3.2. Remembering Genealogical Relationships through Ritual
In this section, we share how our genealogical connections can be elucidated and literally manifested through the vehicle of ritual expression. We also share the multiple layers of transformation that have occurred during our time with Hālau ‘Ōhi’a, with the hope that you will as part of this paper-as-ritual process identify how to engage and cultivate a sacred space with your colleagues to identify, discuss, and reflect upon the substantial topics discussed here. From the perspective of genealogy, ritual helps us to understand, honor, and enhance our relationships to the places and processes that we steward. Through much of our formal disciplinary training (e.g., sustainability science, natural resource management, conservation biology), many of us were taught explicitly with learning reinforced implicitly that we, as people, are separate from the natural world, that we have dominion over this world, and so it is within our rights and responsibilities to manage and control the resources of this world in ways that maximize the goods, services, and benefits provided to a society. Relationships have only recently become part of academic considerations of the management calculus [
22], but when discussed in broader contemporary contexts, relationships are still portrayed as being ancillary to achieving management success.
For example, the practitioner is often asked to distill down the how, when, and where of resource management to simple economic metrics of success, with metrics of success fully occupying the decision-sphere. Within this framework, sacred relationships can be viewed as hindrances: when formed or held by professionals, these relationships may obscure objective evaluation of metrics of success and so complicate assessments of management; when formed or held by biocultural practitioners and communities who are connected to place and process, these sacred relationships may interfere with centralized decision making about place and process; when formed or held by professionals, practitioners, and communities, these sacred relationships may drive outright conflict that prevents implementation of agency-driven decisions. Conversely, by not embracing sacred relationship in sustainability science, resource management, and ecological conservation, professionals limit their capacity to communicate with biocultural practitioners and communities, and engage practitioners and communities in reciprocal stewardship—with each other and with the places and processes of interest.
An important feature of this conflict is in our training as resource and conservation professionals. Specifically, we are trained in universities, and this training is reinforced in the work place in a way that engrains the notion that in order to protect the plants, animals, resources, and places that we care about, we need to support the designation of these places as protected areas, pay professionals to exclude threats (including people) from these areas, federally list species as being of concern, all with the goal of preserving these areas in an isolated and as close to human-free condition as possible. These approaches identify the natural world as commodity (acres treated, numbers of individuals of a listed species saved) to be isolated and locked away. While resource management approaches or conservation practices are often reasonable and important for perpetuating species of concern, the ritual practiced in Hālau ‘Ōhi’a has shifted assumptions about our role, specifically the role of kincentric connections, in the care of these places and the sustenance we give to but equally important receive from these places.
Ritual is helping each of us, individually and collectively, to connect to our shared and personal landscapes and seascapes, to the organisms and processes that bring life to these places, and to each other and ourselves as genealogical members of these places. At the foundation of this connection is knowing our places geographically, connecting to our processes that sustain us hydrologically, ecologically, and biogeochemically, and engaging our organisms evolutionarily and taxonomically. However, to attain this depth of understanding, ritual asks us to pause, think, notice, consider, and engage with a readiness to listen, receive, and to express gratitude for that which is living and nonliving in a place. In short, as we might bring many ways of knowing to our relationships with friends and family, so ritual asks us to bring many ways of knowing—intimate, artistic, fun, committed, patient, and sacred ways of knowing—to our places.
Returning to the ritual of presenting yourself to a forest, coastal ecosystem, classroom, or gathering space by first setting your intentions and asking permission to enter (the Hawai‘i ritual of the mele komo and the act of kāhea), this practice establishes a tone of humility and respect that helps us to open our minds and hearts so that we can learn from that place on multiple levels. We are driven to know more intimately and patiently and with greater commitment the human, plant, and animal-people of that place. We use art to express this aloha for these places and the beings that make these places home. We express gratitude to these places and beings because we know that they literally sustain us, as a parent who provides for us physically, psychological, emotionally, and spiritually. We know that without these places, we are left impoverished, much as a life without friendship or deep family ties is lesser existence.
