**1. Introduction**

As indigenous people are increasingly recognized as critical to biocultural resource conservation globally [1–4], some indigenous communities and organizations are regaining management of their ancestral lands and resources [5–9]. Yet, the question remains, how can the world manage biocultural land and seascapes in an indigenous way in the 21st century, given the immense environmental and social changes that indigenous systems have endured over the last several hundred years. Hawai'i exemplifies intense socio-ecological change. The archipelago has some of the highest rates of endemism on land [10] and in the sea [11] in the world, but is challenged with extreme threats of invasive species and habitat loss, leading to high degrees of extinction [12]. Ka¯naka 'O¯ iwi (Indigenous Hawaiian people) who have stewarded the lands and seas of Hawai'i for a millennium, have been systematically dispossessed of sovereign governance, including loss of stewardship and access to ancestral lands as well as loss of traditional management and tenure of shoreline and ocean resources [13], and face disproportionately high rates of poverty, homelessness, health issues, abuse, and incarceration [14,15]. As the health and well-being of indigenous people are inextricably linked to the health of their ancestral places [16–18], it is critical to understand past and current systems of indigenous stewardship not only for potential resource management benefits, but for the plethora of interrelated social values which drive collective well-being.

We know that indigenous management systems are by their nature responsive, adaptive to social and ecological change, and transform over time [19], and therefore could be applicable to address today's sustainability challenges that fundamentally bridge disciplines, such as climate change adaptation [13]. Moreover, many indigenous resource management institutions and their governance have been shown to be especially sustainable and resilient over long periods of time [20]. Yet, there is a scarcity of examples of applied indigenous resource management [21–23]. Furthermore, existing models of application and integration of indigenous knowledge in resource management often focus on data-oriented knowledge that can easily fit into western science frameworks such as knowledge of weather and climate [24,25], animal ecology [26], phenology [27] or management practices like marine prohibitions [28], forest patch protection [29], agroecological practices [30], and watershed-based management [31]. Focusing on knowledge and management practices alone ignores the fact that indigenous knowledge is inextricably nested within systems of practice and belief [19], and successful application of indigenous knowledge systems for resource management depends on the conservation of these through the system's social institutions and worldviews [29,32,33].

Additionally, the socio-ecological literature championing indigenous systems of stewardship lacks cases from the perspective of indigenous authors, although there are a few examples [34–36]. When working to understand and bridge indigenous systems of resource management, it is critical to learn directly from the indigenous point of view. Beyond that, indigenous-led examples allow for a self-determined approach and expression grounded in ancestral ways of knowing [36–38]. In this paper, we provide an example of the maintenance and adaptation of an indigenous resource management system in Hawai'i from the perspective of an influential 'O¯ iwi (Indigenous Hawaiian) social institution, Kamehameha Schools. Kamehameha Schools is not only the largest private landowner in Hawai'i, but as we explain below, is tied to a lineage of traditional chiefs resulting in unique influence and wealth today.

#### *1.1. Brief History of Kamehameha Schools*

Shortly after Western Contact in 1778, the famous ali'i (chief) Kamehameha I, united the Hawaiian Islands under his rule for the first time in Hawai'i history, forming the Hawaiian Kingdom [39]. This consolidation of power allowed for the hereditary passing of lands to his descendants, who would remain the dominant chiefs through the Hawai'i Kingdom era. Even throughout the process of Western-based land privatization in the mid-1840's, Kamehameha's descendants retained control of vast tracts of lands. These lands were passed down within the family until the last direct descendant of the Kamehameha line, Bernice Pauahi Bishop. During her lifetime (1831–1884), Pauahi witnessed a substantial 35% decline in the Native Hawaiian population mainly due to Western disease. With that decline came a loss of 'O¯ iwi lifeways and tradition. Because Pauahi believed that education would offer her people the best future, she left her entire estate, nine percent of the Hawaiian Islands, to establish

the Kamehameha Schools. At her passing, Pauahi's estate totaled 375,500 acres of land assessed at about \$474,000. Today, Kamehameha Schools' estate includes nearly 365,800 acres or ten percent of Hawai'i's land (Figure 1), and combined with other assets, is valued at \$11.5 billion [40]. As a result of Pauahi's vision, Kamehameha Schools' mission focuses on the creation of educational opportunities in perpetuity to improve the capability and well-being of people of Kanaka ' ¯ Oiwi ancestry. ¯

**Figure 1.** Map showing distribution of Kamehameha Schools lands (blue) along with lands managed by the Counties (orange), the State (green), and the Federal (pink) governments.

