What Food Resilience Really Looks Like in Hawaiʻi | Hawaii Food Summit 2025 Recap

What Food Resilience Really Looks Like in Hawaiʻi

In Hawaiʻi, the wet season overlaps with hurricane season. Storms are only part of the picture. Power outages, shipping delays, wildfires, flooding, and economic uncertainty are all part of what we live with here. The question isn’t if disruption will happen — it’s how prepared we are when it does.

The Hawaiian kilokilo or kilo hoku (observers—individuals 
who possessed skills in discerning the nature of land, water, ocean) were responsible for protecting their people from the many possible ―extreme events,‖ such as hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunami, heat 
waves, cold spells, floods, etc. Probably all coastal populations commonly had upland sanctuaries to which some, if not all, of the settlement would retreat during such times. Tragic or Extreme Events in Hawaiian Islands’ History of Long Ago

One way we stay informed and connected is by showing up. Community gatherings, island-wide conversations, and shared learning spaces matter. I recently attended the Hawaiʻi Food System Summit, where the focus was household food preparedness and the need for healthy, shelf-stable food grown locally. Not as a concept — but as a real, practical need.

We’re often told to have a 14-day supply of food and water, along with a family emergency plan. That advice is important. But what became clear over two days of conversation is that preparedness isn’t just about checklists. It’s about responsibility — to ourselves, to our neighbors, and to future generations.

People from many backgrounds came together with one shared question: how do we feed ourselves through climate shifts, economic strain, and uncertainty? The official theme was food resilience and disaster preparedness. The lived theme was accountability.

In Hawaiʻi, food is never just food. It holds memory, culture, and survival. As people shared stories from recent disasters, hard truths surfaced — moments when systems failed, coordination broke down, and communities were left vulnerable. These weren’t abstract ideas. They were real experiences with real consequences.

What stood out most was this: resilience isn’t something you declare in a plan. It’s something you practice, long before a crisis arrives.

I also participated in the Koʻolau Resilience Hub Network Symposium alongside over a hundred community partners. The same message echoed there — statewide planning matters, but it only works when it matches the reality on the ground. Preparedness has to make sense in people’s daily lives. It has to respect local knowledge, cultural practices, and the ways communities already care for one another.

Food resilience can’t be built from the top down alone. It grows locally. It’s shaped by trust, relationships, and shared skills. When disasters hit, silos don’t hold — people do.

Food security isn’t only about producing more or strengthening supply chains. It’s about access, care, and flexibility — in both blue skies and gray ones. It’s about knowing your neighbors, checking in on elders, making sure children are cared for, and having systems in place that work when everything else pauses.

I left these gatherings without easy answers, but with clarity. Resilience is collective. Preparedness is relational. And the future of Hawaiʻi’s food system depends on our willingness to move from talk to action.

As part of that responsibility, we were asked to reflect on our role in increasing access to canoe plant flours — foods rooted in culture, nourishment, and long-term resilience. We’re responding by working with Koʻolau resilience hubs to offer hands-on workshops: first aid, CPR/AED, Stop the Bleed, HAM radio training, and practical survival skills.

Looking ahead to 2026, we’re planning rotating food preservation workshops focused on drying and Taro Powder 101. Our work also includes a flour share program, along with plant and seed exchanges — small, practical steps that help households build independence while staying connected.

If we take this responsibility seriously now, we don’t just prepare for emergencies. We build a food system grounded in care, dignity, and shared strength — one that can nourish Hawaiʻi through whatever comes next.