The sight of a carcass hanging in the cutting room is increasingly uncommon at Moloka驶i鈥檚 only slaughterhouse.
The paniolo, gathered in the facility鈥檚 break room on a recent Wednesday, would typically process 15 to 20 locally raised cattle per month to help feed the community on this rural island of roughly 7,000 residents.
Now, these Hawaiian cowboys are only handling one or two, mostly coming in from other islands, due to Moloka驶i鈥檚 storied history with bovine tuberculosis.
Moloka鈥榠 hasn鈥檛 had a single confirmed case of cattle with the respiratory disease since 2021 but state and federal agriculture authorities have continued to enforce a quarantine on the island鈥檚 cattle operations. Livelihoods, legacies and lifestyles are on the line, ranchers say, with broad economic, cultural and environmental implications.
Without a plan of how to get out from under the quarantine, the cattlemen say, Moloka驶i鈥檚 almost 200-year-old ranching tradition will die.
鈥淲e鈥檙e kind of at a breaking point,鈥� said MP Kamakana, vice president of the Moloka驶i Homestead Livestock Association.
Nine livestock operations have shared their demands of the government in an open letter, listing eight requirements needed to help keep the industry alive. These include: better communication and planning; testing wildlife for tuberculosis, which many have blamed for transmitting the disease; and an end to culling entire herds when cases are found.
They intend to stop testing their cattle for tuberculosis after years of negative tests, a move that could be catastrophic for the entire state鈥檚 more than $75 million cattle industry because it would compromise its tuberculosis-free status. Without that status, shipping cattle to the mainland 鈥� key to the industry鈥檚 profitability 鈥� would become virtually impossible.
Several Moloka驶i ranchers are already shuttering their operations and all of the ranches are effectively dormant. The island鈥檚 bovine population, over 10,000 in the 1980s, currently stands at about 220.
鈥淲ithin months, that number will effectively be zero if the bTB quarantine and annual testing mandate remain in place,鈥� their letter reads.
The testing is grueling and the quarantine has cut key sources of income, including making shipping animals to mainland feed lots unaffordable even at a moment when beef prices are at an all-time high. Most of all, especially for the older paniolo, the loss of ranching means stealing future opportunities from the proudly rural island鈥檚 future generations.
State agriculture officials say they鈥檙e in a bind, trying to find a solution to Moloka驶i鈥檚 predicament while also satisfying national regulations, still at the whim of the federal government鈥檚 demands four years after the quarantines were imposed on the island.
鈥淎t the end of the day, we鈥檝e got to make money, get paid. We cannot continue to keep dishing out money,鈥� Kamakana said. 鈥淭here鈥檚 no end game to it. So there鈥檚 no way of planning.鈥�
鈥業 Wear Slippers Now鈥�
At least three generations of paniolo sat on old office chairs, coolers and upturned buckets in the slaughterhouse, taking turns to vent. Between them, they share centuries of experience.
All carry lessons from their livestock-working forebears, coming from the island鈥檚 long lineage of paniolo, some as fifth-generation ranchers. Some wear aloha shirts, cowboy hats and hardy footwear of some kind, cowboy boots included.
They鈥檝e all dealt with this disease before 鈥� just not under the current regulatory strictures.
Bovine tuberculosis has killed, or been the reason for killing, tens of thousands of cattle across Hawai鈥榠 for more than 100 years. None of the islands have had such a turbulent history with the disease as Moloka驶i.
James 鈥淯ncle Jimmy鈥� Duvauchelle worked for the 55,000-acre Moloka鈥榠 Ranch for more than 60 years and witnessed how tuberculosis changed the landscape. Sitting in the slaughterhouse, he recalled how it led to the 1985 government-ordered eradication of almost 10,000 cattle on the island, when the disease was found in 2% of the population. The islandwide cull started to change the landscape, he said, and not for the better.
The paniolo community had mixed feelings, many balking at the depopulation order. But it was 鈥渁 favor to the island of Moloka驶i,鈥� then-U.S. Department of Agriculture veterinarian Euclid 鈥淏uck鈥� Sharman said at the time, when the island was also recovering from three years of extreme drought.
State veterinarian Calvin Lum told the Honolulu Star-Bulletin it was a 鈥渂oon鈥� but 鈥渘ot a program to bail out Moloka驶i Ranch.鈥� The slaughter went ahead and ranchers were compensated a total of about $2.2 million, with the lion鈥檚 share going to Moloka驶i Ranch. The community started to rebuild its cattle population one year later.
