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This is Spear. He is being forced to leave his grandma's house against his will. You know who would never do this to him? Grandma...

Smile 26 5 19

<title>Daily Smile: Tuesday, May 19, 2026</title>

Daily Smile: Tuesday, May 19, 2026

 This is Spear. He is being forced to leave his grandma&#039;s house against his will. You know who would never do this to him? Grandma...

Kam Napier Headshot

A. Kam Napier

Columnists

Government & Politics

 was 32 years old on July 1, 2015, as she walked along San Francisco’s Pier 14 with her father and a friend.

Somewhere behind her on the Embarcadero at that moment was José Inez García Zárate, handling a pistol he found under a bench. He fired one shot. That shot hit Steinle in the back. Her father and friend performed CPR, paramedics arrived, but her aorta had been pierced and she died in a hospital two hours later.

In 2017, García Zárate was acquitted on charges of murder and manslaughter, but no one denied he fired the shot, and no one denied some other facts about him.

“A little bit of common sense and discretion might have prevented the killing this month in San Francisco of Kathryn Steinle — a victim not only of random gunfire but of the mindless handling of the city's immigration policy,” 

García Zárate, USA Today noted, “had a felony drug record going back 20 years, had been deported five times and had repeatedly sneaked back into the USA …  [he] was in the San Francisco County jail in April and should have been deported yet again. Federal immigration authorities had lodged a ‘detainer,’ seeking to get custody and do just that. All they needed was a call or other contact from the sheriff's office.

“The contact was never made, not because of some ghastly mistake or miscommunication but because of a city ordinance that prohibits police from honoring detainers except in rare cases. And, according to the San Francisco Chronicle, because of a policy by the local sheriff that bars contact with immigration authorities. After a local charge against Lopez-Sanchez [as his name appeared in early reporting] was dropped, he was held for three weeks, then put on the street.”

One of the top three candidates to be the next chief of the Honolulu Police Department is San Francisco’s David Lazar, whom Aloha State Daily 

Near as I can piece together from Lazar’s 

, he was a captain in the San Francisco Police Department at the time of Steinle’s shooting, then rising to commander in 2017 and then assistant chief before retiring in 2025. We can safely assume he alone did not set the policies that had made San Francisco a “sanctuary city” in 2015, where immigration law would be selectively ignored.

But Lazar has already told us where he wants to take Honolulu. Here’s the relevant quote from our interview with him:

“I come from a department where we don’t cooperate at all with ICE,” Lazar said. “That’s what I’m used to, that’s the right thing to do. If I’m selected as chief, we will not cooperate whatsoever with ICE. We will not participate in anything they have going on.

“We’re not going to transport for them, we’re not going to support them, we’re not going to respond to any of their calls, we’re not going to set up perimeters,” Lazar went on. “Those are the policy decisions that will be made on my watch.”

 is scheduled to make a decision today between Lazar, 

 and Scott Ebner. We profiled Lazar and Lambert, Ebner did not respond to us.

The commission is comprised of Chair Laurie Foster, Vice Chair Jeannine A. Souki, Vice Chair Chris Magnus, and members Kenneth Silva, Elizabeth Char, Blake Parsons and Gary A. Yabuta.

The commission can be reached at 808-723-7580, or by email at 

, if you have thoughts to share on their selection.

A. Kam Napier is editor in chief of Aloha State Daily. His opinions in Pipikaula Corner are his own and not reflective of the ASD team.

For the latest news of Hawai‘i, sign up 

0508 1311 David Lazar image 16x9

<title>Pipikaula Corner: David Lazar, Kate Steinle and Honolulu’s future</title>

One of the top three candidates for Honolulu Police Chief, David Lazar of San Francisco, has stated his intention to never let HPD cooperate with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. These are the kinds of policies widely believed to have been the reason why Kathryn "Kate" Steinle was killed in 2015 by a five-time deportee, out on the streets of San Francisco because local authorities refused to work with federal agencies on immigration cases.

Pipikaula Corner: David Lazar, Kate Steinle and Honolulu’s future

Little dog having fun at doggy daycare until his dad shows up at the window...

