A Word of Wisdom for the New Year

The turning of the year is a natural invitation to take inventory—of what we carry, what we’ve inherited, and what kind of future we intend to build. For Hawai‘i, that reflection is inseparable from a long and complex story of resilience, leadership, and the enduring quest for justice. The attached piece frames sovereignty not as a personal ambition or a political talking point, but as a collective moral and spiritual responsibility—one anchored in dignity, self-determination, and stewardship of land and culture.

One of the most sobering ideas in the document is how “law” can be used to sanctify harm. It points to the Doctrine of Discovery—rooted in 15th-century Papal Bulls—as a framework that asserted Christian powers could claim lands inhabited by non-Christians, rationalizing conquest, dispossession, and forced subjugation. The point here is not academic. It is personal and generational. When a legal fiction is repeated long enough, it starts to look like inevitability, even when its moral logic is indefensible.

The document names the downstream consequence plainly: systemic dispossession—an ongoing, structured removal of Indigenous peoples from land, resources, and self-sufficiency through political, legal, and economic mechanisms, producing lasting trauma and disruption. It then draws a direct line to Hawai‘i, asserting that this doctrine shaped the rationale used to justify annexation, colonization, and the dispossession of Native Hawaiians.

But this is not written as a document of despair. It is written as a call back to a higher standard of leadership—one measured by service, unity, and protection of the vulnerable. It elevates the legacy of King Kamehameha I and the Kānāwai Māmalahoe (Law of the Splintered Paddle), describing it as an early human-rights principle intended to restrain the powerful and shield ordinary people. That concept is a strong “new year” lens: real authority is proven by what it protects.

In that spirit, here is a practical way to carry the document’s “word of wisdom” into the year ahead—whether you live in Hawai‘i, have roots there, or simply love the islands.

First, choose honesty over comfort. Learn the history with integrity, even when it disrupts neat narratives. The document places major weight on the idea that remembering truthfully is part of healing—and that justice cannot be built on denial.

Second, choose unity over tribalism. The text returns again and again to unification—not through force, but through patience, righteousness, and the pursuit of harmony. In a culture (and online climate) that rewards outrage, unity is not weakness; it is discipline.

Third, choose servant leadership as your personal standard. Even if you are not leading a nation, you lead a home, a workplace, a community, or a circle of influence. The document’s framing is clear: leadership is stewardship, not domination; responsibility, not entitlement.

Fourth, choose protection of the vulnerable as a non-negotiable value. The Law of the Splintered Paddle is a concise ethical test: if our systems—legal, economic, social—do not make it safer for the elderly, women, and children to “lie by the roadside in safety,” then we are not progressing; we are drifting.

Finally, choose love of people as a guiding motive, not a slogan. The document closes this loop with Queen Liliʻuokalani’s line: “The cause of Hawai‘i is greater than any one life, and that love for one’s people is the highest calling of a sovereign.” That is not only about monarchy or statehood. It is a definition of moral adulthood: to live for something bigger than self, and to let love shape what justice looks like in practice.

If the new year is for resolutions, let one of them be this: to refuse easy stories when they cost other people their humanity. To practice aloha as a verb. And to treat land, culture, and community not as commodities—but as sacred trusts.