The following editorial was originally published in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser on Sunday, January 3, 2021 as part of the "Raise Your Hand" column in the Insights section.
BY: SHELBY HOM
ROOSEVELT HIGH SCHOOL, CLASS OF 2020, UH MANOA CLASS OF 2024
The pandemic has further emphasized what many Hawaiʻi residents already know: living here is unsustainable. As much as I and other local youth envision carving out places for ourselves in Hawaiʻi’s future, it’s likely that we will join the ongoing exodus of local people from Hawaiʻi unless the possibility of having a home and career in the islands becomes more realistic.
For the past three years, Hawaiʻi has experienced simultaneous population and economic loss due to a dangerous cycle of residents leaving the state for better economic opportunities. According to the University of Hawaiʻi Economic Research Organization (UHERO), in 2018, 67,000 Hawaiʻi residents migrated elsewhere while more than 54,000 mainlanders moved here. Given that Hawaiʻi’s minimum wage is $10.10—seven dollars short of a living wage—and the affordable housing shortage, it is no surprise that local residents are seeking better opportunities on the mainland.
Tourists and wealthy mainlanders do not hesitate to claim their place in Hawaiʻi—their very presence discourages diversifying the economy and building affordable housing. They have the privilege of viewing Hawaiʻi as a paradise or a safe haven from the virus, but locals have vastly different lived experiences. Even before the pandemic, my family was painfully aware that if my father, who is over 70 years old and COVID-vulnerable, passed away, we would no longer be able to afford to pay our mortgage. Across the state, many people must consider similar predicaments. It is common for locals to work two jobs to afford rent since Hawaiʻi’s tourism-based economy is full of low-paying, entry-level positions. Although there have been efforts to market Hawaiʻi as a remote workplace to attract people to the islands, the majority of the jobs open to Hawaiʻi youth will still remain in or adjacent to the tourism industry. Furthermore, these employees from out-of-state are purchasing luxury housing, which has the potential to drive housing prices up.
In addition to economic forces, another contributing factor to the exodus of local people is the college application process. High school students are constantly urged to “get off the rock” and attend a mainland college. I initially planned to attend college in Texas for that reason, but due to the pandemic and financial concerns, I chose to stay on Oʻahu. In retrospect, I am thankful that I reconsidered attending college elsewhere because I have developed a genuine interest in learning about Hawaiʻi’s history and culture. As a person of Asian and Native Hawaiian heritage, learning about the role Asian settler colonialism has played in disenfranchising Native Hawaiians, and that the waitlist for Hawaiian Homestead Lands is 28,000 people long, has led me to question my role in Hawaiʻi’s future.
Local people carry the burden of knowing that Hawaiʻi is not paradise, but it has left us the most equipped to address Hawaiʻi’s problems. Born out of a love for our home, we are empowered to take action in Hawaiʻi’s communities. Money doesn’t change whether it comes from a local family of four or a tourist, but unless we invest in creating a place in Hawaiʻi’s future for our youth, we will lose our foundation to enact meaningful change in our communities.
Having grown up here, local youth offer an insider perspective that must be uplifted to create solutions that are inclusive of the community. Local youth need stability and security, an assurance that they can find lifelong fulfillment in Hawaiʻi. This vision will look different for each young person, but one thing is certain: the future of Hawaiʻi looks bleak without our youth.
We all have something we just don’t get. Maybe it’s car maintenance or writing a decent
essay. Whatever it is, it often becomes an unnecessary source of shame. For many senior
citizens, that “thing” is technology. While this might seem like a harmless or inevitable
generational gap, the reality is more serious: Our kupuna are falling behind because they don’t
have the support they need to keep up in an increasingly digital world.
In an age of unprecedented access to technology and resources, we like to believe that support is just a click or call away. Countless hotline numbers, shelters, community centers, and mental health or emergency services help those who have fallen victim to the devastating experience of human trafficking. These resources are vital lifelines for many, pulling people from the grasp of a horrible situation. But the truth is, the most impactful support doesn’t come from institutions. Instead, it comes from the people closest to us — our friends, family and loved ones.
For many, the aloha spirit has been reduced to a brand. It’s something to be sold and
marketed to visitors who want to “live aloha” for a week before flying home. Others say
that modern distractions have left people too exhausted to show up for one another like
they used to. Generosity becomes difficult when you’re working long hours and barely
scraping by. With Hawaii’s high cost of living, continued housing crisis, and economic
uncertainty, people are stretched thin — and when your plate is already full, there’s little
room to consider the needs of others.
A key priority of DOGE is eliminating wasteful government spending. One of its most
controversial initiatives thus far has been scaling back Diversity, Equity and Inclusion programs.
While some may view this move as an attack on diversity and inclusion itself, DEI initiatives
have been used to justify policies that are questionable at best. During the Biden administration,
the Department of Education alone spent over $1 billion on DEI programs, raising concerns
about whether this truly serves the nation’s interests. With DOGE’s help and guidance, much-
needed change can be made.