no time for paradise

Kingʻs Village was first built in 1972 and served as a home to many locally-owned shops. Its unique structure was a breath of fresh air amidst the tall hotel buildings in Waikiki. Over the years, many Waikiki landmarks have been destroyed and replaced by trendier, more tourist-friendly spaces. Kingʻs Village was no exception. The Waikiki landmark, along with the Hale Waikiki and Prince Edwards Apartments, were all recently bought out by Hilton Grand Vacations, a global timeshare company that owns six other properties in Honolulu. A 32-story, 191-unit timeshare tower will replace the 1.05 acre site where local business owners once flourished and apartment residents lived. Some shops were able to relocate, but many decided to either close permanently or retire.

Kingʻs Village after its demolition.

Velina Wong of the Waikiki Beach Boys poses for a portrait. After nearly 46 years of being on Waikiki Beach, this long-time surf school was kicked off by Dive Oʻahu. This caused an outrage amongst Honolulu residents who grew up with the Beach Boys. Despite protests and petitions, the city sided with Dive Oʻahu. Fortunately, the Waikiki Beach Boys were able to set up a shop down the street, but the tension and pain still remains. “We were shut down completely and Dive Oʻahu moved right in. Itʻs very heartbreaking knowing that money can take over culture. A lot of the aunties and uncles who’ve worked there their whole lives don’t have retirement. They didn't know what else to do and had to go on welfare. The City and County needs to realize that these are the people taking care of the tourists.”

Tyler Okamura Tagupa and Ashley Lata pose for a portrait with their children, Rev, Erin, and Levi, in the small bedroom they all share. They moved to Lataʻs family home in Ewa Beach, Hawaiʻi, earlier this year in March to save money. Their three children share the bunkbed while the couple sleep together on a floor mattress. “Living with 14 people was a culture shock at first. This is Ashleyʻs family home, but I only grew up with my mom as an only child. We live with her mom and dad, two sisters, their kids, and our kids. Her grandma used to be here too. Itʻs a little hard because weʻre a big family of five, but weʻre saving two or three grand every month in savings to put down for our own place. If we stay home, we can find somewhere we like and not get stuck in a contract. Itʻs possible to get ahead in Hawaiʻi, but the cost of living doesnʻt help. Right now, my annual salary is around a low $61-62,000 and I have a family of five,” Tagupa says. An annual income of $96,000 is considered low income in Hawai’i for a family of four. The Tagupa family is planning on moving into their own home later this year.

A tattered Hawaiian flag photographed at Pu’uhonua o Wai’anae, O’ahu’s largest houseless encampment. This flag incorporates the British influence on Hawai’i. The original Native Hawaiian flag was destroyed when Captain Lord George Paulet took over Hawai’i for five months in 1843.

A self-portrait I took of myself in my familyʻs Wahiawa, HI apartment. My siblings and I were raised on this side and call Wahiawa and Mililani home. Being that six of us live in this small space, I currently sleep and work in the living room. I sometimes wish I had a place of my own, but as a full-time freelance photojournalist with student loans, bills, and financial obligations to my family, itʻs nearly impossible. My parents also yearn to leave our fairly bad neighborhood for somewhere safer, but havenʻt been able to find anything affordable. Luckily, my family is close, so weʻre happy as long as weʻre together. Despite the low-income status of many families in Wahiawa, we’re currently the 5th most expensive place to live in Hawaiʻi. Ironically, weʻre also ranked the 12th worst place to live in Hawaiʻi.

This ongoing photo essay focuses on how gentrification and the cost of living deeply impacts Hawai’i locals. As someone who grew up on O’ahu, telling this story is incredibly important to me. Every day, I see these how these issues affect my family, loved ones, and the land I love — whether itʻs watching my mom work multiple jobs or developers build condominiums for multi-millionaires instead of affordable housing for locals. I donʻt want my home to be a place where only tourists and the rich can afford. Why must we give up everything we know and the land we love just so we can survive? We donʻt want make sacrifices in order for someone to live out their paradisal dream. We want to stay in a place we call home and give our future families the same childhood we had growing up.

While the rich strive, local families are cramming generations of their bloodline into tiny spaces, locals are moving to the mainland for cheaper living, and Native Hawaiians, the rightful owners of this land, make up 33% of Hawai’i’s houseless population. These circumstances often leave me with an inescapable sense of frustration and heartbreak. With this project, I hope to give these issues the national recognition it needs in order to make a positive change.