Smile 26 5 20

<title>Daily Smile: Wednesday, May 20, 2026</title>

Daily Smile: Wednesday, May 20, 2026

Lopaka and Tanya Kapanui

Lopaka Kapanui and Tanya Kapanui

Hawai‘i History

Named after the famous author and poet Robert Louis Stevenson, this facility was the first in Hawaiʻi to adopt a middle school concept in 1988, hosting students in grades 6-8.

It was initially named after Robert Louis Stevenson in 1937, when it opened as an intermediate school on the site of the Territorial Normal School, teaching children from grades 7-9.

I initially learned that RLS Middle School was built over the site of an important heiau in the Pūowaina complex. These heiau were used for various purposes by aliʻi and kāhuna to support the Pūowaina Heiau at the top of the crater we now call Punchbowl. I’ve quoted this bit of information as fact for years.

As we constantly expand our research and knowledge, we continually uncover new information that sheds light on previously accepted norms. Some of what we learn was passed down from mouth to ear, which may result in misunderstandings of certain moʻolelo or the locations where they took place. In these circumstances, we always offer our apologies and ask for forgiveness from our ancestors. Then, we correct our course and take full responsibility for our hiccup. It’s why research in all its aspects is crucial: because you, the reader, are very important to us. Our humble mahalo to you.

As it turns out, the information I had was partially correct. RLS Intermediate School was actually built over the remains of a heiau. However, the current site is not its original home. The Territorial Normal School, which served as a temporary site for Roosevelt High School, Pūowaina Elementary, and then RLS Intermediate, was located near the corner of Green and Alapai Streets.

By the 1940s, the need for a larger campus was clear, and the search for nearby locations began. A parcel in Kewalo-uka, located at the base of Punchbowl Crater, was chosen, where the U.S. Agricultural Experiment Station used to be. Finally, on November 16, 1952, a dedication ceremony was held on what would have been Robert Louis Stevenson’s 102nd birthday, with more than 600 students, parents, and teachers in attendance.

Although the heiau isn’t where I thought it was, that doesn’t mean the school isn’t haunted. The current location of Stevenson Middle School falls directly in the path of Kamehameha’s warriors as they battled for control of O‘ahu against Kalanikupule’s army. And as we’ve mentioned before, the land has a way of remembering past trauma.

After sharing a video about the middle school, my account was overwhelmed with comments and messages about people’s personal experiences. Many claim to have seen headless bodies, near the banyan tree and on the roof of the building. A general eeriness and the feeling of being watched are common. Two people mentioned the P.E. rooms feeling spooky, and one person said he saw the ghost of a man walk through the cafeteria wall.

Stevenson was one of the stops on the Ghost Hunters Bus Tour that my late mentor, Glen Grant, did before I eventually took over. He shared many of his personal encounters there, and he assured me that as time went on, whatever was haunting the school would soon make itself known to me. 

One evening, my group stood under the banyan tree and began to take pictures. This was in the late ’90s, so people were still using film cameras. When the burst of flashes went off, sparkles floated down toward us in a slow descent. It was a wonderful thing to behold. It didn’t feel spooky, but we made sure there was no one hiding in the branches, raining sparkling lights down on us.

On another night, the usual busload of 25 people was standing in front of the cafeteria’s double doors. I shared the story of the old Kānelā’au, which we believed once stood there, where human sacrifices were offered to the gods. As I shared this account, we all heard the sound of high heels walking down the sidewalk from the far corner of the cafeteria, and we could tell it was coming our way. I continued talking while waiting for the person in high heels to appear so we could get out of her way. No one manifested, but the sound of the high heels walked right past us.

A second later, police cars rolled up, and the officers approached us. They asked if we’d seen a woman in a dress and high heels walking on the cafeteria roof. I explained that we all heard the heels, but it didn’t sound like it was above us. We hadn’t seen anyone, even though the sound seemed to pass right through us.

“That’s the call we got,” one of the officers said, and then they left us to continue our tour while they investigated the rest of the campus.

