24, Friends of Hamakua filled the
gymnasium, with lots of people displaying signs in opposition to project. Over 100 members of the public signed up to
give testimony. DLNR staff, and Oji
Paper Ltd. and Marubeni Corp. representatives spoke first. But they were closely and lengthy questioned
by members of the Board, who had been barraged with critical mail by the
public. Because only 15 citizens had
addressed the Board when convening time arrived, a noisy crowd got the Board to
agree to postpone making a final decision until another meeting was scheduled
to hear all the testimony.
Serious faults in the lease agreement were
exposed by Board members themselves, and leaders of prominent environmental
organizations threatened to file a legal suit challenging DLNR's claim that a
proper Environmental Impact assessment was done for this project.
The second hearing, on Nov. 14, lasted for 14
1/2 hours and ended near midnight. More
than 75 anti-Oji testifiers spoke.
Friends of Hamakua had put together a remarkable coalition made up of
groups as diverse as the Farm Bureau and organic farmers, the Sierra Club and
the Honokaa Chamber of Commerce, all of whom commonly opposed the project and
favored a host of community-centered alternatives. Expert business analyses of the costs and benefits of Oji's
plantation were compared to alternative proposals. Detailed criticisms about health and environmental threats
associated with pulptree plantations were also presented. Several organizations demanded that a
contested case hearing be evoked, and laid out powerful legal reasons for their
assertions. Native Hawaiian activists
raised their voices in strong protest over their lands being rented out to
foreigners, instead of being given to their people. Dozens of former sugar workers told the Land Board members that
State land should be reserved for small-scale farming, ranching, or forestry,
not given away for 55 years at ridiculously cheap rates to a big multinational
corporation. As Hamakua Farm Bureau
representative Robert Shioji pleaded, when he turned to Oji officials in the
audience:
"Why are you folks so intent on taking
public land? We have a multitude of
private land in Hawai`i. For Pete's
sake, leave the public lands for the people."
Tom Young, representing a North Hilo
community group, worried about creating a better economy for future
generations. "We're doing it
for the kids," he said [Thompson, 1997].
Surprisingly, at midnight, by a vote of 6-0,
the State Board of Land and Natural Resource unanimous rejected Oji Paper
plantation scheme.
The Hamakua story demarks a turning point in
Big Island politics. But political
battles still continue between Old Guard business interests and community
activists.
Commercial farming interests who want to ship
exotic crops off-island have been trying for years to get the County to build a
commercial Cobalt-60 powered irradiation food processing plant. In late 1997 Mayor Yamashiro and State
officials pushed a new project through the Council, despite the intense opposition
of small farmers and many citizens [Jacobson and Rohter, 1997]. In the summer of 1998, a broadbased
coalition got over 10,000 Big Islanders to sign a ballot initiative petition
that would prevent the building of the plant.
Despite the pro-irradiation forces outspending the grassroots side 7 to
1 in a heated campaign, the initiative lost by only 473 of the 50,513 votes
cast in November of 1998.
In the winter of 1998, another district-wide
uproar in Ka`u was provoked by Governor Cayetano's sudden announcement that he
intended to build a 2,300-bed prison near Pahala. More than 300 citizens attended a hastily called Senate hearing
in Pahala, with opponents outnumbering pro-prison advocates three to one. "Many of those testifying for the
prison represented businesses or business organizations from around the entire
island," reported Alan McNarie.
He also noted that:
The roots of the community's massive
reaction, as revealed in testimony, went well beyond questions about the prison
itself. Sources of residents' anger
included a history of past neglect and failed development proposals, a
secretive corporate campaign, a wealth of conflicting "information,"
a hasty government proposal, and a legislative system that seemed rigid,
confusing and out of touch. [McNaire,
1998a.]
Many residents were upset by the
semi-secretive promotional process employed by a small coalition of
businesspeople and a few former cane workers, spearheaded by an Ohio
prison-building company called the V-Group.