### *1.2. Development of Kamehameha Schools' Natural and Cultural Resource Management*

In 2002, the department responsbile for Natural and Cultural Resources stewardship was created. We, the authors of this paper, currently make up this team at Kamehameha Schools, which is responsible for the stewardship of all of the native ecosystems and cultural sites and landscapes within the institution's 365,800 acre landholdings. At its inception, our team was charged with the task of "ma¯lama i ka 'a¯ina", an 'O¯ iwi concept literally translated as "care for the land", which the institution defines as "ethical, prudent, and culturally-appropriate stewardship of lands and resources" [41]. Those of us who were there at the time, along with our predecessors and former leaders (Neil Hannahs, Ulalia Woodside, and Kekuewa Kikiloi), set out to understand and (re)discover what it means to steward Kamehameha Schools' land in an 'O¯ iwi way, something that was customary in our history, but had been largely lost within the institution in the recent century. Since 2002, we have taken deep dives into resources, including within historical documents, 'O¯ iwi scholarship, and our own institutional archives, so that we could understand why and how to do our work of appropriate 'Oiwi stewardship of Kamehameha Schools land. ¯

Of the authors, five of us are Ka¯naka 'O¯ iwi and all of us are kama'a¯ina (born and raised in Hawai'i; literally "land child" [42]) with collectively over 40 years of experience managing resources at Kamehameha Schools from an indigenous institutional perspective. This figure is even more extraordinary when considering the fact that our team's average age is currently just 35 years old. Our backgrounds include training in both 'O¯ iwi and Western knowledge systems in the fields of: Ritual, Oli (the practice of chant), 'O¯ lelo Hawai'i (Hawaiian Language), Traditional Hawaiian Land Use, Biocultural Resource Management, Ethnoecology, Botany, Archaeology, Anthropology, Hawaiian Studies, Urban and Regional Planning, Agroecology. We consistently bridge these complementary systems and disciplines in our work directing the maintenance and restoration of biocultural integrity on Kamehameha Schools' lands. This paper is a result of our personal experience of years developing an indigenous way of stewardship through on-the-ground natural and cultural resource management.

As an indigenous organization, Kamehameha Schools is unique, in Hawai'i and within the broader global context, because it is (1) a large-scale owner and steward of ancestral lands with (2) substantial decision-making authority and (3) financial wealth to fund a perpetual vision for its lands and communities. Albeit, within a larger colonial hierarchy (U.S. state, federal, and international regulations and law). So, what does it look like, when an indigenous organization has the power to be in full control of resources for the betterment of their native communities in perpetuity? There are far-reaching implications of sharing our story, for other indigenous organizations around the world that are (re)discovering their own ways of stewardship. Moreover, there are state, federal, and other non-governmental organizations that do not have indigenous-focused missions in Hawai'i and around the world, but are now responsible for the management of former indigenously-stewarded lands and seas. In Hawai'i, those include some of the most bioculturally important lands that were originally bestowed to the Hawaiian Kingdom Government or to the Crown, including the summits of sacred mountains (e.g., Mauna Kea (see [43]), Mauna Loa, K¯ılauea, Haleakala¯, Ka'ala) as well as the majority of the watersheds, and all of the nearshore and marine seascapes across the archipelago (Figure 1). Because of the growing recognition of the value of biocultural resource management [44], many of these agencies are working towards incorporating 'Oiwi ways of knowing into their current ¯ management [45,46]. Our case study can provide a potential roadmap for these non-indigenous agencies working to bridge multiple knowledge systems to manage or restore biocultural abundance in the lands and communities they are responsible for today.

In this case study of applied indigenous resource management, we have used 'O¯ iwi methodologies to define for ourselves what it means to steward 'a¯ina (land and seascapes) in an 'O¯ iwi way. Therefore, this paper does not follow the standard Introduction, Methods, Results, and Discussion format of a scientific journal article, but rather is framed by the 'O¯ iwi concept of mo'okuauhau (genealogy). ¯ First, we work to understand our mo'okuauhau, our continuity in our positions as ' ¯ a¯ina stewards of an ali'i institution. We look to indigenous worldviews and traditional institutions particular to us as Kamehameha Schools land stewards through examining primary 'O¯ iwi sources, such as mele (chants) and ka'ao (cosmologies), mo'olelo (life stories) and 'olelo no'eau (wise sayings of ¯ biocultural significance), as well as secondary source interpretations of traditional concepts from early Ka¯naka 'O¯ iwi scholars. Second, we examine the transference of obligation genealogically and through landscapes. We look to chiefs of the Kamehameha lineage and how they related to their land holdings during their lifetime through chants written for them, mo'olelo in Hawaiian language newspaper articles of their time, as well as documentation of their land stewardship in their letters and land reports. The task is to figure out who we are, not in the sense of our name, or title, but *what is our function*? We do this by determining where we sit in the genealogical framework of the institution. Third, we discuss the ways in which our resource management predecessors took on the responsibility, to both our 'a¯ina and our Ka¯naka 'O¯ iwi communities, again examining internal land documents and letters of our institutional predecessors. Fourth, we consider our research and resource management experiences to discuss how we as an indigenous institution endeavor to meet these genealogical obligations through our resource management program today. We seek to answer the question, how do we serve to continue the function of those before us our institutional genealogy in today's socio-ecologic context?
