While massive homeless villages sprout in hidden-away bushes and highly visible parks, massive structures designed to sleep 30 or more people are appearing on quiet residential streets.

These situations seem connected, and not only in local government’s slow reaction and resulting inability to fix the problem. They’re part of a growing push to squeeze more and more people onto an island that is roughly 600 square miles. All those soaring new high-rises in town — that, too. Yet every time a new air route or new airline comes to town, the politicians are front and center at the happy press conference talking about how great it is that more people will be on their way.

Today the Honolulu City Council will finally get around to discussing ways to address the unregulated growth of apartment-density “houses” on single-family lots and their impact in older neighborhoods, including competition for street parking, loss of view planes and the weirdness of suddenly knowing nothing about the people who live in the hulking barracks next door.

Over the last few years when these monstrosities started proliferating, neighbors were wondering why it’s such a huge hassle to get a permit just to build an extra bedroom for grandma in the back of the house while these towering, to-the-edge-of-the-lot fortresses are OK. Who is occupying all those rooms once they’re built? Is it an Airbnb, dormitory, hostel, care home or all of the above? Perhaps something else? A close-knit but ever-changing multigenerational family? Really? Who’s living in those things?

That’s a point that seems central to the Hawaii way of life — knowing your neighbors, having an unstated social compact to respect each other’s space and privacy, and the unspoken promise to be there for one another should a bad storm beat up the neighborhood or some other calamity come roaring through.

When the grouchy old man next door dies and his family sells the home, neighbors now anxiously wait to see if the new owner comes with a bulldozer and plans for a “house” that looks more like a utility substation.

The time to fix the problem was before the whole industry took root. Nearly every neighborhood on Oahu has these monster houses. It took too long for the complaints to reach critical mass and for the problem to capture the attention of city lawmakers.

By the time the City Council gets around to passing something that will limit the number of bedrooms or the number of sinks installed in third-floor alcoves, the damage will be done. Sweet old houses all across the island will be demolished and replaced with hulking boxes that have all the architectural charm of the federal detention center at the airport.

But that’s a central part of Hawaii life, too — building something quickly before regulation catches up, before the impact can be assessed and before good sense and the sensibility of good neighbors kick in.

Reach Lee Cataluna at 529-4315 or lcataluna@staradvertiser.com.