Many other strange events took place during my tours, including a group of people seeing headless bodies under the portable buildings. But the strangest account comes from a retired police officer who, along with his former partner, used to patrol the area around Stevenson Middle School. His partner had been on the force for many years and was well regarded by his peers.

There was a major car accident in the area, and all officers were called to respond. The man’s former partner didn’t reply and never showed up for the call. His vehicle, a black Crown Victoria, was seen in the Stevenson parking lot. The officer was found inside, slumped over. He had died of a heart attack.

Later, people reportedly saw a black Crown Victoria pull into the parking lot in the late hours of the night. No one could see inside the car, but almost everyone knew who it belonged to. Some patrolmen would drive by that late officer’s house to make sure that the Crown Victoria was parked in the garage, and it was, I was told.

Wanting to see for himself, the retired officer went to the Stevenson parking lot to wait. Sure enough, a little after 1:00 a.m., the black Crown Victoria pulls up.

“Holy crap,” was the only thing I could say as I was covered with chicken skin.

“End of watch, John,” the officer called out, “We got it covered. You can go home and rest.”

He said he couldn’t see inside the car, but he knew it was his friend, and that was all he could think of to put his soul at ease. The car left the parking lot and was never seen again.

Stevenson Middle School

<title>Intermediate Ghosts</title>

If you thought just being in the 7th or 8th grade was scary, imagine if some tragic set of circumstances had you trapped there in the afterlife! Stories abound about the things seen at Robert Louis Stevenson Middle School in Honolulu, long known as an "Intermediate School" in the DOE naming system. Ancient warriors. Headless bodies. A cop on his beat. A mysterious woman in high heels.  All these and more.

Intermediate Ghosts

Hina Kneubuhl

Viewpoints

From sea to summit, Haleakalā is a living, breathing, ancestral system whose most sacred part is its piko, or highest point. To understand its sacredness, we must begin at the origin of our islands and the life that fills them.

Our most extensive genealogical chant of creation is the Kumulipo. Long before Charles Darwin came up with his theory of evolution, Hawaiians were chanting their universe, from the walewale hoʻokumu honua 

 much like the western idea of a “primordial soup” 

 to the plants and animals, and eventually to themselves.

In this genealogy, the coral polyp was the first true organism. Then plants were born in the ocean and paired with others born on land. This land/sea connection is a foundational and enduring concept in our worldview, epitomized by the Kāne/Kanaloa water cycle.

After land and sea plants came the fish, birds, insects, and mammals. Collectively, these organisms filled the ʻāina and created the foundation for human life, which was the last to emerge.

As the muli loa, or last born, in this long line of life forms, we honor them all as kūpuna, or ancestors, and we show our gratitude to them through respect and protection.

I want to be clear here that we don’t choose to stand up for the ʻuaʻu and the ʻāhinahina, for example. Rather, as Kumu Kīʻope Raymond has put it, we have a familial obligation to do so. This is also why the first rule is to take only what you need and no more. Hoarding is abhorrent and forbidden, as it’s unsustainable and breaks the contract with our family of life.

Our akua, our deities, also come from the Pō. Other genealogies tell us of the unions of various akua and the birth of our islands. Wākea and Papa came together and the first islands Papa birthed were Hawaiʻi, Maui, and Kahoʻolawe. This is part of the reason that Kahoʻolawe is considered a kalana (land area) belonging to the Honuaʻula district of Maui.

Among the many gifts of the god Kāne are sunlight and freshwater. In concert with Kanaloa, whose realm is the ocean, they are the water cycle. The abundant wai of East Maui activates the fertility of Papa (in her many Haumea forms), driving primary productivity on land and enabling the symphony of life that came to be on Haleakalā.

These kūpuna plants and animals arrived and evolved there for nearly 2 million years after Papa gave birth. This created what biologist Art Medeiros refers to as a lei, or garland of forest, that once went all the way around Haleakalā, comprising roughly 450 native species in habitats from rainforest to dryforest. Many of these species are endemic 

The koʻolau, or northeast part of that lei of forest is a 100,000-acre watershed that produces 60 billion gallons of water annually, on which we, the people, survive. It does this because we have protected it and limited the amount of human activity there.