The V-Group corporation employed Harvey Tajiri, a well-connected former
State legislator, as their lobbyist. In
private meetings, Tajiri built local support with one-sided sales pitches to
small pre-selected groups. What was
pitched in these earlier "secret meetings" (as some residents called
them), was a much smaller 1,000 bed, medium security facility, to be
built more than 10 miles away from town.
But in February, Ka`u's residents discovered that a "fast
track" bill had suddenly popped up in the Legislature to build a prison
that would house 2,300 inmates, including several hundred maximum
security beds. They also belatedly
found out that Governor Cayetano had made a "stealth visit" to
consider three possible prison sites in Ka`u.
These actions by State officials, reports McNarie [1998a],
"fueled fears that residents were being cut out of the
decision-making. The reaction was
public outrage. Hundreds of residents
signed counter-petitions against the prison or mailed angry letters to legislators."
Opponents also challenge the supposed
economic benefits of building and staffing a large prison in Ka`u. Few accept the admonishments of the economic
élite to build big projects, which especially benefit the construction industry
and offshore owned corporations. "Most
Ka'u residents want more job opportunities while preserving and enhancing the
natural beauty of the area, rural character, lifestyle and Hawaiian
culture," reported a $75,000 EDA economic development plan finished in
July of this year by Decision Analysts Hawaii, a Honolulu consulting firm
[Perry, 1998]. The plan, based on the
visions shared by the Ka`u community itself, calls for building a $800,000 food
processing and visitor center, which promise to provide jobs for 240 displaced
sugar workers.
Two themes reappear again and again in all
these disputes on Hawai`i Island:
*
Many Big Islanders do not want to be dependent on industrial-style agriculture,
or building prisons, spaceports, and large resorts, which create few
well-paying jobs and allow most profits to be siphoned off by multinational
corporations. They want instead to
control their own economic destiny, and look to government to help them create
a multiplicity of locally-owned businesses.
* Many average citizens are now unwilling to
passively accept orders from the top down.
They want instead open and responsive government, with full
participation in decisions that affect them.
And they want to be treated fairly.
Reporter Alan McNarie, who has closely
followed these issues, tells us that a wide range of citizens are challenging
business-as-usual politics.
Opponents testifying at public hearings on
the Hamakua tree plantations, the Ka`u Prison, the irradiation issue and the
Puna Geothermal venture have included local business owners and farmers, many
of whom were also involved in civic development projects and in other economic
initiatives. . .
. . At a recent Council hearing in Honoka`a, the Mayor's proposal to
trade the County's former cane lands to Bishop Estate for [pulp] tree farming
garnered virtually no support. Citizen
testimony at those hearings represented a broad cross section of their
communities, including teachers, social workers, housewives and high school
students as well as small businesspeople.
Many said they had never been involved in a protest before. [McNaire, 1998d]
The Old Guard likes to portray their critics
as "anti-development" fanatics.
Again they misread (or deliberately demonize) their challengers. Take Ada Lamme, a key leader in organizing
the Hamakua community to reject the Oji Paper pulptree lease scheme. Lamme is a well-known Hawai`i Island
businesswomen who owns Tex's Drive-In in Honokaa, with 28 full time
employees. She is a former corporate
planner and executive. Lamm asserts: "Most
people here are not anti-development .
. . We're working very hard to bring certain industries here. .
. I think that should be
respected."
But they are not. Average citizens feel rejected, ignored and embittered by the
self-serving wheelings-and-dealings of the inside players.
Some opponents said they had initially
supported the projects, but were driven into opposition by the heavy-handed
tactics of the companies and government officials involved. "The overall picture that I get from
our mayor," one Hawaiian grandmother told the County Council, "is
that our people aren't smart enough to be good. And we are." Farmers and small entrepreneurs expressed anger
at seeing bureaucratic roadblocks piled up before their projects, then reading
headlines about huge tax breaks for Hamakua Timber or of a "fast
track" bill to build a prison.
Parents worried about their children's safety, citing both factual
evidence and personal experiences. They
testified of living through prison breaks elsewhere, of breathing smoke they
believed came from burning fields previously poisoned by Hamakua Timber, and of
being driven from their homes and businesses by geothermal gas leaks and
sprayed with caustic soda from geothermal blowouts. "Being gassed makes you into an activist real fast,"
one resident told this writer.
