Maui is two islands waiting to shake loose of one another. Haleakala and the West Maui Mountains are the volcanoes that form the body and the head of Maui, respectively.

The day Lahaina burned Matt Meola was out bow hunting with his friend Lucas Nelson in a forest on the slopes of Haleakala. Lucas had never been, and Matt felt like putting a bit more country in the singer/songwriter (if it’s possible for a child of Willie Nelson to get more coun-try). Meola, professional appreciator of air wind, stood on a ridge during the hunt and thought to himself: “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen it this windy.” He may have been right. Reports came through of winds gusting up to and over 115 km/hour on the day of the fire.
Meola heard of fires popping up in Kula and Lahaina, but he assumed these were the usual small blazes that would soon be contained, an occurrence that has become common on Maui. Meola, like much of the world, went to sleep unaware of the severity of the fires. He woke up to devas-tation. That he was on Maui speaks to a disconnect on the island; that disconnect is reflected in the island’s history and poli-tics. An idyllic escapist fantasy also home to a working class that cannot escape the high cost of living and low wages. Maui is psychically and spatially divided.

Understanding Maui’s schisms requires considering fantasies and realities across the island’s history. When my father deplaned at the Kahului airport, in July of 1970, the airport was a small rotunda built around a tree. A banyan imported from India with airborne roots attempting to get grounded was the focal point of a human structure devoted to transience. Of course, my father cared more about the 7’6” ...