By Paul Freundlich
Excerpted in Communities #192 (available here). See Communities #191 for Parts One and Two of this article series.
Community, both as ideal and reality, has the capacity to transcend the usual boundaries. Not only in shared living, it flourishes in neighborhoods, at farmers’ markets and food co-ops where enjoyment of common taste is recognized, on Facebook and social networking, in churches, social clubs, and social dancing.
The pace of life changes how we experience community. There are communities, both social and professional, where close friendships develop over years through annual meetings or events. If you’ve known someone intensely over 10 or 20 years, even though the total time you’ve spent together isn’t more than weeks or a few months, they may be considered among your dearest friends.
Fifty-thousand people travel to Burning Man as though it is a visit to Mecca. Thousands have enjoyed our Dance New England summer camp to the point where our community extends to children who bring their children, and there is a flow of social events during the rest of the year—weddings, birthdays, baby showers, the passages saluting the end of lives; support when relationships go bust.
The essence of community is a feeling of connection and mutual responsibility for day-to-day actions and long-term planning. In the ’60s, I was among the first residents of a new town, Reston, Virginia. Lake Anne Village, with its plaza, fountains, and waterways, was a charming mix of residential, commercial, and public spaces. The level of upscale living was quite a contrast to my travels during that same period, making films in out-of-the-way places for the Peace Corps.
In the villages of Africa, Asia, and Latin America, the Volunteers faced the challenges of integrating themselves into cultures that had deep roots. In those communities, nobody was idealizing the experience: it was just life. In Reston, we had to invent a culture, or at least meld our histories. Also we had more options to retreat to a separate peace.
Applying the lessons to where we live, play, and work seems the most natural expression of being human; elusive only because of the pace and complexity of this modern age. When embraced, the richness of common bonds is right up there with the riches available through what is styled as entertainment—and a lot cheaper.
Even in the most brutal and constrained circumstances, the choice to live with some measure of dignity and connection remains possible. Even as vast populations are subjected to the catastrophe of war, and struggle for the most basic survival, in families and tribes they hold together in their humanity. They apply the lessons of community, which include that the sharing of value and the enhancement of interdependence is not only possible, but also necessary if we are not to devolve into post-apocalyptic trauma.
The small nation of El Salvador endured a horrid civil war in the 1980s. In strife-torn Chalatenango Province, one small town, ironically named “Agua Caliente” (hot water), suffered the expected complement of removals, executions, and intimidation, yet a cooperative credit union that had been inspired by a Peace Corps Volunteer in the mid-’60s helped the population maintain a hold on hope. Along with the tangible legacy of schools and bridges that had been built, and above all, the organizing that helped a generation of community leaders from the rural cantons understand they didn’t have to be helpless, Agua Caliente retained its spirit through the worst of times, and came out on the other end stronger than ever.
In 2011, a documentary film that I’d made for Peace Corps about that intervention was rescued for the town via YouTube. That former Peace Corps Volunteer, Tim Lavelle, become a senior administrator for USAID. He and I were guests of honor at a celebration by the Credit Union of its success: from nothing to $7 million in loans that had made Agua Caliente into a regional hub of economic activity, and laboratory for small business.
There is a cooperative sector world-wide, often combining with more traditionally structured nonprofits, providing housing, food, entertainment, healthcare, and almost anything else you could think of to tens of millions, breaking down the assumed barriers between consumers and producers. There are farmers’ markets and cottage industries, micro-finance and impact investing, social events of theatre, dance, and music which flow out of the life of communities, and return more than full value. More folks recycle and search for better ways to affect the trajectory of environmental disaster.
The understanding that it is possible to organize and create ongoing, dependable structures that nurture trust is the intermediate step between personal action and global solutions.
Paul Freundlich has been an active participant and creator in the development of cooperative, communitarian, and sustainable alternatives for 60 years. Highlights include filmmaking around the world for the Peace Corps in the ’60s; participating in the building of a network of alternative institutions in New Haven and editing of Communities in the ’70s; founding both Co-op America and Dance New England in the ’80s; in the ’90s, helping guide the CERES Coalition as a Board Member; in the 2000s, Chair of the Stakeholder Council of the Global Reporting Initiative; in the ’10s, on the Managing Board of a long-term homeplace for communitarian ventures, and continuing on the Board of Green America as President Emeritus. Paul has authored dozens of films, videos, articles, and other writing. He lives in Connecticut with his wife, Margaret Flinter; both of them commune with a wide range of friends and colleagues via Zoom (for now). Please also see his site exemplars.world.