Turtle Bay Resort vs. a bee: Why the rules keep choosing luxury

An endangered bee could stall a Turtle Bay resort, writes ASD columnist Sterling Higa. A few miles down the coast, homes that start at $5.9 million are going up untouched.

SH
Sterling Higa

June 24, 2026less than a minute read

Hawaiian yellow-faced bee
Hawaiian yellow-faced bee (Hylaeus anthracinus). (Sheldon Plentovitch, USFWS)

A multi-billion-dollar corporation has been stalled by an insect the size of a grain of rice.

The company is Host Hotels, based in Maryland. It wants to build a 375-room resort on the North Shore of Oʻahu, at Turtle Bay. The insect is the Hawaiian yellow-faced bee. On July 2, a court takes up whether an out-of-date environmental impact study forces the developer to start over. That process can take one to three years.

It is hard not to feel for the bee. Nalo meli maoli was fitted to this coastline long before any of us arrived. It forages the native shoreline plants and asks nothing of anyone. It has held on in the few pockets of habitat we left it. There is a quiet dignity in a creature so suited to its place.

But the bee is not really the point of the lawsuit. The people bringing it would mostly agree. The point is to stall the development, and their lever is a 13-year-old environmental impact statement they say is out of date. The city’s own attorneys contend that nothing is being built where the bees actually live. The bee is the sympathetic face on a procedural fight, and the fight is about delay.

Delay is a strong tool here because we have built such a fine machine for making it. Before anyone pours a foundation near the water, a project must clear a Special Management Area permit, satisfy the Coastal Zone Management law, honor shoreline setbacks, pass historic and archaeological review, and complete an environmental impact statement. Once a species is listed as endangered, the federal government joins the table too.

Each of these has its acronym, and each acronym feeds a profession. We have raised up a whole guild of planners, engineers, archaeologists, and cultural consultants. They each demand a fee from the developer. He trusts them to navigate the thicket of regulations.

The thicket is built to slow development. A single environmental study can run from a quarter-million to two million dollars and add years to a project. And time is the one thing a developer cannot buy back. He has taken money from investors or bought the land on credit. He loses money every day the work does not start.

A developer who must survive years of delay needs enough margin to justify the risk. The modest project cannot carry those costs. The luxury project can. So a system meant to restrain development does not stop the mansions — it selects for them. It clears the field of everyone else.

A few miles down the coast from Turtle Bay, another developer is already building homes that start at $5.9 million each. That project is not affected by the lawsuit. The activist fighting the resort and the seller of the luxury home are working the same machine from opposite ends, and it rewards them both.

The same pattern is visible from the stalled rebuilding of Lahaina to the Neighbor Islands. There, the only people still willing to build are the ones who can afford to wait. It is the same machinery that strangles the affordable housing everyone claims to want, though that is an argument for another day.

The bee’s fit to its coast was authored. It is a small instance of a world that was made, and made well. The thicket answers to no such wisdom. It was authored by no one in particular and is accountable to no one at all. It is a heap of law upon court ruling upon administrative rule, each layer added in good conscience. But it is always added to, never refined. One of these is design. The other is accumulation.

None of this argues for tearing the rules down. Development without restraint would be a sin of its own. The ground was given to us to keep, not to strip. The coast and its creatures are real goods, not obstacles in the way of profit. The man who treats untouched nature as the highest thing and the man who treats his return on capital as the highest thing have made the same error pointed in opposite directions. Both have set something small in the place of God.

We cannot redesign the bee, and we have no business trying. The thicket is the one thing here we did make — and what we have made, we can unmake.


Author Sterling Higa can be reached at hello@sterlinghiga.com.

For the latest news of Hawai‘i, sign up here for our free Daily Edition newsletter.

Share this article

Authors

SH

Sterling Higa

Sterling Higa is a servant of Christ, husband, and father to four. He is a columnist for Aloha State Daily; the views expressed are his own. Higa was founding executive director of Housing Hawai‘i’s Future. His writings for Honolulu Civil Beat and Hawai‘i Business Magazine have been recognized with awards from the Society of Professional Journalists.