This is a vulnerable one for me. It's quite easy for me to look out at the world and point out all the dysfunctional narratives and behavior I see. I think they're pretty obvious and I don't fear any massive disagreement. Yeah, things are messed up. Yeah, such and such is wrong. Though, this article isn't about those things. Rather, it's about a vision. It doesn't belong to me, but I have been privileged to receive it from whatever mysterious realm these things come from. It gives me hope for the future. I believe in the possibilities it holds. Though a vision can be fleeting and hoping is vulnerable. However, vision and hope are the only way toward the future. So here it is. This vision is entirely beyond me—it's just a fantasy on my own. Together, though, I believe we can make this vision a reality.
I'll try not to waste too much time on exposition. I believe in a single vision that could address perhaps all of the problems that assail us—climate change, social and political tension, the mental health crisis, economic inequality, and even the void of meaning that modernity finds us in. While the problems of the world are diverse in their manifestation—they are also quite simple. All these problems are the same problem—they emerge out of a narrative of isolation and control. Though we cannot change this narrative through purely intellectual pursuits. In order to live differently, these changes must find a home in our bodies, our communities, and our relationship with the land. There are concrete changes that can help facilitate that. We must return to the way of life that is aligned with our nature and supports harmonious relationship with all beings.
We must resurrect the village and mend our relationship with the land.
I see no viable way to solve our global problems without doing this. Yet, conversely, if we were to do this everywhere, that just might be enough. I'll explain what I mean.
Currently, our relationships with our neighbors may be friendly but they are rarely communal. I work for a wilderness therapy company. My immediate fate is tied to the success of my company. I could lose my job and become homeless and it wouldn't directly affect Marsha, the nice lady who lives next door. The people with whom my fate is intertwined in that way—my coworkers, are not people with whom I share all aspects of life. If my company failed, we would likely part ways and pursue lives independently of one another. We lack a sense of shared fate and shared destiny. This is not true community.
Compare this to our tribal ancestors. They lived in small groups of probably no more than 100 people. They knew all their tribe-mates by name—as well as their personalities, skills, and perhaps even their struggles. Furthermore, they shared just about everything with one another—the harvest as well as the hunger. When resources were abundant, they thrived together. When resources were slim, they struggled together. There was probably very little that would cause them to fracture—though a large enough tribe would probably split into two. Regardless of circumstance, though, they never were to atomize into a collection of unrelated individuals. From birth to death they were fully integrated into their tribe. The fate of the individual was the fate of the tribe.
Our ancestors knew this, felt this, and had cultural practices to remember this. Yet, for all the isolation we feel, our fates are as intertwined as ever. For all our differences in identity, economic status, and the like—the crisis of our times is a great equalizer. You may have $1,000,000 in the bank, but that will be worth very little when the topsoil is gone (which may happen in 60 years at the current rate). Our fate is united. Not just with one another, but with the plants, the animals, the ocean, the rains. To live communally is not about living lives that are intertwined; it is to live in a way that honors our intertwinement. It is to live in full consciousness of the truth.
What would it be like if neighborhoods across the country established local community gardens? Local neighborhoods of 100 people or so could indeed come together and grow enough food to provide for the entire community. They could grow gardens instead of lawns and share their bounty of them equally. They could organize into different groups and come together to can the excess food to survive the winter. Then, they wouldn't have to depend on the grocery store to feed themselves with industrially grown food shipped from thousands of miles away. If a snowstorm happened in Texas that cut off supply chains—these people wouldn't be worried about starving. As well, their relationships with one another would be tremendously more robust. Their mental health would improve. They may find a deeper sense of purpose. They may feel connected to the seasons, their local landscape, and the Earth in an intimate and personal way. There may be little tension between the Christian and Muslim neighbors if they spent their days in the garden together sharing stories as they picked weeds.
We may have to give up the luxury of having fresh avocados in the winter, but we would gain the immense pleasure and joy of living the way evolution designed us to live—in community with one another connected to the land.
This is just one element of the vision, though. There's more.