[McNarie, 1998d]
Despite the considerable efforts of the Old
Guard to keep their political friends in power, new grassroots-supported
leadership is emerging on the Big Island.
Two newly elected Councilmembers have joined with two dissident
incumbents to push for major procedural reforms, to end what one calls
"the politics that people are sick of" [McNarie, 1999]. The new minority's goal is to establish a
more open government and involve citizens early on in determining policies that
affect their districts.
Economic development that encourages
locally-owned businesses is another agenda being pushed by the reformers. Councilmembers Tyler (R), Pissicho (D), and
Jacobson (G) are vigorous proponents of community-centered planning that
promotes small businesses that are appropriate to the natural environment. Councilman Yagong (D) championed his
district's small farmers and bussinesspeople in their fight to obtain leases on
publicly-owned Hamakua lands.
Tyler, who now chairs the Committee on
Economics and Social Services, intends to end the County's providing lucrative
incentives to large projects — such as leasing county lands cheaply and
providing large tax breaks to big timber corporations and shopping center
developers. Tyler speaks instead of
"creating opportunities" by providing support for small businesses,
farmers and entrepreneurs, and letting the county's citizens, rather than
government officials, come up with the economic projects they prefer.
Tyler also shares the view held by many Big
Island activists, that tourism development should shift from emphasizing large
resorts and shopping centers, to fostering an infrastructure attractive to
"independent travelers" who plan their own agendas and venture away
from the resorts and usual commercial attractions. These visitors are instead seeking "beauty and
uniqueness . . .
. We're losing sight of those
unique things that have captured the imagination of people from afar. I see a rekindling of this in the Bed &
Breakfasts, the ecotourism, the cottage industries."
"The
future lies in free independent travelers who stay longer,
circulate more and seem to contribute more to . . . the small town economies. They're not coming for four-lane highways,"
he argues. Tyler also advocates
marketing the Islands' unique value added products, such as gourmet foods, arts
and traditional crafts, and developing its centuries old tradition as a healing
center.
State Representative Dwight Takamine, who
represents North Hilo, Hamakua, and North Hawai`i, recently became Chair of the
powerful House finance committee.
Takamine promises to continue to support grassroots efforts by
communities creating their own fresh economic visions. "A big lesson that we've learned
during this economic transition is that communities need the ability and
support to empower themselves."
The emerging new sustainable economy that
Hawai`i Islanders are creating is founded on a true diversity of economic
opportunities, emphasizes self-reliance, is locally owned, and involves
partnerships between private businesses, community organizations, and
government. Economic decisions
incorporate environmental, quality of life, community vitality, and local
values, not just bottomline dollars.
Farming means family farms that grow many crops for a variety of
markets, and value-added processing that captures more of the retail food
dollar for the farmer. Forestry means
growing high-value hardwoods, sawmills that produce lumber and valuable plywood
veneers, and furniture factories and craft shops. Eco-tourism builds on natural and historical attractions that are
unique to Hawai`i [Rohter, 1992].
And the community, not well-connected
insiders, will decide what is done.
Establishing community-base economic development is a daunting
task. Moving from conceptual ideas to
concrete programs requires, besides a highly motivated citizenry, bringing
together local knowledge of the land, with expertise in business planning and
financing. Perhaps most important is
crafting a process open to, and trusted by, Island residents.
Hawai`i Island will elect a new mayor in 2000. The Old Guard has spawned a former Democrat legislator and now businessman, running as a Republican, and a former Republican ex-hotel industry executive, who held State office as a Democrat, as the main Democratic Party contender.
But with ex-Council Chair Keiko Bonk, the Green, leading in the early stages of the campaign, it appears that more and more voters favor a populist agenda based on open and honest government, and locally-based economic development that favors businesses that are in harmony with the Big Island's natural environment and diverse cultures. If the Green Party picks up a second council seat, these trends will accelerate. [Blair, 2000]
Party labels are becoming less relevant: many union workers, small business owners, native Hawaiians, and some of the more progressive corporations, in fact, already support a new post-plantation vision for Hawai`i Island's future. The liberal Republican challenger in the 1998 Governor's race actually won on the Big Island. All the elements that are coming together on Hawai`i Island — changing demographics, new attitudes, and democratically-oriented new political leaders — are emerging on the other islands, and at the State level, as well. Hawai`i is finally shedding its neocolonial mindset and political-economic structure.
