Pūnāwai (freshwater springs) sparkle like blue-green jewels across Honolulu’s urban landscape, supporting networks of social and environmental connectivity. From Kānewai Spring in East Honolulu to Kalihi’s Loʻi Kalo Mini Park to springs at Kalauao that nourish families, these natural wonders endure amidst an increasingly paved and urbanized city.

Springs are where groundwater daylights — a rare window into the aquifer. This same aquifer that supports 90% of O‘ahu’s drinking water. Springs’ cool waters feed limu and nearshore fisheries, sustain loʻi kalo and loko iʻa, and offer welcoming conditions for native waterbirds and fish in the midst of the concrete jungle.

Just as migratory birds find refuge at desert oases, O‘ahu’s residents find solace at remnant urban springs. These are spaces where spirits are renewed and where people are reconnecting with wai (fresh water), ‘āina, and each other.

Yet springs in the city are offered no protections for their social and ecological benefits. Often seen as inconvenient wetlands, they are capped, concreted over or their flows diverted into storm drains.

Our irrigated landscaping, tap water and hot showers, all require groundwater pumping reducing the flow available to springs compounded with relentless urbanization and development decreasing the available landscape where springs can exist. This suppression of springs does more than impede water — it disrupts Hawaiian cultural practices, severs vital connections to the ʻāina, and threatens springs’ role as essential threads in the fabric of urban resilience and cultural identity and continuity.

Where Life Thrives

Despite pipelines snaking across their footprints and concrete basins diverting their flows, springs continue to sustain us where they are nurtured. In places where stewards care for them, life thrives, and mo‘olelo (stories) are shared, reminding us of times of abundance. Today, springs stand as both vivid symbols of resilience and stark reminders of the neglect they endure and continue to face.

Danielle Espiritu of Hoʻōla Hou iā Kalauao, a community organization who cares for spring-fed loʻi kalo in Kalauao, ʻEwa, Oʻahu, voiced concerns about development impacts in public testimony: “Today, these loʻi and fishponds are under concrete. Pearlridge mall and the surrounding community sits on top of capped springs and covered loʻi kalo. Opu, the 10.5 acre fishpond directly ma kai of us is covered by another shopping center and a handful of walk up apartment buildings, with additional developments in tow.”

The Honolulu Rail Transit Project highlights the significant challenges posed by the lack of awareness and visibility of springs. While celebrated in traditional place names, springs were absent in the rail plans. In the 2011 Special Management Area hearing at the City Council, Chris Cramer of the Maunalua Fishpond Heritage Center provided a map of the major springs and fishponds along the rail in Puʻuloa.

He warned that the rail piers, acting as underground dams, could reduce flow and jeopardize the surrounding ecosystems and cultural practices. In response, Department of Transportation Services and Department Permitting and Planning officials testified “There are no springs and fishponds in the rail vicinity.”

When construction began, it disrupted springs’ groundwater flow paths critical for fishponds leading to massive groundwater flooding at construction sites. Observers described seeing “2-3 days of cement trucks” pouring concrete to suppress the flow (Bruce Keaulani, personal communication, 2024).

As Aunty Kehaulani Lum of Loko I‘a Pā‘aiau reminds us: “Loko I‘a Pā‘aiau (a spring and stream-fed fishpond in Kalauao) may not be able to feed our stomachs right now, but it surely feeds our hearts and minds. Through collective aloha and purpose, the pond is transforming lives.”

Her words echo the urgent need to protect and restore springs that once contributed to Hawai‘i’s food security; not wasted water, but life-giving waters, integral to the identity and well-being of the Hawaiian Islands and her people.

Development is often heralded as progress, but as we pave over and destroy or dewater our springs, we ask: Progress for whom, and at what cost? Honolulu’s urban landscape is, in many ways, a graveyard of cemented-over springs.

We must address future development in a way that avoids further destruction of these and other vital biocultural resources, by integrating urban planning that balances critical community needs, such as affordable housing, with the stewardship of our natural resources for true resilience.

There is hope — and there are ways to take action. Participate in community workdays to restore and care for springs, and encourage policymakers to heed community voices and their efforts to protect these urban jewels. Prioritizing and investing in the biocultural restoration of pūnāwai in urban areas can enhance resilience by improving stormwater management, mitigating fire risk, and alleviating the urban heat island effect.

Additionally, restoring these vital ecosystems that were tended for centuries strengthens local food security and fosters community stewardship, contributing to a healthier and more sustainable city.

Mahalo nui loa to the spring stewards of Oahu and Aurora Kagawa-Viviani for their support in writing this article.