Growing up in Lahaina, Maui, I experienced the island’s housing instability in a way that is unfortunately all too common. My family moved frequently, a necessity driven by the relentless housing crisis that has gripped Hawaii for decades. I went to school in nearly every district on the island, save for Hana. The instability of moving at least once a year was a constant in my life, a pattern that persisted until my mid-20s when I moved into a house with a bunch of roommates while going to school and bartending on Oahu.

My mother, a beacon of resilience, juggled multiple jobs while pursuing a nursing degree part-time. She worked as a bartender, a specialized tutor, and sold her arts and crafts to make ends meet. Despite her sacrifices and tireless work ethic, the threat of eviction loomed large, becoming a traumatic reality several times throughout my childhood. This instability shaped my psyche, instilling in me a deep-seated fear of losing my home.

Determined to break the cycle of instability, I became a workaholic. I dropped out of school and left bartending to start multiple businesses, vowing never to relive the experiences of my youth.

My hard work paid off; my businesses thrived, allowing me to feel secure enough to get married and start a family.

However, this sense of security was largely due to a special, lucky situation: I rented a house from my family at a discounted rate. Without this fortunate arrangement, I would have struggled even more. Tragically, this is a house that burned down in the Lahaina fires, bringing my worst fear to life — not through eviction, but through fire.

Today, most of us in Hawaii live paycheck to paycheck, struggling to start businesses and raise families amid a severe housing crisis, economic turmoil, and the highest living costs and rents in the nation. It is an unsustainable situation that demands immediate and drastic action.

The proliferation of short-term rentals (STRs) has exacerbated this crisis. Out-of-state investors dominate the market, owning multiple properties and reaping substantial profits while local residents are priced out of their homes. These investors argue that since the county initially permitted STRs, it cannot now reverse its decision and prohibit them. But this stance ignores the evolving needs of our community, and the dire consequences of unchecked overtourism.

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My mother moved off-island when I was 16 because living in Hawaii had become too difficult. At 17, I couch-surfed from friends’ houses to aunties’ homes to cousins’ places just to finish high school. This kind of instability is crippling, and it is becoming the norm for too many local families.

We need comprehensive solutions to reclaim our homes and ensure the sustainability of our people. Phasing out STRs in apartment zones is a crucial step.

By converting these properties into long-term rentals, we can provide stable housing for local residents and begin to stabilize the rental market. Maybe my mother and siblings could move home without feeling that debilitating struggle.

Investments in Hawaii should prioritize the well-being of its residents over the profits of distant investors. The inherent risks of business investments, including those in STRs, must be acknowledged. Regulatory changes are a necessary response to the pressing needs of our community.

De Andre Makakoa is a commercial videographer-turned-filmmaker, and leader advocating for his community and the Hawaiian people.