Moloka驶i Ranch鈥檚 cattle operations never fully recovered though, dying out in 2008, and the remnants of the property 鈥� including a rundown lodge, golf course and restaurant 鈥� have been for years. In fact, the entire industry started to decline.
鈥淎fter all that we did to try to survive that stand down, it seems we鈥檙e still coming up with more problems,鈥� the 82-year-old Paniolo Hall of Famer told Civil Beat.
The ranchers attribute many of the island鈥檚 ills to the slow death of ranching.
By the time the 2021 tuberculosis cases were detected, there were about a dozen ranches still operating 鈥� down from 40 in the 1980s.
鈥淢oloka驶i guys was the only ones that took care of the 驶膩ina before they took care of the cattle. They did what true paniolo do,鈥� lifetime paniolo Philip 鈥淯ncle Mango鈥� Stephens said. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 take care of the dirt, you鈥檙e going to get bad grass; you get bad grass, the cattle eats bad grass and people get bad meat. You eat bad meat, you鈥檙e going to have bad health. It was that simple.鈥�
No matter people鈥檚 feelings about the mass slaughter back then, third-generation rancher Russell DeCoite said they were at least provided clear instructions on how to recover: One year without cattle on the island, then rebuild.
He and his 26-year-old son Dylan DeCoite started winnowing his V8 Ranch herd of 50 in 2024, sending their bulls to slaughter. Then the cows. His family now has just five, on 500 acres, which Russell Decoite laments as a loss of income and tradition.
鈥淲hat they鈥檙e doing to us this time 鈥� we鈥檙e not surviving. The restrictions they鈥檙e putting on us are unbelievable鈥� Killing us,鈥� the father said. 鈥淚 wear slippers now.鈥�
鈥楴ot Where They Want To Be鈥�
Moloka驶i cattle have been subject to annual testing since 2021, some for decades long. The tests are a grueling, labor intensive, expensive and risky process. It鈥檚 also not definitive.
It takes 72 hours for the cattle to be tested. Ranchers must corral the animals, often driving several acres across their land, before corralling them. They separate the cows from the calves, push them through a chute and inject them with shots. After three days, the animals must run through the chute again for the results to be read. The process is extremely stressful for cattle.
鈥淚 had to put down one animal. She was just down in the chute. Overheated,鈥� Kamakana said.
For the livestock association, every animal is incredibly important 鈥� it feeds the association members and their communities. There鈥檚 just 120 cattle left now, on 3,800 acres, after restrictions on export cut them down from their typically 350-strong herd.
If an animal is deemed to be 鈥渁 reactor鈥� to the first shot, then they face another 72 hours in the pen, going through the tight chute up to four times throughout the annual process.
Even when reactors have been found and confirmed, during autopsies there have proven to be false positives, according to Jack Spruance of Papohaku Farm, who is also the Moloka驶i slaughterhouse co-manager.
Ranches on the island鈥檚 east side have been subject to these tests for even longer, since 1999. Other ranchers have lost far more. Kainalu Ranch lost four, including a bull, in 2019. Charles Miguel Jr. of Pu鈥檜 O H艒k奴 Ranch lost four cows in his last test period.
鈥淎 lot of our cows are starting to catch on,鈥� Kamakana said. 鈥淭hey don鈥檛 want to be in the pen no more. You stress an animal long enough, they鈥檒l learn that鈥檚 not where they want to be.鈥�
Kamakana and other ranchers want this testing process to stop as part of their list of requests to the state. The testing method is already dated, so many believe Moloka驶i should be subject to post-mortem testing, like the rest of the islands. They also find it hard to believe there鈥檚 not a better way.
Indeed, there have been prototypes for vaccinations. One is currently in trials in in , England and Wales, with encouraging results.
Sen. Tim Richards of the Big Island, a rancher and veterinarian, said he was trying to find a vaccine with the USDA a few years ago. Everything fell apart when the Trump administration took over and staff were slashed.
Something needs to be done to improve testing, Richards said, especially given the possibility of false negatives. Still, he said, 鈥淗as the (state) Department of Agriculture done all that it could have done? I would say no.鈥�
鈥楾he Sacrificial Cow鈥�
When the most recent response to bovine tuberculosis occurred in 2021 it followed a year in which six herds on Moloka驶i were found infected 鈥� the most since the late 1970s. The state implemented a quarantine the next year that remains in effect today.
Some ranchers understood the need because authorities did not know the scope of the outbreak; others were skeptical about the new requirements. All are now struggling.
The mandates that livestock 鈥� not including horses 鈥� must not move on or off the island, live or dead, without permits. Nor can they move among ranches, which is especially difficult on an island where drought conditions often mean ranchers need to move their animals to greener pastures.
