On Oahu’s west coast, far from the glitzy North Shore crowds or the tourist-heavy Waikiki Beach, is a small town called Makaha. It’s known for being less than welcoming to “haoles,” a Hawaiian term for outsiders. In fact, when Paul and I decided to visit Makaha for a 2014 photographic assignment for National Geographic, we were warned — repeatedly — about the dangers of working on the west side.
We decided to go anyway. We had a relevant reason for this persistence: Our assignment was to tell the story of Hawaiian culture’s deep connection to the ocean. The Makaha community is dominated by descendants of the ancient Polynesian seafarers, the first surfing culture who settled the islands, and it felt essential to include these locals in this story. Plus, we wanted to highlight a major accomplishment for Makaha: Despite the decades of marginalization and neglect this town has suffered, its community traditions haven’t eroded in the least.
When we pulled into the beach parking lot in Makaha, we saw groups of young men covered in tattoos, drinking beer while they scoped the best waves. It was intimidating, but luckily we had a local guide waiting for us — Brian Keaulana, a well-known Hollywood stuntman who grew up in Makaha. He gave us some advice on how to handle the locals, which was simple, yet high-stakes: We needed to show respect. This meant, in our capacity as photographers, that we should always ask for permission before taking a picture, and that we should take time to get to know the community before we immediately jumped into work mode.
That same day, Brian introduced us to the “Uncles,” the elders of Makaha, who sit under the shade of beach trees to talk and play dominos. The conversation began slowly. Paul and I just wanted to listen and learn. Over the next eight months, we never had a problem in Makaha. In fact, some of the locals are now our lifelong friends.
Since Europeans first arrived to the Islands in the late 18th century, Hawaiian history has been colored by loss — first of numbers, as imported diseases burned through their ranks, then of land, nationhood, and culture. Even hula dancing all but vanished. Life in communities all across Hawaii has changed dramatically over the last several decades alone. That’s partly because of a massive influx of mainland visitors and vacationers, who brought with them a boost to some parts of the economy, but also worsened economic disparities. (Recent research shows that visitors to Hawaii outnumber Hawaiians by five to one — and that tourism has increased dramatically since our visit in 2014.)
Then there’s the devastating environmental impacts of climate change: The Islands’ fragile ecosystems, like Waikiki Beach, have faced extensive coral reef damage and erosion, thanks to the warming of the seas. The August 2023 wildfires in Maui were a catastrophic event that proved how badly the state’s land needs protection and revitalization. The fires were the result of a confluence of dangerous factors, including drought caused by climate change, the end of native agriculture practices that once enriched the soil and flora, and, yes, overdevelopment.
Plus, the rising tide of tourism certainly hasn’t lifted all boats, as Paul and I learned in Makaha. Although some Makaha residents have come to terms with the United States’ annexation of Hawaii in 1898, many still have not. You might understand this resentment a bit more if you visit the area: These people pay taxes like any other American, and yet receive horrifyingly little in exchange. For example, the road through Waianae, the 20-mile stretch that goes from Nanakuli to Makaha, is littered with rusted-out, broken-down cars and trucks. Methamphetamine addiction and homelessness is a crisis in the region.
But Paul and I learned that this disrepair does not, in any sense, tell the full story of this community. At the heart of Makaha is a tale of resilience and survival.
While restrictions on tourism and increased governmental support for Hawaii’s residents might prove to be a salve in the long-term, there’s much more all of us can do to protect this historically and ecologically rich land. I asked our friends in Makaha how we could help, and they presented plenty of fantastic ideas.
First things first: We can aid in preventing wildfires from devastating this coast by investing in habitat restoration. The Hawaiʻi Conservation Alliance Foundation aims to support some deeply important conservation work along these lines, through fundraising and advocacy.
Finally, there are a couple of initiatives we all can embrace and support to make the islands a better place: Care for ʻĀina Now is an organization with a mission to build visitor stewardship, conserve our cultural and natural resources, and invest in our ʻāina — land, sea, and natural resources — to keep our community safe. (Its website makes the very compelling point that the state’s ecosystems and natural and cultural resources “provide over $6 billion in value to our economy each year,” but that only 1 percent of the state’s budget each year goes toward safeguarding the environment.)
And since Hawaii’s young people are the ones who’ll guide and shape its future, we can also support programs designed to keep them away from trouble and focused on positive development, like the junior lifeguard training sessions from the Makua to Makaha Foundation.
In Makaha, there are some signs of revitalization on the horizon: Paul and I returned this winter, 10 years after our first visit. As we crossed the old bridge into town, which used to be a crumbling structure and is now being rebuilt, we felt like we were stepping into a time capsule. Other than the bridge, not much has changed: The beach, the homes, the local surfers — it all felt exactly the same as it did in 2014, when we first visited this magical place.
The first thing we did upon arrival was to sit under the shade of the milo trees at the beach and catch up with the locals. Unfortunately, the pandemic took a toll on the community, as have drug addiction and homelessness. There’s a growing sense of injustice and desperation, especially after the devastating fires on Maui. But while many of these people are struggling to keep their own lives afloat, they’re still working tirelessly to send resources out to those who were affected directly by the fires.
For Hawaiians, surfing is one of the only remaining tangible links to a pre-colonial past — and, just as importantly, it’s a testament to Hawaiians’ near-mystical connection to the ocean. Whether you’ve admired the state’s beauty from afar, or have taken the journey to witness it for yourself, one thing is certain: The land and people of Hawaii need our support — and it’s not too late to pitch in.
Paul Nicklen, Cristina Mittermeier and Andy Mann co-founded SeaLegacy in 2014. SeaLegacy’s mission is to inspire people to fall in love with the ocean, amplify a network of changemakers around the world, and catalyze hands-on diplomacy through hopeful, world-class visual storytelling.
