In Pacific island societies, sharing isn’t just a nice gesture; it’s a moral obligation

Microwaves By Jack Niedenthal

Majuro—In the island societies of the northern Pacific—namely the Marshall Islands, Palau and the Federated States of Micronesia—sharing is not merely a practice; it is a foundational element of our cultures, an expectation woven into daily life. It defines relationships, reinforces extended family ties and helps sustain entire communities amid geographic isolation and limited resources.

In a world increasingly shaped by individualism and market-driven values, the Pacific’s enduring ethic of sharing offers a compelling alternative: a cultural model where generosity and mutual obligation are embraced not as burdens, but as expressions of dignity, kinship and social integrity.

I learned this early on during my first experiences after arriving on the outer islands in the Marshalls. When walking around the community, if someone offered food, I was taught that it was important to accept it with genuine appreciation. To decline, even politely, risks signaling offense or suggesting a personal grievance, because offering food is not just a form of hospitality; it is a reaffirmation of trust and a key factor in building new relationships.

To understand the importance of sharing in our island nations, you must start with geography. Our islands are small, remote and scattered across a vast ocean. Traditional economic systems grew out of scarcity and interdependence.

The land and sea provided just enough, not more. This gave rise to systems of redistribution and mutual aid. I often saw it on the outer islands—a fisherman returning with a full catch would quickly have relatives and neighbors at his boat. He’d divide his catch without hesitation. Not out of charity, but because it was his responsibility. And you learn quickly—those who share with you today will expect you to share tomorrow. The Marshallese say, jake jobol eo—you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.

In the Marshall Islands, especially on the outer islands, the ethic of sharing is most clearly seen in our bwij (clan) and jowi (lineage) systems. These define who you’re responsible for and how resources are passed around. A Marshallese person doesn’t “own” food or property the way it’s understood in the West. We act as stewards of what we have, and it’s expected to flow through the community. Sharing food, tools or labor isn’t just a nice gesture; it’s a moral obligation.

To be stingy is to invite shame, and shame is a powerful force that keeps people in line with communal values. One of the worst things you can call someone in Marshallese society is “mean” and, in this context, it doesn’t mean “rude”; it means selfish.

In Palau and the FSM, sharing remains a defining feature of social and cultural life, shaped by distinct traditions.

In Palau, extended families uphold moral and material obligations through the act of giving, not hoarding. Ceremonial events such as ngasech, funerals and ocheraol mark status by how much one gives, not by what one keeps.

In the FSM, systems of mutual obligation, tribute and communal land use ensure that resources circulate across generations and social classes. In all these settings, to give generously is to lead; to share is to affirm one’s place in the community. Even as modern pressures strain these systems, they continue to anchor identity and foster social balance across the islands.

To be Marshallese, Palauan or Micronesian is to live inside a web of responsibilities. Your name, your role and your standing in the community are earned not through competition, but through service and sacrifice.

Children learn early who needs food, who deserves help, who should be respected. These lessons are passed down in rituals, in songs and in everyday routines. A stranger to the island is offered food. A distant relative is expected to be housed. An elder is always served first. These are not just customs; they are acts of continuity, honoring the past and securing the future. I’ve seen firsthand how this upbringing carries over.

Many islanders are sought after to work in nursing homes in the U.S. because they grew up understanding something simple but powerful: elders are to be cared for and respected.

These traditional systems of sharing, however, are not without strain. The influence of Western institutions,  including churches, schools, cash economies and government systems, has created tension between cultural obligations and individual aspirations, especially around money.

I once knew a man whose unemployed older brother lived with him. Every time he came home with a paycheck, the brother would simply take it. That kind of dynamic, rooted in customary expectations of support, can be deeply challenging in a modern society.

Many younger islanders, especially those raised overseas or trained in Western systems, struggle to reconcile the duty to support extended family with their own financial limits or personal goals. Increasingly, they adopt the nuclear family model, citing the difficulty of supporting large families under the financial demands of American society.

Remittances, particularly during U.S. tax refund season, continue to flow from islanders in the U.S. and Guam back to their families in the islands. These transfers are lifelines, but they are also heavy burdens.   The pressure to send money, food, or supplies remains strong, even when times are hard and expectations feel impossible to meet.

When Covid-19 finally reached the Marshall Islands, Marshallese communities abroad organized and sent container loads of supplies. I saw this same spirit back in 1982 on Namu Atoll, when Typhoon Pamela hit during a drought that wiped out our food crops. Families opened their homes to those who lost everything. Neighbors shared what little food they had. Traditional leaders stepped up—not waiting on government but using our own system of sharing to fight off hunger. That resilience is not by chance. It’s cultural. It’s how islanders survive when everything seems hopeless and lost.

Our Pacific model of sharing offers lessons for a world facing climate crisis, inequality and societal breakdown.

In places where individualism has led to isolation and hoarding, the values practiced in the Marshall Islands, Palau and the FSM offer a quiet alternative.

They remind us that dignity comes not from what we own, but from what we give. Our communities are not built through contracts, but through care.

As we face an uncertain future in the islands, holding on to our traditions of sharing is not just about honoring the past—it’s how we survive. Climate change, forced migration and shifting populations will continue to test the ties that have kept our communities strong for generations. But if we stay rooted in this way of life—adapting when we must but never letting go of what matters most—we won’t just endure.

In a world that’s falling apart in so many ways, those who still know how to give may be the ones best equipped to carry others forward.

Jack Niedenthal is the former secretary of Health Services for the Marshall Islands, where he has lived and worked for 43 years. He is the author of “For the Good of Mankind, An Oral History of the People of Bikini,” and president of Microwave Films, which has produced six award-winning feature films in the Marshallese language. Send feedback to jackniedenthal@gmail.com.

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