This humble blogger never expected that two schools tied to different chapters of his life — one where he attended in Hong Kong, and one that sits at the heart of Hawaiʻi’s identity — would be fighting lawsuits at the same time.

Yet here we are. Hong Kong International School (HKIS), where this blogger spent part of his youth in the early 1990s, and Kamehameha Schools, an institution deeply intertwined with Hawaiʻi’s history and identity, are now both in court.

One is accused of drifting from the mission it was founded upon. The other is accused of holding to its mission so tightly that it may now violate the law. Different places, different histories — but both face the same question: how does an institution stay true to its purpose when the world keeps changing the rules around it?

That was the first thought when news of the Kamehameha Schools lawsuit broke on Monday, October 20, which reminded this writer that this is not just a Hawaiʻi conversation. Around the world, elite private schools, often founded with a moral or cultural purpose, are being challenged over who they serve, how they operate, and whether their missions still align with the legal and social expectations of today.

Let’s start with the alma mater – HKIS.

HKIS was founded in 1966 as a partnership between the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod (LCMS) and business leaders in Hong Kong. The founding promise was simple: an American-style, Christian education open to all children, not just the privileged.

But as Hong Kong became an international financial hub, the school evolved with it. Expatriate executives moved in, companies paid school tuition as part of compensation packages, and local business elites began sending their children there, too. By 1990, HKIS was already seen as a school for the well-off — a place where classmates were the children of Citibank, Northrop, and Price Waterhouse executives. The message was unspoken but clear: if you had the means, you could go.

Over the decades, HKIS became one of the top international schools in Asia, with multi-campus, state-of-the-art facilities, and tuition that climbed higher each year. Today, it holds billions in financial reserves and is building a student activity center with tennis courts, swimming pools, and even an indoor golf simulator.

And that is exactly where the lawsuit begins.

The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod — the same church that helped found HKIS — is suing the school, claiming it has drifted from its original mission. They argue that HKIS was never meant to be a luxury institution for the elite, but a Christian school open to all backgrounds. Instead, they say, it now serves only a narrow, wealthy segment of society while accumulating large surpluses and cutting the church out of its governance. Their hook? They have rights to the land under the Repulse Bay campus, of which they would like to repurpose the place for another new American high school, which the Synod visualizes as better alignment to the original HKIS mission, as they see it.

In short, HKIS and those who run the school are being accused of mission abandonment.

Kamehameha Schools, as we will see next, is being accused of the exact opposite — mission protection at any cost.

Kamehameha Schools’ story is one most people in Hawaiʻi know well. Established in 1887 through the will of Princess Bernice Pauahi Bishop, the last direct descendant of King Kamehameha I, it was created to educate Native Hawaiian children at a time when their future was uncertain. This was not after the overthrow — it was before it. Pauahi saw the decline of her people firsthand: their population was shrinking, their language and culture were being pushed aside, and foreign interests were growing in power. Her decision to leave her vast estate for the education of Hawaiian children was not mere philanthropy; it was an act of legacy, protection, and quiet resistance.

Today, Kamehameha Schools is being asked a very different question than HKIS. Not “Why did you abandon your mission?” but rather “Can your mission still be legal in the United States?”

Challenges to its Hawaiian-preference admissions policy aren’t new — they’ve been surfacing for decades. The legal groundwork was laid in 2000 with Rice v. Cayetano, when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that limiting voting in Office of Hawaiian Affairs elections to Native Hawaiians violated the 15th Amendment’s ban on race-based voting restrictions.

That decision didn’t touch Kamehameha Schools directly, but it sent a warning shot: ancestry-based preference, even when rooted in history and restorative intent, could be seen under U.S. law as racial discrimination. Challenges to Kamehameha soon followed, but were either settled out of court or not pursued further. However, it was known that there would be another challenge; it was only a matter of time before that happened.

And now, that challenge has arrived.

In October 2025, Students for Fair Admissions — the same group that ended affirmative action on the mainland — filed a lawsuit in federal court in Honolulu against Kamehameha Schools. They argue that a private school giving preference to Native Hawaiian children violates federal civil rights law. Kamehameha Schools answers just as directly — that this is precisely what Princess Pauahi established the trust to do, that they take no federal money, and that the school exists because her people were once on the brink of disappearing in their own homeland.

This debate isn’t new. What is different is the moment we’re in. National leaders are actively reshaping civil rights law, and in the process, redefining what “fairness” means in America. Whether intentionally or not, this shift risks overlooking — or forgetting — why Kamehameha Schools was created in the first place.  

So here we are — two schools, worlds apart, facing the same kind of reckoning.

