The Broken Trust: New report on the True Cost of the U.S. Military in Hawaiʻi
Our take
In the vibrant and complex landscape of Hawaiʻi, the recent report titled “The True Cost of the U.S. Military in Hawaiʻi” resonates deeply, paralleling historical injustices faced by indigenous populations. Drawing a poignant comparison to the Lakota Sioux, who rejected financial compensation in favor of reclaiming their land, the report exposes a long-standing breach of trust by the U.S. military in the Hawaiian context. For over sixty years, the military has occupied vast tracts of land leased at a nominal fee, a situation that raises serious questions about stewardship and accountability in a state where the legacy of colonialism and land appropriation is still felt today. This context is crucial as we consider the broader implications of military presence, not just in terms of economic contribution but also in the environmental and social fabric of the islands. The ongoing struggle for land rights and proper compensation highlights the urgent need for a reassessment of priorities, especially in light of the military's environmental impact, as seen in the contamination of local resources.
The report underscores the financial disparities at play, revealing that the military’s operations contribute only 6.4% of Hawaiʻi's GDP, a figure notably lower than the 9.2% often touted by military and state officials. This discrepancy becomes even more pronounced when considering the significant costs associated with environmental cleanup and the displacement of local families due to military housing policies. As the report indicates, the economic narrative surrounding the military's presence is not only misleading but detrimental to the local community. The military's landholdings, which dominate a quarter of Oʻahu, have effectively pushed residents out of their neighborhoods, exacerbating housing shortages and rental market pressures. The financial toll on non-military renters, estimated at $234 million annually, should serve as a clarion call for re-evaluating the military's role within the community.
In light of these findings, there is an urgent need for a shift towards an ʻāina-based economy that prioritizes local stewardship and sustainability. The vision of fostering a community-centric approach that centers on agriculture, environmental care, and cultural preservation could yield far greater benefits than the transient military economy currently dominating the islands. By investing in local resources and empowering communities, Hawaiʻi can cultivate jobs that honor the land and its history, rather than perpetuating cycles of dependency on federal funding and military presence. This shift not only aligns with the desires of the Native Hawaiian community but also poses a viable alternate path that has the potential to revitalize the local economy while preserving the island's unique cultural heritage.
As we look to the future, the question remains: Do we have the state leadership capable of honoring this trust and advocating for a more equitable distribution of resources? The path forward lies in recognizing that the true cost of militarization extends far beyond financial metrics—it encompasses the health of our environment, the well-being of our communities, and the very essence of what it means to call Hawaiʻi home. The findings of this report should ignite a broader dialogue about land rights, environmental stewardship, and the kind of future we envision for our islands. As we continue to explore these themes, we encourage readers to engage with related discussions, such as those found in KAUAʻI SPORTS WRAP by MARK JAMES! - Kauai Now and Any He’eholua sledders here (lava sledding)? I do some hobby woodworking and I'd love to learn how to build one of these sleds.. By fostering a shared understanding and commitment to authentic stewardship, we can work towards a more just and sustainable future for all.