The state later signed an 11-page memorandum with the U.S Department of Agriculture further formalizing the quarantine in 2024, which helped the state maintain its tuberculosis-free status. Moloka驶i鈥檚 paniolo were not consulted in that process, which allowed non-Moloka鈥檌 ranchers to send their cattle to any ranches or feed lots on the mainland.
鈥淚t鈥檚 almost as if Moloka驶i has become the sacrificial cow鈥� for the state鈥檚 industry, Congresswoman Jill Tokuda said, adding that it was unfair that Moloka驶i ranchers weren鈥檛 party to the inter-agency agreement.
The USDA agreement requires the state Department of Agriculture and Biosecurity to ensure compliance on annual live herd testing. Among other stipulations is surveying the island鈥檚 wild axis deer population, feral swine and mongoose 鈥� all known carriers and transmitters of the virus. Wildlife, however, has not been tested.
The agreement requires the state to explore wildlife exclusion fences for pastures too. A deer fence costs about $35 a foot, an already unaffordable expense, said Kainalu Ranch鈥檚 Stephanie Dunbar-Co. Her family ranch has tested for 25 years and has never had a positive case of tuberculosis.
The nine paniolo and livestock operations that signed the open letter to the state and federal governments met with state and federal officials in early May, for the first time in three years. It then became clear, the ranchers say, that neither had a plan for how the cattlemen could pull themselves out of their quarantine status.
Moloka驶i Livestock Cooperative, the island鈥檚 slaughterhouse, has pivoted its operations during the bTB crisis. About 90% of the operation鈥檚 product has come from other islands, depending on small batch butchery and one-off processing jobs to keep operations afloat.
The slaughterhouse will struggle to survive without local cattle to process 鈥� the reason it was built. In the meantime, some ranchers have been trying to figure out how grass-fed operations might work on the island, though that model could reduce profits substantially. Ultimately, at least for rancher and cooperative co-manager Spruance, the slaughterhouse should support food security 鈥� which the state .
Some Moloka驶i ranchers say if any other island鈥檚 ranching industry faced this issue, the Hawai驶i Cattlemen鈥檚 Council and the state would have pushed far harder to solve it.
The cattlemen鈥檚 council, which represents the industry at the Legislature, supported a that allocated $500,000 to Moloka驶i for a veterinarian to help with the issue. No one has taken the job despite being advertised, and ranchers haven鈥檛 seen a difference.
鈥淭hey haven鈥檛 reevaluated how widespread this outbreak was yet. There鈥檚 multiple examples of this, but to me that so clearly shows that we鈥檙e not a priority to these guys. We don鈥檛 matter,鈥� Dunbar-Co said. 鈥淣obody from Moloka鈥檌 wants to be sitting here, you know, ruffling feathers, getting in the newspaper. But we鈥檙e backed into a corner.鈥�
The Last Ace
The state agriculture department is limited by the science, logistics and USDA鈥檚 bovine tuberculosis regulations, State Veterinarian Isaac Maeda said, which has left them largely unable to make a finite plan with a certain timeline.
Essentially, the state has to work within the federal framework to find a solution to the island-specific problem. That is complicated further by the federal government鈥檚 desire to revise their own regulatory framework for bovine tuberculosis to become more nuanced than state-level bans.
The state and federal government are already effectively putting more nuance districts in place, by granting bTB-free status to the rest of Hawai驶i, which is cold comfort for the Moloka驶i paniolo. They are calling on authorities for something more specific: rather than whole-island quarantine when cases arise, quarantine districts within the 260-square-mile island. And they don鈥檛 want entire herds slaughtered but individual, infected animals instead.
Maeda said the state has to continue working on a trial-and-error basis within the federal system to maintain the state鈥檚 tuberculosis-free status. Maeda said the agriculture department attempted to have post-mortem testing done in combination with whole herd testing, to effectively reduce the annual burden of live testing.
That idea fell flat, he said, because the USDA was not convinced the island slaughtered enough animals to get a decent sample size.
鈥淲e come up with methods and ideas,鈥� Maeda said, 鈥減resent it to the USDA and see if it鈥檚 something that can fly.鈥�
The USDA did not respond to Civil Beat鈥檚 requests for comment. But, according to a 2025 report, the state is satisfying its end of the agreement. The August report recommended the state make a plan to monitor swine and wildlife, as well as to enroll non-commercial herds of cattle in annual testing.
Tokuda, the congresswoman, says it鈥檚 still unclear who鈥檚 actually in charge in this situation, as neither the federal or state governments are taking responsibility. She鈥檚 trying to find out.