This is one of several reasons that the land from where the forest begins all the way to the summit is called the wao akua, or the realm of the gods.

This brings us to the summit itself, which is called the piko, or navel. This is where Haleakalā was connected to its mother, Papa. While the physical piko was severed at birth, an energetic connection remains to Papa in her forms as Haumea.

Haleakalā, through its piko, draws nourishment from Haumea and our celestial ʻohana and that mauli, that life force, feeds the entire living, breathing, mountain system. The symphony of life we talked about earlier, which includes us as Kānaka, is nourished through this critical point of connection.

In fact, when we go to the summit for special occasions or ceremonies and our piko align with that piko, we experience an especially profound connection to life force that is unique to that place. This is at the heart of why obstructions and developments at the summit are highly detrimental.

So, the piko draws down this nourishment and feeds the ʻāhinahina, the ʻuaʻu, the koa, the ʻōhiʻa, and all the forms of life on the mountain. Amazingly, Haumea is found both high above in the heat of the stars and deep below in the earth’s molten core; as above, so below. Haumea’s daughter, Pele, is embodied in the most recent flows on our mountain, where molten rock once again broke the surface and formed new land.

Some folks tend to think of Pele’s activity as confined to the lua, or crater portion of the national park, but we must break out of this fragmented mindset that is not in line with our cultural history.

Pele’s activity spreads across the whole kualono (ridgeline) of Haleakalā. Entire hula traditions are devoted to the dances that honor this akua and her wondrous work across the mountain. Much of the extent of her influence is within Honuaʻula and the ahupuaʻa of Pāpaʻanui.

Pele eventually went on to Hawaiʻi Island, but the goddesses Lilinoe and Poliʻahu continued to shape the summit and the crater with their clouds, mist, rain, snow and ice. Lilinoe is still with us today, casting her kīhei of clouds around the mountain, feeding many areas with her gentle rain and fog drip, and helping to regulate temperatures.

This is just a fraction of the knowledge that exists about Haleakalā, the kuahiwi that is our malu (sanctuary), our life source, and the only home many of us will ever know. Its sacred summit is second to none and telescopes do not belong there. We will forever stand in protection of this piko of nourishment and connection.

Adapted from a presentation at the Hanohano ʻo Haleakalā forum. For the full version of this presentation, go to 

, hit the “watch livestream” button, and advance to 35 minutes.

This article is reprinted with permission from 

OHA's Ka Wai Ola newspaper: "Why is Haleakalā a sacred place?" by Hina Kneubuhl in its May 2026 issue, Vol. 43 No. 5. Read more at 

For the latest news of Hawai‘i, sign up 

Haleakala, Maui

<title>Community Voices: Why is Haleakalā a sacred place?</title>

On Haleakalā, the land from where the forest begins up to the summit is considered a wao akua (realm of gods). The summit itself is called the piko, or highest point, which draws down nourishment that feeds the entire, living, breathing mountain system.

Community Voices: Why is Haleakalā a sacred place?

Kelli Shiroma Braiotta Headshot

Kelli Shiroma Braiotta

Food & Dining

While she was working at Hawaiian Airlines, Aubrie Usui — the owner of 

 — recalls traveling often to Japan and Korea. She remembers how experiencing both coffee and matcha there changed her perspective on the popular beverages.

“The quality is unmatched, and they don’t cut corners on ingredients or portions,” she says.

Usui had the idea to open her own café business for a few years, but while working full-time at Hawaiian Airlines, she couldn’t find the time to fully commit.

However, once Alaska Airlines acquired Hawaiian Airlines and she was given notice that she would be laid off in the upcoming months, Usui took that as a sign to go “all in” on the business idea.

“I wanted to bring that same level of quality back home and re-create the drinks I fell in love with, while also experimenting with my own flavors,” she says. “I developed a deeper passion for coffee and matcha. I especially fell in love with the creative side — how you can take something as simple as a latte and turn it into something unique and memorable.”

From that point on, Usui devoted her full attention to building her business — working on branding, developing recipes and planning operations.

