What Community Taught Me When the System Wouldn’t
Because survival was never meant to be a solo act.
I grew up in West Philly, where women made a way out of no way.
When money was tight, and it often was, people didn’t look away. They leaned in. I learned early that community wasn’t a vague idea. It was real and how we survived.
Whether it was friends of my mother letting us sleep on their couch when we lost our housing, running an extension cord through the window so we could have electricity, or letting me use their computer to type a school paper, it wasn’t just my mom who raised me. It was the people she built around her. That web of care, mostly women, showed me survival wasn’t something you did alone. It was shared, carried, passed back and forth like a warm meal or a ride to work.
We didn’t call it mutual aid or collective care. We didn’t call it anything, really. It was just what you did when you understood that your life was tied to the people around you.
But the world doesn’t often tell that story. Instead, we’re sold a different version, one that praises individualism. Be self-reliant. Don’t ask for help. Figure it out. If you’re struggling, it’s on you. That kind of thinking didn’t come from us. It was taught, and not by accident.
Many of our ancestral cultures were built around collective survival. Indigenous communities practiced reciprocity as a way of life. African societies embraced Ubuntu: “I am because we are”. Immigrant families pooled rent and resources, not because it was trendy, but because it was necessary. For generations, we’ve known that our survival depends on each other.
It wasn’t until colonization, capitalism, and white supremacy spread that people were told to separate, compete, and fend for themselves. The more disconnected we became, the easier it was for power to consolidate, for people to be exploited, sold things, and made to believe that asking for help was weakness and success was something you could only claim on your own.
But I know better. I watched how we made it work when the system didn’t. I saw women stretch one meal to feed three kids. I saw neighbors split bills. I saw the community step in when institutions stepped back.
Especially during times of crisis, like now, when government shutdowns threaten benefits, when SNAP gets slashed, when public programs shrink, we’re told again to “figure it out.” But it’s always been us who figured it out. Not the state. Not the corporations. Us.
Yet we’re still taught to feel shame for needing help. Still made to feel like asking is failing. But that shame isn’t natural. It’s learned. And we can unlearn it.
There is nothing shameful about surviving. There is nothing soft about care. Community is not weakness — it’s the oldest strength we have.
It might not look like the block I grew up on anymore, but community is still here. It’s grocery runs and childcare swaps. It’s group chats that say “You good?” and mean it. It’s a neighbor sliding you a plate or a friend sending a Cash App with no explanation needed. It’s people figuring out how to show up for each other, again and again, without waiting for permission.
We should still demand better from our government. Still vote, still advocate, still push for justice. But we can’t wait. We never have been able to.
Because long before the government built a safety net, we were the net. And when the system fails, we’re still the ones catching each other.
Maybe you didn’t grow up like I did. Maybe you’ve never had to run an extension cord through a neighbor’s window or type a school paper at someone else’s kitchen table. But I promise you this: no one gets through life alone. The sooner we stop pretending, the faster we can build something that holds all of us.
What I learned in West Philly has never left me: community isn’t charity. It isn’t extra. It’s the plan. It has always been the plan. And when they say, “We can’t afford to help everyone,” I remember who actually made sure we had enough.
It was never them.
Learn More:
Explore how communities have built their own systems of care — and how you can be part of that tradition:
“The Revolution Will Not Be Funded” – INCITE! Women of Color Against Violence: A powerful anthology challenging the nonprofit system and lifting up grassroots work.
“Mutual Aid: Building Solidarity During This Crisis (and the Next)” – Dean Spade: A short, clear, practical guide to building collective care.
Search for a local mutual aid network or community fridge near you
Chances are, someone’s already doing the work on your community and if not create it yourself.