HKIS is being accused of drifting from its mission, trading its Christian roots for prestige and exclusivity. Kamehameha Schools is being accused of the opposite — holding to its mission so tightly that it now collides with federal law. One is charged with forgetting why it was founded. The other is being challenged to remember. And at the heart of both lawsuits sits the same question: who is a school really for, and who gets left at the door?

In the end, the missions of these schools haven’t really changed — it’s the world around them that has. Laws shift. Ideas of what’s fair shift. What people expect from private institutions — whether in Hong Kong, London, Boston, or right here in Honolulu — shifts too. And now, schools like HKIS and Kamehameha find themselves in a place their founders probably never saw coming: having to explain whether what they were created to do still has a place in today’s world.

This isn’t about condemning either school or dismissing the purpose they were built on. Far from it. It’s about recognizing something larger at play — that missions born in another time are now being judged by the standards of this one. And whether we like it or not, that conversation is no longer just local. It’s global.

By now, most readers of this blog have seen either the short snippet or long-form commercials announcing the extension of the Skyline rail system on Oʻahu to the Airport and Middle Street.

Along with the ads, a new tagline is being rolled out – “Skyline, always on time.” As an aside, this blogger is seeing that the Honolulu Authority for Rapid Transit (HART) is finally figuring out how to market the system positively to residents who, for years, have been barking and moaning about the system, from the price to the construction.

However, the idea of the rail rolling on tracks in the second phase to the airport was, at the origin of the project, not a done deal. In fact, it would be a tale of an idea to move the second phase, a lot of passionate advocacies by both proponents and opponents of the move. And at the end, an accusation that a community got shafted over the change.

This is the tale of the “Airport Spur,” from a first-person perspective – this blogger – me – as I was there working at the City Council when the idea popped up from my boss, at the time, former Councilmember Charles K. Djou.

For a long time before the “change” in the second-phase route, there were a lot of questions as to why the original rail concept never had stops at what Daniel K. Inouye International Airport (known back then as Honolulu International Airport) is now. Instead, in its first iteration, the system would go from Hālawa into the Salt Lake district, winding along Salt Lake Boulevard.

That decision, it turns out, was made to secure the vote for the project by the Councilmember of the area, Romy Cachola. His vote in 2007 to approve the guideway routing was the pivotal fifth vote on the Council. He made a deal for his “yes” vote if the line were to go through Salt Lake.

The deal was secured, and the guideway, with it going through Salt Lake, was approved. The subsequent justification that came from that vote was that the rail should serve more residents, with the thought that ridership numbers were better with that routing.

However, the counterpoint came from supporters of changing the route, who identified the workforce center that was the Pearl Harbor/Hickam Air Force Base/airport and eastern Kalihi. They argued that routing through this corridor would boost ridership even more than if it went through Salt Lake.

And for about a year, discussion on the decision simmered.

A larger debate was emerging whether the rail system was designed to support workforce transportation for those who lived on the west side to major employment centers, or for residents moving between residential districts. Advocates for the airport route cited the number of jobs in the airport area – approximately 15,000 people work daily in airport-related roles. That number goes up if you include civilian workers at the nearby military bases and even more if you include all residents in those areas.

In comparison, the argument for the Salt Lake routing was that it would serve the approximately 35,000 residents who would ride it into town when later phases through Kalihi and ending at Ala Moana Center were fully built out.

Both sides had a point, and if the choice could have been both, the debate would have been much different. But in this case, the Council had to choose only one.

Understanding that ridership numbers were what was at play, with realistic usefulness being considered, Councilmember Djou, in November 2008, introduced Resolution 08-261 and companion Bill 64 (2008), calling for the change of the rail route in Section III of the bill from Salt Lake Boulevard to Aolele Street – in other words, the airport corridor.

Then-Councilmember Todd Apo was the only other Councilmember to sign the resolution and bill. And then the debate ensued.

Of course, Councilmember Cachola was not happy with the change, noting that it was a bad move. Considering he was able to get the rail through Salt Lake – the district he represented – by playing hardball with the mayor in 2007, his reaction was not a total surprise.

But this time, Cachola’s vote was much less pivotal. In the first reading of the measures, they passed the Council 7 to 1, with Cachola the only “no” vote. The majority vote in the Council is five. From being the pivotal vote to being the only dissent, it was apparent that the better idea, from the Council’s and the mayor’s point of view, was to go through the airport.

From my first-person perspective, working in Djou’s office, this would be one of the last measures I would become involved in. At the time, Djou was buoyed by the fact that decisions were going his way and was gaining support both in the Council and in the public for the proposed change.