Finally, it is through the ritual that we physically offer our voice, our sweat, and our intentions as part of a reciprocal exchange with those places that we are genealogically connected to, and this exchange promotes well-being. The fields of psychology, animal (including human) cognition, and epigenetics, among others, all provide conclusive evidence that the quality of our relationships shape our health, our joy, our capacity for thriving—in short, our well-being. Experiments with non-human primates and more contemporary lessons from understaffed orphanages have reminded us of the simplicity, universality, and ancestral nature of this truth. And while early philosophical writings about our relationships to nature are rich with notions of well-being, contemporary agency-based approaches to conservation and resource management uncomfortably cling to a strictly biophysical model of stewardship that in our view disempowers the steward and the stewarded.
Ki’i Ākea—Why is it important for humans to recognize our genealogical connections to place? The need to belong and form attachments is a universal
ki’i among humans. Biophysically, we know that all life on this planet and all forms in this universe come from a single cosmic event—the big bang. The atoms that make up our human bodies, the bodies of our plants, animals, the ocean body, the atmosphere, every form on this planet and beyond, all originate and share an ancestry with stars and the most ancestral of cosmic events. Beyond being physically made up of the same building blocks as our stellar and earth landscapes, environments across the planet all physically nurture us. Our mountains give us life through driving our weather patterns, by being the foundation of our forests, which in turn cover the watersheds that form our water sources, and by providing the alluvial substrates for our farmlands where cherished members of our human community cultivate the food we eat while sustaining enormously complex ecosystems. This water and food from our mountains, plains, and seas physically sustains us, providing the building blocks for our cells—our skin, brain, intestines, hair, and muscles—in short, our beings. Research demonstrates that when our connections to these places, from childhood [
23] to adults [
3], includes acknowledging this genealogical connection to our place—our mountain, our stream, our ocean, the socio-ecological landscape, its fabric and features—we recognize that we are as connected and reliant upon them as we are on our life-giving parents and grandparents. With this relationship of connection and reliance come the same responsibilities to care for these mountains and streams that we have to care for our elder family members. One does not need to be Indigenous to a particular place to take responsibility for one’s relationship with the places that give us life and sustain us.
Ki’i Honua—Yet, we can learn from Indigenous cultures, which often codify kincentric relationships between people and the elements of a regional landscape through legends or tales, poetic texts, dances, or other sources. In Hālau ‘Ōhi’a, the first
mele (chant) and accompanying
hei (string art) learned by students is “‘O Wākea Noho iā Papahānaumoku,” which details the genealogy of Hawai‘i—all of its islands and its people. It begins with the male entity Wākea (the expansive sky) joining the female entities Papahānaumoku (she who births islands) and Ho’ohōkūkalani (she who affirms the stars in the heavens) to give birth to the Hawaiian archipelago. As part of this genealogical chant or
ko’ihonua, the union of Wākea and Ho’ohōkūkalani resulted in the birth of a stillborn child, who is buried in the earth. From his body grows the first
kalo or taro plant (
Colocasia esculenta (L.) Schott, Araceae), Hāloanakalaukapalili (Hāloa, literally great breath of the quivering leaf), which becomes the most important staple crop in Hawai‘i. Through this union, a second child is born, also named Hāloa, but this child lives to become the first man and original ancestor of all Hawaiian people [
24].