| | In 1980 the Supreme Court awarded the Lakota Sioux over a hundred million dollars for land the government had stolen from them. They refused the money. It sits untouched today, worth more than $2 billion, because what they want back is the land. I thought about them while I read a new report called “The True Cost of the U.S. Military in Hawaiʻi.” For the record, I served. And I have a hard time trusting any institution with our local resources when it cannot account for its own. The U.S. military is the largest institutional emitter of greenhouse gases in the world. It holds the largest portfolio of contaminated sites in the country, hundreds of polluted soil and groundwater lands across its installations. It is the only major federal agency that has never passed a full audit, leaning on trillions in unsupported adjustments to paper over decades of waste. Trillions. A million seconds is 11.5 days. A billion is about 32 years. A trillion is about 32,000 years. Trillions in unaccounted stuff is bonkers. The big picture I got from this research is that for over a century, the case against U.S. militarization of Hawaiʻi has been a moral argument made mostly by Native Hawaiians and largely ignored by the institutions that make policy. This new report from six respected organizations takes that same argument and runs it through the Pentagon’s own valuation models. The conclusions are the conclusions activists have been shouting for decades. The difference is that they now come in a form that cannot be dismissed as activism. Since 1964, the military has leased more than 46,000 acres of public trust land for $1. Not per acre. Not per year. One dollar total. If any other trustee leased trust assets to a tenant for a dollar, they would be removed and sued for breach of fiduciary duty. Here the trustee is the State of Hawaiʻi, the tenant is the Pentagon, and the breach has been allowed to stand for more than sixty years. Let me back up on that word. Trust. If you live in Hawaiʻi, you are a beneficiary of a Public Land Trust. About 1.4 million acres, originally the Crown and Government Lands of the Hawaiian Kingdom, were taken after the illegal overthrow of 1893 and transferred to the United States through the contested annexation of 1898. At statehood in 1959, those lands were placed in trust under the Admission Act and made the responsibility of the new State of Hawaiʻi. The Admission Act named five purposes for that trust. The betterment of the conditions of Native Hawaiians. The support of public education. The development of homeownership. The provision of lands for public use. And the funding of public improvements. The state is the trustee. The people of Hawaiʻi, with Native Hawaiians named as a specific class of beneficiaries, are who the trust is meant to serve. A legal equivalent was not hard to find. The U.S. government once held about 500,000 individual Indian trust accounts holding revenues from leases on Native American allotment lands. From the late 1800s into the early 2000s, the Bureau of Indian Affairs systematically mismanaged them. Elouise Cobell, a Blackfeet treasurer, sued in 1996. Thirteen years later the case settled for $3.4 billion. The plaintiffs argued the real mismanagement ran into the hundreds of billions and that the settlement was a fraction of the actual damage. Which brings me back to the Sioux. The Black Hills were reserved for them in the 1868 Treaty of Fort Laramie. Then gold turned up in 1874 and the United States took the land anyway. Crown and Government Lands here were reserved for a kingdom too, until they were not. The Sioux are still waiting. So are we. In my piece this month in Ka Wai Ola, I shared that if we used what the U.K. pays the Republic of Mauritius for Diego Garcia or what the U.S. pays the Republic of the Marshall Islands for Kwajalein, the value of Pōhakuloa’s 23,000 leased acres lands somewhere between $313 million and $460 million a year. This research uses more conservative U.S. government accounting and still arrives at $133.7 billion in unpaid back rent. That figure does not include cleanup. The cleanup is its own story. PFAS forever chemicals at just three sites, Mākua, Schofield, and Bellows, conservatively $493 million to remediate. Statewide it runs into the billions. The report is clear that true remediation with current technology is not possible. We are talking containment and monitoring for generations to come. Then there is the economic story we have all been told. The military’s real contribution is about 6.4% of our GDP, not the 9.2% the Pentagon and the state like to repeat. At least five other industries already contribute more. Once you subtract cleanup costs and rental market damage, the net benefit shrinks further. Speaking of rentals. Drop your finger on a map of Oʻahu four times. Chances are one of those points lands on military controlled land. They control a quarter of the island. With all that land you would think they would house their own people. Nope. They have pushed them onto the rental market, taking up one in ten rentals with generous vouchers that enrich landlords and drive ʻohana out of their own neighborhoods. The report puts the cost to non-military renters at $234 million in a single year. So picture the other path. Put real resources behind an ʻāina-based economy. Farming, food, land and water stewardship, the work this place was built on. Done right, it could match the military’s 6.4% or beat it. And it would create real jobs. Jobs that do not rise and fall with a federal defense budget. Jobs that do not poison our ʻāina, kai, and wai, or push ʻohana out of their homes. Do you think we have the State leadership to finally honor this trust? References: The report The True Cost of the U.S. Military in Hawaiʻi and my Ka Wai Ola article Maunakea, Pōhakuloa, and the Word They Keep Using. [link] [comments] |
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