A 2035 Glimpse of the Big Island—If Nothing Changes

In 10 years, if things stay the same, the Big Island may look very different—not in the beauty of its landscapes, but in the struggles of its people.

Locals will continue to be pushed out. With wages still too low and housing prices still soaring, many native families will be forced to leave, replaced by wealthy outsiders buying second homes. Our towns could slowly lose their soul—less ‘ohana, more vacation rentals.

Substance abuse may rise even more. Young people, unable to afford a future here, will seek escape through drugs and alcohol. Mental health crises could become common, and crime may creep in where community once stood strong.

Homelessness may double. As living costs outpace incomes, more families could end up on the streets—our neighbors, our friends, maybe even our keiki.

The land may suffer too. Overdevelopment, neglect of agriculture, and lack of respect for native traditions could lead to further environmental damage, erasing parts of Hawaii that once sustained and nourished us.

But all of this is not destiny.

It’s a warning.
A call to rise now, together, and change course.

Because if we act with heart and purpose, the Big Island can still be the paradise it was meant to be—for everyone.

2085: A Future We Must Not Accept

What Will the Big Island Become If We Stay Silent?

The year is 2085. The Big Island is no longer the paradise the world once admired. The beaches are still there. The mountains still rise. The volcano still breathes. But the heart of Hawaii—the people, the culture, the soul—has faded.

If poverty, low wages, and housing injustice continue to go unchallenged, this is the legacy we risk leaving behind:

Where once there was community, there is now isolation. The children of Hawaii, unable to survive the rising cost of life, have moved away—or worse, never grew up at all. The schools are empty. The streets are quiet, except for the sound of sirens and sorrow.

Addiction has become normal. Not because the people are weak, but because the system stayed cruel. Drugs became cheaper than food. Escape became easier than endurance.

Tourism towers stand tall where native lands once flourished. Cultural sites have become photo ops. Local farms have turned into luxury golf courses. The land cries silently under the weight of greed.

The old signs that once read “Aloha” now rust beside the crumbling homes of those who couldn’t leave—kupuna living without care, youth without jobs, families without hope.

And yet, even in this bleak vision, the spirit of Hawaii whispers: “This is not our fate. It is only a warning.”

We still have time. Time to raise wages. Time to house our people. Time to heal the wounded land and revive the spirit of aloha.

The future is not written in stone.
But if we stay silent, it may be carved into ruins.

Let’s write a better tomorrow—starting today.

2125: The Echo of a Lost Paradise

If the Big Island Is Forgotten, What Becomes of Its Soul?

One hundred years have passed. The year is 2125.

The Big Island of Hawaii still appears on maps, but what remains is only a shadow of what once was. The land, once sacred, is now silent. The air is heavy—not just with volcanic ash, but with the absence of a people who once danced, chanted, planted, and protected it.

If the cycle of poverty, addiction, exploitation, and neglect continued for a century, this is the legacy left behind:

The last native family left decades ago, driven away by generations of rising costs and broken systems. Culture was not preserved—it was sold in pieces, turned into souvenirs for tourists who no longer come. There are no more leis, no more chants, no more hula beneath the moon.

The forests have thinned. The waters have warmed. Coral reefs are gone. The taro patches are dry. No one remembers how to care for them. The wisdom of the ancestors lies buried under data centers and automated resorts run by machines.

In the towns, buildings stand empty—haunted not by ghosts, but by neglect. Addiction no longer shocks anyone—it became expected, then invisible. A few elders remain, their eyes carrying the last flicker of memory. But they speak only to the wind.

And yet… even in this silence… the land still breathes. The volcano still waits. And deep beneath the surface, the spirit of aloha hums softly, refusing to die.

Because it is never too late—not even after 100 years—for a people to return. For a heart to awaken. For a land to be loved again.

But if we want to save the Big Island for the generations yet unborn, we must act now—with courage, unity, and love.

Otherwise, this is the future that waits.
Not because it’s destined…
But because we did nothing.

2185: The Echo of a Lost Paradise

If the Big Island Is Forgotten, What Becomes of Its Soul?

One hundred years have passed. The year is 2185.

The Big Island of Hawaii still appears on maps, but what remains is only a shadow of what once was. The land, once sacred, is now silent. The air is heavy—not just with volcanic ash, but with the absence of a people who once danced, chanted, planted, and protected it.

If the cycle of poverty, addiction, exploitation, and neglect continued for a century, this is the legacy left behind:

The last native family left decades ago, driven away by generations of rising costs and broken systems. Culture was not preserved—it was sold in pieces, turned into souvenirs for tourists who no longer come. There are no more leis, no more chants, no more hula beneath the moon.

The forests have thinned. The waters have warmed. Coral reefs are gone. The taro patches are dry. No one remembers how to care for them. The wisdom of the ancestors lies buried under data centers and automated resorts run by machines.

In the towns, buildings stand empty—haunted not by ghosts, but by neglect. Addiction no longer shocks anyone—it became expected, then invisible. A few elders remain, their eyes carrying the last flicker of memory. But they speak only to the wind.

And yet… even in this silence… the land still breathes. The volcano still waits. And deep beneath the surface, the spirit of aloha hums softly, refusing to die.

Because it is never too late—not even after 100 years—for a people to return. For a heart to awaken. For a land to be loved again.

But if we want to save the Big Island for the generations yet unborn, we must act now—with courage, unity, and love.

Otherwise, this is the future that waits.
Not because it’s destined…
But because we did nothing.