By Gregorie Michael Towai (Eipéráng)
For Variety
WHEN Super Typhoon Sinlaku struck the CNMI, it left behind more than damaged homes, downed power lines, debris-covered roads, and a long road to recovery. As with every major disaster, it also revealed something deeper about us as a community. Disasters have a way of stripping away appearances and exposing both our strengths and our weaknesses. They show us who steps forward when things get difficult, who is willing to sacrifice for others, and whether we possess the collective resilience necessary to rebuild.
To be fair, many people rose to the occasion. Volunteers spent countless hours clearing roads and public spaces. Families checked on elderly relatives and vulnerable neighbors. Churches mobilized relief efforts. Small businesses donated supplies and services. Community organizations coordinated cleanups and fundraisers. Ordinary people, many of whom were facing their own hardships, still found ways to help others. These individuals represent the very best of the CNMI and remind us that community spirit remains alive and well.
Unfortunately, another reality emerged alongside these acts of service.
Sinlaku also exposed a growing culture of entitlement, apathy, and dependency that has quietly taken root within segments of our society over many years. It is a culture that assumes someone else will always step in. Someone else will clean the roads. Someone else will remove the debris. Someone else will organize the relief effort. Someone else will solve the problem. While many rolled up their sleeves and got to work, others chose to sit on the sidelines, waiting, watching, criticizing, and complaining while expecting solutions to come from everyone except themselves.
This observation is not directed toward those who were physically unable to participate due to age, illness, disability, or personal hardship. Communities exist precisely because we care for those who cannot care for themselves during times of crisis. Rather, it is directed toward a growing expectation that the responsibility for community recovery belongs exclusively to government agencies, nonprofits, churches, federal programs, or a handful of volunteers while everyone else remains merely an observer.
What makes this culture particularly damaging is that it rarely exists alone. It is often accompanied by a deep cynicism toward the very people who are trying to make a difference. We have all seen it. The volunteer who spends their weekend helping others is accused of seeking attention. The community leader organizing relief efforts is accused of having hidden motives. The nonprofit trying to fill gaps left by government shortcomings is questioned rather than supported. Even those who write, advocate, and raise awareness about issues affecting our islands are frequently met with dismissal, sarcasm, or accusations that their efforts are pointless.
I have experienced this myself through my own writing. Over the years, I have written extensively about public accountability, economic challenges, environmental concerns, disaster preparedness, federal relations, and community resilience. Not because I believe I possess all the answers, but because I believe conversations matter. Awareness matters. Ideas matter. Constructive dialogue matters. No meaningful change begins without someone first identifying a problem and encouraging others to think differently about it.
Yet there is often a segment of people whose response is immediate and predictable.
“Nothing will ever change.”
“That’s just how things are.”
“Why bother?”
“Nobody listens anyway.”
At first glance, these comments may appear realistic or pragmatic. In truth, they are often expressions of resignation disguised as wisdom. They contribute nothing toward solving the problem while simultaneously discouraging those who are trying to address it. Over time, this cynicism becomes self-fulfilling. If enough people become convinced that improvement is impossible, then improvement becomes far less likely to occur.
The long-term consequences of this culture extend far beyond any single storm or disaster. Communities are not sustained solely by infrastructure, budgets, grants, or government programs. They are sustained by civic responsibility. They are sustained by people who believe their actions matter. When entitlement replaces responsibility, when criticism replaces participation, and when cynicism replaces hope, communities become weaker. Trust erodes. Volunteerism declines. Public engagement diminishes. Fewer people step forward to lead because they see how leaders are treated. Fewer people volunteer because they see how volunteers are criticized. Fewer people speak up because they see how advocates are dismissed.
Perhaps most troubling is the message this sends to younger generations. They are always watching. They are learning what citizenship looks like from the examples we set. If they grow up seeing that effort is mocked, that community service is unappreciated, and that every attempt at improvement is met with negativity, many will conclude that participation is not worth the trouble. We should not be surprised when future generations become disengaged if disengagement is precisely what they have observed from those around them.
The CNMI is simply too small and too interconnected to afford this trajectory. We cannot continue expecting a shrinking pool of volunteers, public servants, nonprofit organizations, and community leaders to carry the weight for everyone else. Resilience is not something that can be outsourced. It cannot be imported. It cannot be purchased through grants alone. It must be cultivated through a shared sense of responsibility and ownership in the wellbeing of our islands.
The lesson of Sinlaku should not only be about stronger buildings, hardened infrastructure, or improved disaster planning. Those things are important, but they are not enough. The deeper lesson is that every one of us has a role to play in the future of our community. Not everyone can donate money. Not everyone can organize a relief drive. Not everyone can hold public office. But everyone can contribute something. A few hours of volunteer work. A helping hand for a neighbor. A constructive idea. A willingness to participate rather than simply criticize.
The strongest communities are not those that never face adversity. They are the ones where people understand that the responsibility for overcoming adversity belongs to all of us.
Sinlaku was a devastating storm, but the greater threat to our future may be the quieter storm that follows it: a culture of entitlement, apathy, dependency, and cynicism that discourages participation while demanding results. Unlike a typhoon, however, this is one storm entirely within our power to overcome.
The question is whether we are willing to do the work.
Gregorie Michael Towai (Eipéráng) is a CNMI-born independent researcher, cultural advocate, and founder of the Refaluwasch Journal of Knowledge and Culture . His work focuses on Pacific governance, resilience, Indigenous stewardship, and sustainable futures for island communities.