Ki’i ‘Iaka—The
kalo plant is foundational to Pacific island communities because for millennia, it was the main focus of one of the most remarkable traditional Indigenous breeding programs known to science as well as being a source of sustenance for Pacific peoples including settlers of Hawai‘i. Today,
kalo continues to be culturally vital despite massive social, agricultural, and ecological changes to Hawai‘i’s food system [
25,
26]. In understanding the shared genealogy of the Hawaiian people, the
kalo plant, the islands, the earth, the sky, the stars, through this chant, we are charged with cultivating, caring for, and protecting those plant, land, ocean, and element siblings and ancestors as if they were family. At a personal level, when we plant, maintain, harvest, and prepare the next generation of
kalo, we do so with the utmost thought and love. We make sure to never step near the roots of the plant, we diligently weed the patch, we learn the names of the dozens of varieties, and when it is time to harvest, we spend hours cleaning its corms and cuttings, always with an eye to replant and where ever possible share the
huli (pruned stalk) and the
‘ohā (intact stalk with leaf and some corm), from which forms the next generation of planting material (
Figure 1). This is done so that Hāloa is sustained into the future, and in turn, we as people of Hawai‘i are sustained for generations to come. Manu Meyer [
4] (p. 15) quotes a legendary
kalo farmer from Waipi’o Valley, who describes the literal and metaphorical importance of planting the elder sibling
kalo with integrity and sacred devotion because to do otherwise would hamper the growth and integrity of the harvest and genealogical perpetuation of this foundational agricultural resource. More metaphorically, our relationship with the physical crop is a reflection of how we speak, cultivate, and harvest the fruits of our ideas and actions. Do “we speak powerfully, truthfully, and with purpose or do we think ill, speak ill, and act ill” [
4]?
Another example of kinship manifested in action can be found in our marine realm. As a descendent of all of the lifeforms starting from the sky, earth, and stars, we are kin to the ‘opelu fish (Decapterus macarellus Cuvier; mackerel scad), a staple of the Ka’ū region of Hawai‘i Island and coastal communities across the archipelago. For some of us, when we are harvesting ‘opelu, we look at the fish eye to eye, and we tell it, “I’m going to take your life to sustain me and my family;” we recognize the physical and spiritual reciprocity between us as people and the ‘opelu as an ancestor. After we have eaten him, we return its body to the ocean. Akin to the relationship between Hawaiians and kalo, we honor the ‘opelu for sustaining and nourishing us now and into the future through the entire process from recognition, harvest, ingestion, and returning the ancestor who has fed us back to the source. We, in return, work to sustain the ‘opelu through proper care and management of its surroundings—the coral, the algae, the reef and pelagic fish community, the shellfish—basically, all the features of the ‘opelu’s genealogy that are required to support this species. These features have been gleaned over countless generations of keenly observing trial and error responses of this fish to natural variation in the environment and to traditional management.
3.3. Manifesting Genealogical Relationships through Ritual
Ki’i Ākea—As we have shown, identification of the genealogical relationships you have with your place is fundamental to recognizing, conceptualizing, and ultimately participating in the reciprocal relationship you have with your surroundings. This approach can be seen as a tool that is applicable and accessible globally. In this section, we discuss how these genealogies are physically manifested through the vehicle of ritual expression and the emotional transformation that occurs in this process. Ritual creates a space and establishes a context for understanding and honoring our relationships to the places we steward.
Ki’i Honua—Returning to the
mele “‘O Wākea Noho iā Papahānaumoku,” the recitation of this chant, the application of our breath to these words and names, and the recreating of the images of Wākea, Papahānauamoku, and their island children with the
hei (
Figure 2) allows us to experience the deep, raw, and universal emotions that solidify the genealogical (familial, biogeochemical, evolutionary) connections we have with our surroundings. For us, this transformation can come through a body motion in
hula, a
hei figure, or speaking the name and replicating the actions of the volcano deity Pelehonuamea. In this recreation, we allow ourselves to be overtaken by gratitude, as manifested by the
mele “Lei o Hilo”; by heightened awareness and respect for elemental forces in the
hula “Kūkulu ka Pahu”; or by the perpetuation of our species in the
hula ma’i (procreation dances). Once we are touched by these images and emotions, they are a part of us, with each ritual serving as a pathway to making seen and available for learning these vital connections.