There are ways of growing food that are less destructive to the landscape. Restoration agriculture, permaculture, and indigenous practices of tending the wild are all viable ways to produce food. Not only do they end up being far less labor intensive than the long days and fossil-fuel intensive methods of conventional agriculture, but they can provide equally large yields of food. That's not all. Restoration agriculture is beneficial to much more than just us.
There are countless areas in the world that have been or are being desertified by mainstream methods of agriculture. Vast landscapes have been made uninhabitable for not only humans but also wildlife. Given enough time, Nature will heal these wounds on her own, though it may take hundreds of years or more. Though, through restoration agriculture, we can not only restore these troubled landscapes in a matter of years but build resilient ecosystems that reverse climate change and provide abundant, reliable food. I've said before that we cannot look to politicians, engineers, or scientists to solve our problems for us. The ground is crumbling beneath us. It is we who must sink our hands into the dirt.
There are countless people out there who feel moved by the current crisis but don't know what to do. It can feel tremendously frustrating to change policy or move the massive apparatus of society. Fortunately, though, we don't need to do that. In fact, the real solutions are not to be found in the high places in institutions, it's about what we do here on the ground. This is not to denigrate political activism, economic reform, or other such broad societal changes. These are important elements of the solution, too. Though, if we lived in local, land-based communities, it would be much easier to change these vast institutions.
Monsanto would probably fade into irrelevancy if we depended on one another for food security instead of looking to them. We would be less vulnerable to the predatory nature of pharmaceutical companies if we spent our days leisurely in the outdoors; experiencing the health benefits of social cohesion, exposure to healthy microorganisms, and living with low levels of stress. We could make sweeping economic reforms if we weren't afraid of people losing their livelihoods. All the massive reforms that we want would be much more achievable if we lived in resilient communities nourished by the land. When we are not dependent on the destructive systems of extraction that currently dictate our lives—we are in a much better position to change them. We would also be much less vulnerable to fear-based propaganda, political division, or autocratic control. Living in resilient communities increases our political power.
I recognize that not everyone has the financial capacity to move to desiccated ecosystems and commit the time and energy required to regenerate them to abundance. Though, there are many of us who can. Those of us who can could use that privilege to do so and in turn empower others. As well, this approach to community development and food security can be applied in rural, suburban, and urban areas. Many of us have seen the images of city rooftop gardens. We've probably also all seen vacant lots. The information on how to approach land in a generative and regenerative way is easily available to those of us who have an internet connection. The principles of permaculture, for example, are not one-size-fits-all, but are fully contextual, responding to the needs of the people and the landscape. If we were all to focus on applying these principles, we could revitalize our own communities, then go on to share and teach these principles to others. Thus, we can build connection and solidarity across various identity boundaries in a way that is responsive and supportive of the way people live. There are ways to help those less fortunate that do not impose our beliefs and values upon them and don't foster dependence on outside aid. Teaching people how to tend to their landscape in a way that cultivates resilience and abundance is a way to support them in their own independence and self-determination.
Though perhaps the reason I am most excited about small-scale, land-based community is not for the effects that we can witness and measure, but for the effect they can have on our hearts and our stories.
I have written extensively about the need for us to shift the way we perceive ourselves. We must remember our home is within the larger scope of Nature and within the web of our relationships with one another. When the food we eat ceases to be a discrete grocery store purchase and becomes a gift from the Earth borne out of our most intimate relationships—something profound will have happened. The reality of our interdependence; the resonance between our lives, the seasons, and the land; our shared destiny with one another—these will cease to be abstractions. We will begin to feel them in our bones.
This is probably why this vision resonates so strongly with me. It not only addresses our sociopolitical challenges but can begin to heal our spiritual wounds. We have been wounded by the story of isolation for too long. This, I believe, is a path to reconnection.
So, please, share your thoughts. I want to imagine a future together with you. One in which we all can thrive.
Bingo. My personal first step on the journey of food security is practicing fermentation.
Agreed on all counts except one: My sense is that permaculture is MORE labor intensive than monoculture. Are you implying something more along the lines of "If you trace the production chain of monoculture agriculture all the way back to the fossil fuel extraction and pesticide production then it ultimately adds up to more labor"?