*******************************************
SIDEBAR Ira Rohter Fruits of Resistance- Oji Paper
Formula for political change
During my 32 years living in Hawai`i, I have observed
many citizen-led struggles challenging the economic-political élite's efforts
to "develop" large-scale resorts, subdivisions, shopping malls, golf
courses, etc. throughout the Islands. Several
elements distinguish the few successful challenges from those that failed.
Winners:
*
Organize around potent issues. Health
and cultural issues, and people being displaced from homes, are more powerful
than NIBY concerns. It was
Prudential Timber's careless aerial spraying of pesticides, and smoky field
burnings, that first prompted a public outcry by Hamakua families.
Public meetings to protest these assaults on their health quickly
escalated to discussions about larger economic and political issues. Old
grievance against the plantation system emerged, and for once, "little
people" found their voice being heard.
*
Sell a positive vision, not be just negative. Offering well-thought out
and plausible alternative to élite-instigated projects reframes the debate.
The Friends of Hamakua [FOH] and their allies presented counter-plans for
alternative uses of the public lands that Oji Paper wanted to lockup at cheap
rents for 55 years. Average
citizens were energized when imagining a better future for themselves and their
children, if the land could instead be rented to local farmers and ranchers, and
used to establish a profitable high value forestry industry.
Many were further embolden by the vision of a political process that
finally listened to them and their interests.
On O`ahu, promoting the positive vision of an open regional park was one
of major tactics that the Ka Iwi Coalition used to successfully thwart a big
land developer's efforts to build housing and a golfcourse on and near the coast
line.
*
Create coalitions, the more widely-based the better.
Communities and neighborhoods often try to confront a powerful entity by
themselves. They immediately should
draw on the resources of groups that share similar concerns. The FOH initially got lots of help from environmental groups
on the BI and later received valuable assistance from organizations on other
islands, the Continental U.S, and Japan, in their battle against Oji Paper.
*
Raise additional issues, to broadens and strengthen the coalition.
The battle over Hamakua lands was expanded so that groups and individuals
concerned about health, political corruption and democratic government,
small-scale economic development, forestry, organic and regular commercial
farming, agriculture cooperatives, eco-tourism, community-based planning, and
Hawaiian issues, all came together to oppose the Oji Paper scheme.
*
Enlist knowledgeable and skillful advisors to help organize the community
and carry out savvy legal and political strategies. FOH found assistance from
experienced Island political activists who knew how to mobilize people, get
information out to the media, run meetings, and put on demonstrations.
U.S. and international forestry and environmental groups provided
information damaging to Oji Paper's arguments.
Legal advisors helped FOH and other affected parties build the case for a
drawn-out "contested hearing" before the Land Use Commission.
Professional business analysts critiqued the poor economics of the Oji
Paper project, and laid out a business plan for alternative uses of the public
lands. An orchestrated media blitz
— letters-to-editors, appearances on radio and TV shows, op-ed articles —
carried the fight to O`ahu, where the Governor and many influential Legislators
reside.
*
Find support from friendly elected officials. Sympathetic Councilmembers
were able to delay quick backroom decisions by forcing public hearing to be
held, and compel information to be released.
They can provide legitimacy for opposing the project, and served as
"role models" and protectors for groups that were previously
politically acquiescent. They can
use their office, status, and political networks to advocate for alternative
plans. Establishing the Ki Iwi Park
on O`ahu involved a carefully orchestrated strategy combining public
mobilization with legal and political maneuvers carried out by several key State
and County officeholders.
.
*******************************************
Ira Rohter is Associate Professor of Political Science at the University of Hawai`i — Manoa. He has close links with many of the
grassroots groups discussed in the paper.
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