Ki’i ‘Iaka—As a hālau, our learning gained practical expression when we were asked to participate in a Ho’ola’a ‘Āina ritual led by Kumu Kekuhi. This ritual took place in a healthy native forest ecosystem where low impact construction was to take place for establishing an ecological monitoring tower that is 1 of 20 sites (the Pacific Domain) that make up the National Ecological Observatory Network (NEON). The goal of ritual was to communicate with the site—the soil, trees, birds, and sky—through oli, hula, and hei that construction was going to occur but that healing and regeneration would follow the disturbance. Through our offerings, we became the ritualized exchange for the sacrifices absorbed by the site for the production of scientific information. In the moment of the ritual, during our performance, divisions between performer and the forest people—the trees, the birds, the mist, the wind—dissolved away. For some of us, this moment was the first time ritual expression served as the becoming of the object of the ritual. The dissolving boundaries and resulting connections helped us to match our movements with those of the forest swaying in the wind. The mind was released from what was happening, and footstep instinctively followed footstep in the performing of our hula, motion after motion, until the ritual was complete. Similarly, sounds of chanting flowed as we lost ourselves and became the forest, syllable after syllable, line after line. This ritual allowed us to create and enter into a sacred relationship with this forest; to do this, we left behind mundane considerations and expressed our gratitude for a sacrifice that would provide long-term monitoring data on changes to the health of the forest. In many ways, this event marked an important step in the integration of biophysically defined Western science (concerned with measurable phenomena external to or independent of the measurer) with relationally defined Indigenous science (concerned with observable and sensed phenomena including role of observer in the observed or sensed network of relationships). It reframed impact as redeemable through exchange while clearly elevating the importance of making every effort to honor the sacrifice of a place to science.
3.4. Applying Genealogical Relationships and Ritual in Conservation
We have discussed the transformative nature of ritual expression and the elevating of relationship from ideas and concepts to the realm of physically manifested sacred reality. This transformative becoming is powerful because embracing one’s genealogical connection to the world greatly enriches our work as sustainability, natural resources, and conservation professionals. We realize that our effectiveness is influenced by the sacredness with which we engage the places and processes that we steward. We see our ties to a place as akin to our ties with beloved family members, such as a grandparent. In this section, we discuss how we apply and integrate these genealogy and ritual practices in our lives and work as sustainability, resource, or conservation professionals.
Ki’i Ākea—As we have shown, the portal of ritual and its imagery goes beyond human-to-human connections and allows for environmental and elemental beings to become more accessible and relatable to our human experience. The ritual identifies and helps us develop the linkages we have with the other organisms present, the place itself, and the challenges our places face. When we feel connected to a conservation issue of a place, we are able to persist and push through obstacles we encounter because our commitment is not to a job, programmatic theme, or achieving annual statistics, but rather to a family member under threat. This concept of a personal and familial bond is a powerful counter-example to how we humans all too often treat places and processes: enter; take what is needed (be it timber, water, or data); and then when degraded, no longer useful, or no longer funded, abandon.
While there are many examples of agency-based approaches to stewarding place that are positively increasing the well-being of person and place, we suggest that our approach to sustainability, resource management, and conservation could enhance already effective practices. Where approaches are not effective, we suggest that our approach could transform ineffective practices if all practitioners were supported throughout their organization to acknowledge, honor, and engage with their places—the plant people, the animal people, the forest people and the water people, as they would with cherished family members. Through practicing these rituals, recognizing these genealogies, and engaging with places as living, thinking, feeling people, we prepare the internal space and cultivate the awareness for feeling accepted by that place—in short to prepare for being
hānai’d (raised, reared, fed, nourished, sustained, adopted) by place [
27]. Engaging in, practicing, and performing these rituals helps us to embody the idea that we are not separate from (as humans) or in control of (as managers) these places, but that we are enmeshed, or in the words of socioecological systems thinking, that we are part of feedback loops woven into the systems of which we are a part.
- Ki’i Honua—
- ‘O Hualālai me Mauna Loa ku’u mau mauna
- Hualālai and Mauna Loa are my beloved mountains
- ‘O ke kai mālino ku’u kai
- The calm sea is my beloved ocean
- ‘O ka ‘eka, ke kai ‘ōpua, ke kēhau ku’u mau makani a me ku’u mau ua
- The ‘Eka (onshore), Kai ‘Ōpua (distant horizon clouds), and Kēhau (gentle off shore breeze and dew) are my beloved winds and my beloved rains
- Ola!
- Life!