“I was able to open the shop within five months of my last day (at Hawaiian Airlines),” she says. “One of the first major steps was meeting with my coffee distributor, who plays a huge role in the quality and consistency of our drinks.”

Da Morning Grind Café officially opened on April 6 in King Laundromat — owned by Usui's parents — located at the intersection of South King and Pensacola Streets. The business’s name was a collaborative effort among her family members, according to Usui.

“The name actually came from a family group chat,” she says. “At first, we were trying to incorporate the word ‘Corner,’ but nothing felt right. My sister suggested ‘Morning Grind,’ and it immediately clicked.

“Our family has always been active and involved in sports, so we’re very familiar with early mornings and having something to work toward,” she adds. “‘Da Morning Grind’ represents that shared experience — everyone has something they’re waking up early for, and we wanted to create a place that fuels that.”

There are two ways to order — customers can visit the takeout window on South King Street, or visit the takeout window located within the laundromat. Just ring the doorbell when you’re ready to order.

The café offers a variety of coffees, teas, dirty sodas and specialty drinks. For coffee lovers, Usui recommends the black honey cold brew latte and dirty matcha latte, which includes espresso, honey and matcha. Most drinks are available in 12- and 16-ounce sizes.

“These are stronger, more bold drinks designed for people who want a real kick to start their day, but they’re still smooth and enjoyable,” Usui says.

She notes that lattes come with a double shot of espresso, regardless of size.

“If you prefer a stronger coffee taste, the smaller size will be more concentrated,” she says. “The medium size is more balanced and gives room for add-ons. We will be adding a 20-ounce size soon.”

The business’s cold brew is steeped overnight in the fridge to develop a deeper flavor, according to Usui.

“To match it with something sweet, I chose Kuromitsu (a Japanese sugar syrup that translates to 'black honey') because it wouldn’t overpower the cold brew’s taste,” she says. “The dirty matcha came from experimenting with how to create a high-caffeine drink that feels smoother than a typical multi-shot espresso.”

Consistency and balance are important when developing new flavors, according to Usui.

“Our matcha lattes are carefully scaled so the flavor stays consistent every time,” she says.

The café’s newest drinks — Da Matcha-nana and Da Big Island Vog — feature the café’s new homemade pudding cloud. Da Big Island Vog latte is the business’s twist on a London Fog latte, which usually includes vanilla syrup, steamed milk and earl grey tea.

“My mom loves ordering them [London Fog lattes] because she doesn’t always want espresso, but still enjoys a creamy, latte-style drink,” Usui says. “We elevated it by adding our matcha pudding cloud to make it more unique.”

Of course, the name is a play on Hawaiʻi Island’s vog. Da Matcha-nana features a matcha latte base that’s topped with a homemade banana brown sugar pudding cloud.

“It was inspired by local flavors,” Usui says. “Banana lumpia is something a lot of people in Hawaiʻi love, and we wanted to translate that into a drink without making it taste artificial.”

The pudding cloud is also available in flavors like salted caramel and salted maple, which can be added as toppings for espresso lattes.

The café rotates its seasonal specials every two to three months to keep introducing new flavors and ideas, according to Usui, who encourages customer input.

“We’re always open to feedback and continuously refining our recipes to improve the experience for our customers,” she says. 

Customer parking is available in the laundromat lot (entrance is on Pensacola Street).

Da Morning Grind Café is currently open from 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Mondays to Fridays and from 7 a.m. to noon on Saturdays and Sundays.

Open 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. Mondays to Fridays, 7 a.m. to noon Saturdays and Sundays

Da Morning Grind owner 051826

<title>Da Morning Grind Cafe is tucked away within a laundromat</title>

The business’s takeout window is located on South King Street. Open for grab-and-go, the café offers a variety of coffees, teas, dirty sodas and specialty drinks, including a twist on the London Fog latte.

Da Morning Grind Cafe is tucked away within a laundromat

Higa headshot white shirt square

Sterling Higa

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Ben Sasse is bleeding from the face."}]

He’s seated across from New York Times columnist Ross Douthat, 

, and he pauses to note it. He’s dying of stage 4 pancreatic cancer. One side effect of the treatment is that his body can’t grow skin.