However, he was also working on other things, which would lead to him dismissing his staff about three weeks later in what the British call “a sacking.” From the beginning of December to the time the bills were finally passed in late January 2009, positive momentum for the change continued to build. By the time it passed, it felt almost anticlimactic – as if the rail was always destined to be this way.

While the Councilmember continued to pursue the buildout of HART, I proceeded to work at the State Department of Labor’s Workforce Development Council, learning how to write and manage grants – forming the genesis of what I do now for the University of Hawaiʻi Kapiʻolani Community College.

It’s easy now to believe the rail was always meant to go to the airport — that it was obvious from the start. But I remember when it wasn’t. The airport’s inclusion wasn’t destiny; it was a decision, argued and voted into being. And yes, he would dismiss me and the rest of the legislative team just weeks later, but credit is due where it’s due: Charles Djou saw the value of that alignment long before the city did. When we ride past after October 16, 2025, it’s worth remembering that what feels inevitable today was once anything but.

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Photo Credits in article:

Djou: Stan Fichtman, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Cachola: Ballotpedia at https://s3.amazonaws.com/ballotpedia-api4/files/thumbs/200/300/Romy-Cachola.jpg

Apo: NAIOP website at https://www.naiop.org/globalassets/bios/a/apo-todd-480×480.jpg

Hannemann: Office of United States Senator Daniel Akaka, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Skyline train: eli fessler, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

As the announcements rolled out for the Hawaii Congressional District 1 seat (urban Honolulu), one thing this blogger heard was an echo from the past.
Specifically, an echo from 19 years ago, during the 2006 U.S. Senate race.

That echo, found in the statements of both State Senator Jarrett Keohokalole and State Representative Della Au Belatti, is that they see themselves as challengers to the “old guard,” the “next generation” of leaders. Au Belatti said it overtly during her announcement.

Keohokalole was more nuanced, framing himself as a candidate ready to meet today’s challenges with urgency, energy, and a different style. He didn’t directly call out age or generational change, but to a tuned political ear, the undertone was there.

Back in 2006, Case — then challenging long-time Senator Dan Akaka — made the generational change argument out loud. He said Hawaii needed to begin shifting to younger leadership in Washington. What had been whispered in political circles, Case put front and center.

It backfired.

Akaka’s supporters saw the remark as disrespectful, even offensive. The generational frame became toxic, and Case spent 12 years out of office before reclaiming a seat in the House.

Now the shoe is on the other foot.

Younger candidates are challenging Case with a much more nuanced — and far less taboo — appeal to generational change. What Case once invoked against Akaka, and paid dearly for, is now tolerated, even expected, by an electorate seemingly more comfortable weighing leadership through the lenses of age, urgency, and readiness.

That shift — the very fact that voters may now accept the “age discussion” — is itself a sea change in Hawaii politics.

Still, both challengers are pinning their campaigns more on policy than on age. Their comparison-contrast with Case centers on philosophy: a progressive orientation versus his centrist record. Au Belatti underscored that message by announcing at the statue of Patsy Mink, a progressive icon who built her reputation by challenging entrenched power. While not a direct generational call, the symbolism invites voters to make that connection on their own.

Keohokalole, for his part, highlighted passion and urgency, casting Case as weighed down by institutional inertia. He left voters to decide whether that sounded like an age critique, while making clear he believes he can move more quickly to address Hawaii’s problems.

Two questions come from the announcements, therefore. First, will the voters factor in age into their decision matrix of who will win the primary for that seat? Keep in mind that while age might be a thing, Case and his campaign will emphasize seniority and the fact that he is able to use that to both get things done in Congress and make sure that the benefit goes to Hawaii.

Case, for his part, counters the ‘energy’ critique by holding multiple events whenever he’s back in Hawaii. During his most recent recess, he even appeared before the State Senate to answer questions — not exactly the schedule of someone slowing down. That takes a bit of energy, regardless of whether you are in your early 40s (Keohokalole), early 50s (Au Belatti), or early 70s (Case).

The second question is whether Hawaii is ready for representational change in Congress. When Case was challenged in 2022 by Sergio Alcubilla, voters overwhelmingly reaffirmed him: he won 83.2% in the Democratic primary and then took the general election by an even larger margin. The issues Alcubilla raised — many of which are resurfacing now — didn’t gain traction then. The difference in this cycle is that two challengers are carrying those themes instead of one. If the voters’ calculus shifts on those issues, this primary could go from sleeper to interesting.

The difference now is that Case faces not one but two challengers pressing the same themes. Whether voters see that as a fresh chorus or just an old tune with new singers will be the real test of 2025.

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Photo Credits:
Case: U.S. House Office of Photography/House Creative Services, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Au Belatti: ThinkTech Hawaii, CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Keohokalole: ThinkTech Hawaii, CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons