In every professional realm I move through—ceremony and relations, conservation, sustainable agriculture, and collaborative science—there’s a common truth: when we choose the common good over individual acclaim, the impact endures. When we root our work in shared responsibility rather than personal expression, we create something larger than ourselves—systems that regenerate, communities that thrive, and knowledge that lasts.
Often, these fields I inhabit drift toward what might be called the romantic individualist approach: conservation as a self-affirming wilderness experience, science as a platform for personal prestige, therapy & ceremony as a quest for self-expression detached from responsibility to others. In all these spaces, the collective gets lost when we idolize the self.
Robert Bellah captured this cultural shift in his critique of expressive individualism:
“In the absence of any objective criteria of right and wrong, the self and its feeling become our moral guide... The right act is simply the one that yields the agent the most exciting challenge or the most good feeling about himself. Utility replaces duty; self-expression usurps authority. ‘Being good’ becomes ‘feeling good.’”
This shift is not confined to one political ideology. Well known relational therapist Terry Reelʻs outlines how across the Western world, the primacy of the individual reigns supreme. Even what we call “counterculture” often functions as a mirror image of the same logic—a move from social growth to personal growth.
The consequences are profound:
In conservation, individualistic narratives romanticize untouched landscapes while ignoring the hard, unglamorous work of managing resources for the collective good.
In science, the pursuit of personal recognition undermines collaborative efforts that actually solve complex, systemic problems.
In therapy, we sometimes pathologize dependence and elevate radical autonomy, forgetting that healthy relationships and shared commitments sustain us.
Collectivism is not about erasing the self; it’s about situating the self within a network of responsibilities and relationships. It asks us to trade the question “What makes me feel good?” for “What serves the common good?”
The irony is that when we choose the collective—when we design agriculture that feeds communities instead of careers, when we share data and ideas openly in science, when we approach healing as something that happens in connection, not isolation—we build a world where both the individual and the group can flourish.
I want to be candid and make it very clear that we cannot ignore a hard truth: the very systems we live under—economic, political, and social—make it difficult to survive if we don’t prioritize the individual. The market rewards self-interest, not communal care. Careers, recognition, and financial stability often hinge on personal branding, not collective contribution. But that’s precisely why I am committed to helping realize collectivist dreams—creating environments and communities that thrive together rather than compete apart. Models like Hui Makaʻāinana o Makana, MAʻO Organic Farms, and others across Hawaiʻi and beyond have flipped the script, designing systems where communities reclaim agency, produce food, restore ʻāina, and build shared wealth—social and monetary—all while working toward the common good. These examples remind us that collectivism is not utopian; it’s already happening. It just needs to scale.
The work ahead is cultural as much as technical. It’s a return to shared duty, to a sense that meaning is made not through self-display but through mutual care and contribution.
Because in the end, no matter how much personal growth we achieve, it won’t save us from the crises we face. Only collective action will.