The fastest resolution, in Maeda鈥檚 opinion, is to pursue relationships with specific states that are beginning to open up to the idea of taking cattle from Moloka驶i due to an increase in another disease, New World screwworm, which is starting to devastate herds on the mainland.
So long as the state agency can prove that wildlife-livestock mingling is mitigated sufficiently and the Moloka驶i ranchers are being as diligent as possible, he believes Texas and Oklahoma might take the island鈥檚 cattle. That would mean Moloka驶i calves could be barged to Honolulu, then flown directly to the southern cowboy states, he said, where they would be absorbed into the mainland鈥檚 cattle industry like the rest of Hawai驶i鈥檚 mainland-bound calves.
Local ranchers are not satisfied with the proposed Texas and Oklahoma programs, because commercial complexities increase risk to Moloka驶i ranchers and don鈥檛 yield a fair market price. So, they鈥檙e still in what some of them term 鈥渁 death spiral.鈥�
With no timeline, exit strategy or a way to remove their association with tuberculosis, they cannot indemnify their animals under state or federal programs.
Sen. Lynn DeCoite of Moloka鈥榠 has regularly shown her disapproval of the state agency as the island鈥檚 ranchers鈥� sole voice at the State Capitol. She is one of them, running the now-dormant V8 Ranch with Russell DeCoite, her husband.
The paniolo have one final card they can play: They could stop testing their animals entirely.
If they do, it would put the entire state鈥檚 ranching industry at peril, though Kainalu Ranch鈥檚 Kip Dunbar believes 鈥渋t鈥檚 the last ace we have.鈥�
It鈥檚 an idea that strikes a chord with the entire cattle industry. That鈥檚 because Hawai驶i produces about 9% of the beef its residents eat, and the lion鈥檚 share of the approximately 45,000 calves produced each year that are destined for the mainland.
The cattlemen鈥檚 council is now in talks with the island鈥檚 ranchers to better understand the complexities of their situation, managing director Nicole Galase said. The council has offered to support the cost of shipping animals to the mainland under the state-suggested model, as well as helping advocate for the ranchers in Washington, D.C. and Honolulu.
27 Years Of Testing With Few Results
What remained of the Kainalu Ranch鈥檚 herd was huddled at the top of the pasture in the midday sun earlier this month: 60 calves and cows finding shade in a stand of trees. The rest of its sloped pastures were empty, a sign of the times.
鈥淯nless there is a real change of heart by the state in really helping us move forward,鈥� 82-year-old Dunbar said, as he drove his ATV across the pasture. 鈥淚鈥檓 not sure I鈥檓 going to continue. It鈥檚 really make or break for us.鈥�
He doesn鈥檛 like the idea of doing it, none of the ranchers do, but halting animal testing feels like it might be the only way to make the state, feds and rest of the industry listen. If they abide by the ranchers鈥� demands, his children 鈥� including daughter Stephanie Dunbar-Co 鈥� and his grandchildren could continue the legacy his great-uncle and great-aunt started 116 years ago.
Dunbar has been testing his cattle annually since 1999, when East Moloka驶i was first told it would need annual proof of disease-free status before the rest of the island joined in 2021. They鈥檝e never tested positive for tuberculosis.
Dunbar, a former banker and third-generation rancher, has since planted experimental grasses to prevent runoff, invested more than $100,000 into deer-proofing parts of the ranch to preserve pasture, diversified with rental properties and secured a conservation easement.
But even with those investments, not being able to sell his calves off island, or even move them around the island to greener pastures, will kill the ranch.
Within a few hours, sitting in the slaughterhouse, Dunbar told his peers the state needs to stop keeping them in the dark.
鈥淭hey can continue to treat us like mushrooms,鈥� he said. 鈥淥r they can step up to the plate and be accountable.鈥�
But it鈥檚 urgent, a matter of months before ranches start following dormant V8 Ranch鈥檚 lead.
At 26, fourth-generation rancher Dylan DeCoite just wants to raise cattle on his family鈥檚 ranch, in the way he was taught by his father and grandfather.
But this year, as the Moloka驶i faces yet another year of quarantine, he feels like he鈥檚 part of a dying breed of aspiring ranchers. He said he鈥檚 called agricultural officials only to receive platitudes, part of a war of attrition he believes is being waged against the small ranching community.
The community鈥檚 letter to the state and feds may spur some action, at least to include them into considerations for the memorandum between agencies when it is renewed in November.
If any of their demands are satisfied, and even if it takes the decade he predicts it would take to rebuild V8 Ranch, Dylan DeCoite and his father may one day replace their new slippers and don their cowboy boots again.
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