In November 1886, King David Kalākaua showcased a unique and exquisite object at a royal jubilee in Honolulu. The object in question was a smooth, oblong calabash made of koa and kou woods, adorned with decorative brass. Known as the Wind Gourd of La‘amaomao, this calabash was believed to contain all the winds of Hawaii, with the power to summon them only through proper chants. It was named after Laʻa Maomao, the benevolent goddess of the wind.
Recently, I found myself reflecting on the Wind Gourd of La‘amaomao as I witnessed unusually strong winds tearing through the palm trees in Kauai. These winds were more intense than any I had ever seen in Hawaii. Later, an emergency warning siren blared, informing me of the devastating fire that the same winds had sparked on Maui, about 190 miles away. The evacuation order came too late for Maui’s historic Lahaina town, which was ultimately destroyed. Tragically, at least 36 lives were lost in this fast-moving disaster, with people resorting to desperate measures like jumping into the ocean to save themselves.
Years ago, when I lived near Diamond Head in Oahu, I would often fall asleep with the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center’s website open on my phone. I found comfort in seeing the green banner indicating no tsunami warning, advisory, watch, or threat before drifting off to sleep. However, it had never crossed my mind to worry about wildfires in Hawaii.
“Lucky we live Hawaii” is a common saying here, expressing deep gratitude for the people, the land’s abundance, the quality of light, and the overall serenity of the place. However, Hawaii is not exempt from tragedy, contrary to the idealized notion of it being a paradise. It irks locals when people reduce Hawaii to hula dancing and mai tais. These misconceptions highlight the ignorance of those who claim to be curious. Such comments made me angry at the missed opportunities for discovering the true beauty and complexity of Hawaii.
Hawaii is a place of great complexity, as anyone who truly loves it can attest. That’s why it was so shocking to witness Lahaina being engulfed in flame, defying expectations. Normally, Hawaii feels tightly knit, like a place where everyone knows each other. After a major event like this, it feels even smaller. As Maui and the Big Island burned, I spent the day communicating with friends and Hawaii expats. One friend mentioned another friend who rushed to Maui overnight to fight the fires. Another friend’s son was on Maui with his grandparents, and although they were safe, they had no power or reliable communication for an entire day. A lifelong Lahaina resident confirmed that her family was safe and accounted for. Throughout these conversations, the prevailing feeling was one of blindsided shock. None of us could recall a fire of this magnitude, let alone ever worrying about fires in Hawaii before.
Children in Hawaii are taught to respect nature’s power—whether it’s the fury of volcanoes or the immense force of the ocean. While hurricanes are a regular occurrence in the Pacific, they seldom make landfall in Hawaii. So when Hurricane Dora was predicted to pass south of the archipelago, it seemed like a non-issue. However, as we now know, nowhere is truly safe from the unexpected. This raises the question that everyone in Hawaii is asking: Since when do hurricanes start wildfires?
As a recent transplant from the East Coast, I experienced the shock of witnessing wildfires firsthand this summer. The orange sky, the eerie lighting, and the scent of smoke engulfing entire cities was a new and apocalyptic experience for me. Californians would often joke that they had been living like this for years and had warned us about it. Sadly, they were right. I wish they hadn’t been.
We currently live in an age of overwhelming emotion, performative reactions, unfounded certainty, and excessive pessimism. This constant shouting and bickering drown out genuine concerns and hamper our ability to come together and solve existential problems. However, there’s a unique perspective gained when the flames are at our own doorstep—a perspective that cannot be fully grasped through intellectual understanding alone.
People in Hawaii deeply believe that the islands are different from the rest of the United States. There’s a sense that this uniqueness offers protection from the sufferings experienced elsewhere in the country and the world. Sometimes this belief holds true, but not always. Sometime in the not-so-distant future, another place will feel the harsh reality that we have long understood intellectually—that time is running out to protect ourselves and that the loss of something beautiful can never be fully restored.
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