As far as salvaging the project, Chow feels attracting future investors depends on the over-the-shoulder control of the church. After a fight for his liquor license, Chow encourages the church to keep moral choices separate from business decisions. Chow was granted his liquor license. The marketplace did not open. Liquor proved immaterial. “The church is not presently in control of the marketplace property,” wrote the Wananalua board of trustees in a press release dated August 17th. “It is subject to the rights of the lessee, Hina Malailena under the terms of a 40-year lease, with 20 years remaining.” Hina Malailena, a Hana based non-profit organization, signed the lease, effective January 1, 1989. The Department of Commerce and Consumer Affairs lists Hina Malailena as a practicing non-profit, but phone calls to founding president Bill Chang end with the tone of an angry wife, “Stop calling.” Click. Hina Malailena stands in default of their lease, due to sporadic rent payments, uncompleted buildings and unpaid taxes. But on December 26, 1995, OHA administrator Linda M. Colburn signed a consent and estoppel certificate, agreeing to cure default. OHA agreed to perform the promises of the lease made by Hina Malailena. “In 2005, the church notified OHA that Hina Malailena was in default on the lease in a number of reasons, including years of rent unpaid and construction of the buildings uncompleted,” the press release continues. “We asked OHA to honor its obligations ... We are still waiting for OHA to keep its promise, complete the development and pay the rent due the church.” Banyan roots are splitting roofs. A koa tree stands dead in the middle of the marketplace. Trim has been torn from buildings to light small-kine campfires. Obligations have outgrown rent payments. The |
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Twenty-seven year church member Dawn Lono will go to the September community meeting, curious to hear OHA’s intention. “I hope they come here to offer some assistance, to bring the project to fruition,” said Lono, who has held various roles as an officer of the church, from moderator to deacon to trustee to scribe. “If not, I hope they step out of the picture, let go of their hold, so we, the Hana One of the original prospective tenants, Lono was forced to establish her flower farm elsewhere. For But before the first foundation brick was ever laid, Lono rented a storefront space in the Hana town center. “You have your dream, you’re all excited, you see your future in a certain way, like the answer to a prayer,” Lono said. “You’re hanging on the little bit you have, putting your hope in this project. “It wasn’t in a moment, but slowly, it just drifted away. Finally, you make up your mind to do something else, but you have to deal with the death of that dream.” |
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A marketplace meant to help Hana residents break through an economic ceiling, now looks like an ugly reminder of limitations. Driving past the blight, locals pretend to not see it – the very place every rental car was meant to see, a magnet to attract the tourist dollar. But Lono urges her neighbors to see a sliver of hope, to picture economic diversification in Hana, to feel self control, rather than the control of outside forces. “The church has every right to proceed with a lawsuit against OHA,” Lono said. “To clear the project to ground zero, to lease to someone else, to do what Akua wants.” Thirty-year church member Joyce Quimby thinks the church should sell the property, even if at a loss. She remembers the vote cast to the congregation – lease or sell. Quimby voted sell. “The church needs to get it off its shoulders,” Quimby said. “Because it’s a burden ... it’s a burden carrying something that’s not going anywhere.” With marketplace construction in limbo, the church erected a fence in 2000. “I see a church on one side and weeds on the other and nothing happening,” Quimby said. “I do not have a vision.” The neglect of the state, conflicts of ethics and an inexperienced non-profit have left Hana with a homeless shelter. What happens after 20 have gone by? The next generation. “The responsibility will fall on whoever wants to take it by the horns,” said 24-year old Kara Henderson. “I think there’s mana in every generation. I think in my generation, not a lot of people are living at home because there are not enough jobs, there are not enough places to live.” When the walls were going up, Henderson remembers everyone talking about the marketplace – what will it be? The chatter hushed and the whispers spread. “It seems like a big secret,” said Henderson, a senior at Brigham Young University. “Maybe it’s because I was young, but it didn’t seem like anyone ever knew what happened, who gave the money, who was taking the money, Henderson believes locals want to see something happen. She sees a loss of hope in the rotting buildings. And she sees fear in the faces who turn away. “People don’t know what steps to take, so they’re all standing still,” Henderson said. “All of us, I’m included in the ‘they.’ We’re all just standing But steps start by standing. |
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