“Yeah, you look terrible,” says Douthat.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"“Thank you,” says Sasse with a smile."}]

Since his diagnosis, Sasse has appeared on 

 stage, and a parade of podcasts. He uses the time to say what most politicians never dare to.

He talks about faith. He quotes R.C. Sproul. He discusses Tocqueville with the ease of someone who has actually read him.

Sasse is a two-term Republican Senator from Nebraska, a Harvard graduate, a Yale PhD in History. He voted to impeach Donald Trump and took the consequences. Though popular with voters in his home state, he left the Senate to serve as President of the University of Florida.

Now he spends his last days making one argument: American political life has gone badly wrong. Not because the wrong party is winning. Because the whole enterprise has lost its bearings.

Sasse starts with something most politicians would rather ignore: the pace of technological change. Previous economic transformations — industrialization, electrification — unfolded across generations. This one won’t. Robotics and automation will wipe out whole careers within a single working life.

Sasse sees a second shift: disembodied consciousness, the way screens let people leave their world. Families are breaking apart. Communities are dissolving. The local ties — churches, civic groups, the small-scale institutions Edmund Burke called “little platoons” — that help people absorb hard times are being stripped away. The formation of souls and citizens is at risk, and government is mostly ignoring it in favor of clickbait and rage.

He thinks our loves should be ordered, first to God, then to those nearest us, rippling outward from family to neighborhood to state to nation. Caring about a national political party more than your own community isn’t just confused. It’s a disorder of affection.

What’s true of the nation is true in Hawai'i. The legislature introduces three thousand bills a year. How many of those take the large challenges seriously? The demographic shifts, the cost pressures squeezing local families, the slow hemorrhage of young people off the Islands? The floor speeches and press releases gesture toward these problems, but the lawmaking doesn’t match the problem.

Sasse’s example suggests why. He can sit for an hour-long interview on dense political and theological matters because he has a clear philosophy — a disciplined way of working through problems. It also gives him the power to persuade, which is the precondition for coordinated action.

The founders studied rhetoric and philosophy with the same care they gave the law, because republican government runs on argument and clear speech. Most of Hawai‘i’s lawmakers couldn’t sustain an interview like Sasse’s, and the laws show it. There’s no clear direction. No will to rally the public. Few signs that anyone has thought hard about what government is for. What fills the vacuum is performance: press releases, floor speeches written for social media, outrage timed to the news cycle.

Sasse has a simple framework for what a coherent politics looks like. He describes four ways of valuing government, measured in cheers. No-cheer people — hardcore libertarians — don’t understand that government exists to secure liberty. Three-cheer people believe in a state that controls everything. Republicans, he says, are the one-cheer party. Democrats are the two-cheer party. Each has an extreme wing. Hawai‘i’s loudest voices are at the extremes.

What we lack are the one-cheer leaders: those who see government as necessary but flawed, able to secure order but not to deliver salvation.

Government should do a small number of important things well. It should get out of the way of the little platoons. It should never present itself as the path to utopia. Hawai‘i’s government casting itself as humanity’s last best hope has always been faintly comic.

Sasse’s sharpest line comes when he describes what voters already sense about the way their leaders talk.

They know it’s bullshit, he says — and they don’t want to be lied to. Why can’t politics do a small number of important, long-term things?

There is something clarifying about a man making that argument while bleeding from the face. He has no election to win, no caucus to protect, and by his own reckoning, weeks or months to live. What he’s chosen to do with his time is sit down and think hard about what government is and isn’t for, and what we’ve lost by confusing the two.

In watching Ben Sasse die, Hawai‘i might learn something about how to live.

Ben Sasse Getty Images 1231346544

<title>Ben Sasse is dying in public</title>

The former U.S. senator from Nebraska is talking about big ideas everywhere he can as pancreatic cancer takes his life. Hawai‘i's politicians could learn from what he has to say about government doing fewer things well, says ASD opinion columnist Sterling Higa.

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