In our Hālau ‘Ōhi’a journey, at all of the different places we have engaged with throughout our islands and across oceans, we have introduced ourselves to lands and people through our biocultural genealogies and ritual. We present ourselves, not with our name, title, and agency position, but by calling out the name of the mountain of our home: Mauna Kea! Mauna Loa! Hualālai! Kīlauea! Kohala! By dancing in honor of the waterfalls that feed our ancestral food systems. By singing and chanting to the hill, the tree, the birds, and the people that we visit in these special places. In doing this, we are saying, “This is who I am, these are the lands and waters from which I was born, or which now feeds and nourishes me.” We are saying, “My extended genealogy honors you.”
Ki’i ‘Iaka—Some of us take this process to our offices and field sites, teaching our workmates the ritual-based process of engaging new work sites, for example. Letting a place know a visitor’s intentions is important to place and to self to create the highest quality work possible for the healing of a landscape or seascape. This sharing of intention through our voices via traditional or new oli, through spoken words in the language with which you are comfortable, or even silent thoughts of communication with the place allow us to become more strongly tied to the place, which becomes enhanced through planting, sweating, and working to steward an area. Throughout, we are also learning the patterns of the wind, the path of the animals, and timing of the rain. Over time, we share details about the place with others. We share its genealogy, the mountain that birthed this place, the rains that feed this landscape, members of its ecological community, and past actions that have left these scars on its substrate. We become responsible for that place through this sharing of genealogies; before we realize it, we have become hānai’d by that place.
For those of us who work in environmental education or community engagement to promote biocultural conservation, these same processes can be applied to educational groups. Having the visitors to any site first ask permission to enter begins to open the door to other layers of learning and then understanding. We tell the stories of the place, and for the visitors, that begins to reveal more layers. We have them stop and see what the winds, clouds, and birds are doing—exposing more layers. We ask them to smell, taste, and feel the place—more layers still. Why is this important? Because when you come to know a place on these levels—physically, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, historically—the place becomes part of your genealogical story and you begin to treat the place differently. This may seem strange to those committed to objective purity, but most conservation educators know it is a personal connection between child and forest plant or animal, the awe of a volunteer in the power of planting a tree knowing that the tree will live 300+ years and support countless generations of forest birds, and the love of place that most often drives people to sacrifice so much for the protection of a place dear and near. It could be argued that connection to and reverence for place is a force like no other in the management of lands, waters and seas, and so for thriving stewardship [
22,
28].
Thus, ritual can be applied in biocultural conservation and resource management to initiate and develop a person’s intimate relationship with a place in order to be better stewards. At another collective level, ritual can be a tool that conservation practitioners use to introduce a place to educational groups as if introducing a family member. Critically, the process of ritual can serve to transform human to human relationships in ways that differ from the ad hoc relationship building or formal team building that happens in most organizations serving lands and seas. We are humbled and inspired by singing to the mountains, forest, ocean, and rivers; by sharing our intentions and offering, giving, and honoring the reciprocal relationship with the places and processes that sustain us, and deepening those reciprocal, kincentric relationships between human and plant, plant and mountain, human and human [
29]. These rituals act as accelerators or catalysts for relationship building—in our backyards, our stewardship lands, or when traveling as a group to distant lands.
On this last point, engaging, introducing ourselves to, and humbly thanking our Maori hosts in Aotearoa helped them to know that we were paying attention, that we respected them and their mountains and waters, and that we were humbled by their work. Importantly, we also were able to show that we, too love our places and the many and diverse members of our communities, and in this love of our places, we were able to quickly form intimate relationships with our hosts, their families, and their storied places. For some of us who are used to the professional exchanges and encounters (annual society meetings or agency workshops), this radically different approach with radically different outcomes was profound, intense, soul lifting and a powerful lesson of how ritual can manifest transformation.
We hope that we have shown that ritual creates the space for relating to our environments, to each other, and with visitors and hosts on an intimate level, and that ritual operates at various scales. Applying this learning to the work environment has helped us build these relationships in our work, allowing for conversations and actions that were not possible in Hawai‘i just a few years ago.