Every generation of the Commonwealth inherits difficult questions. Some concern our economy. Others concern our relationship with the United States. Still others challenge us to define who we are as a people and what kind of society we hope to leave to those who follow. The recent public debate over commercial birth tourism and proposals to alter birthright citizenship in the U.S. territories is one of those defining moments. It has produced passionate opinions on all sides. Yet history reminds us that the most enduring solutions are rarely found at the extremes. They are found by understanding where we have come from before deciding where we are going.
The Northern Mariana Islands have never been strangers to change. Long before political unions, constitutions, or congressional acts, these islands were sustained by Indigenous Refaluwasch and Chamorro communities whose identity was rooted not in statutes but in kinship, stewardship, reciprocity, and an enduring relationship with the land and sea. Their understanding of belonging was measured by responsibility to one’s community, not simply by legal recognition. That perspective remains just as relevant today.
The centuries that followed brought successive administrations under Spain, Germany, Japan, and eventually the United States. Each left institutions, laws, and lasting influences upon our islands. Some brought opportunity. Others brought profound hardship. The Second World War forever altered the Marianas, leaving behind not only memories of sacrifice but landscapes that, even today, continue to yield unexploded ordnance and other reminders that history never truly disappears. Every generation since has been asked to rebuild upon the foundations left by those before them.
The Covenant establishing the Commonwealth in political union with the United States emerged from that history. It was not simply a legal agreement. It represented careful negotiation between a small island people seeking self-government and a global power seeking strategic partnership. Neither side received everything it wanted. That is often the nature of durable agreements. They endure because they recognize that competing interests can coexist when guided by mutual respect and good faith.
The Commonwealth’s modern economy tells a similar story. Tourism, garment manufacturing, construction, hospitality, health care, education, and public infrastructure were not built by any single community alone. Indigenous islanders provided the cultural foundation. American institutions provided political stability and investment. Thousands of contract workers and immigrant families contributed their labor, skills, entrepreneurship, and aspirations. Many spent decades raising families, paying taxes, serving churches, coaching youth sports, opening businesses, caring for our elderly, educating our children, and helping build the Commonwealth we know today. Their contributions became woven into the fabric of our society regardless of where they were born.
Recognizing that history should not prevent us from confronting legitimate public policy concerns. Governments have every right, and indeed every responsibility, to protect the integrity of their immigration systems. If commercial enterprises deliberately market the Commonwealth as a destination primarily to obtain American citizenship through temporary travel, it is appropriate to examine whether those activities undermine the intent of existing immigration laws or place unnecessary strain upon local resources. Protecting the integrity of lawful tourism and maintaining public confidence in our institutions are legitimate governmental objectives.
At the same time, it would be a mistake to confuse commercial birth tourism with the generations of lawful workers and families who invested their lives in these islands. They are not the same story. One concerns organized commercial exploitation of a legal system. The other concerns individuals who became part of the Commonwealth’s history through years of contribution, sacrifice, and commitment. A mature society must be capable of distinguishing between the two.
Likewise, proposals to reconsider birthright citizenship in the territories deserve thoughtful examination precisely because they reach far beyond immigration enforcement. For the Commonwealth, citizenship is inseparable from the Covenant and from the relationship our people negotiated with the United States. Any proposal affecting that relationship deserves careful constitutional analysis, meaningful public dialogue, and respect for the promises upon which generations have built their lives. Questions of such consequence should never be approached casually or reduced to partisan slogans.
Perhaps the deeper lesson history offers is that the Commonwealth has too often found itself reacting to immediate crises rather than preparing for long-term realities. We have experienced the rise and fall of industries, shifts in immigration policy, economic booms followed by painful contractions, natural disasters, and changing geopolitical priorities. Each generation has inherited both the accomplishments and the unfinished work of those who came before. Too often, our public conversations become confined to the urgency of the present while overlooking the lessons already written by our past.
What if this moment invited us to think differently?
Instead of asking only how we stop abuse, perhaps we should also ask how we strengthen confidence in our institutions.
Instead of asking only who qualifies for citizenship, perhaps we should also ask what responsibilities accompany belonging.
Instead of debating who should be included or excluded, perhaps we should ask how public policy can both protect the integrity of our laws and reflect the dignity of every person who has genuinely contributed to the Commonwealth’s well-being.
History teaches that societies are not ultimately remembered by the policies they enact during moments of controversy. They are remembered by the principles those policies reveal. Justice without compassion becomes rigid. Compassion without accountability becomes unsustainable. Prosperity without integrity proves temporary. Lasting communities find balance because they understand that seemingly competing values often strengthen rather than weaken one another.
The Commonwealth has always been more than a collection of statutes, court decisions, or political campaigns. It is a living community shaped by Indigenous heritage, strengthened through partnerships, enriched by those who have chosen to invest their lives here, and sustained by generations willing to work toward something greater than themselves.
That is why the question before us is larger than commercial birth tourism. It is larger than birthright citizenship. It is even larger than the politics of today.
The question is whether we will allow fear, division, and short-term thinking to define the next chapter of our history, or whether we will respond with the same wisdom, restraint, and vision that guided those who negotiated the Covenant and built the Commonwealth through periods of extraordinary change.
Every generation leaves behind more than roads, buildings, and laws. It leaves behind a measure of its character.
Years from now, history will not ask whether we won the argument of the moment. It will ask something far more enduring.
What kind of Commonwealth did we choose to become?
Gregorie Michael Towai (Eipéráng) is a native Refaluwasch son of the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, an independent researcher, published author, founder of the Refaluwasch Journal of Knowledge and Culture, and co-founder and Impact Advisor of Islander Connect. The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of NMI News Service.
