Retreat is definitely not a word most would use to describe a “winning” situation. Retreats, historically speaking, have been moments of loss—of battles, of victory, of people, of hope.
It certainly feels like those losses are our whole world currently, and the temptation to “retreat” into ourselves in self-protection mode is significant. We see it in the turning of heads from one or another marginalized group being targeted because “at least it’s not us.” In the glory some seem to feel seeing others treated as sub-human. In a culture of rugged individualism and perceived (or manufactured) scarcity, when “pulling oneself up by their bootstraps” isn’t working (but has it ever?), the temptation to at least protect ownership of the bootstraps themselves is a real one. Costs are rising, healthcare is decreasing, and prospects are narrowing for the most vulnerable of us, which can and is causing a tendency toward defensiveness, aggression, and retreat from others.
Though the temptation to be lost in the noise and the urgency and the critical pain of our people and our country is real, I try to find solace in two features of human response to this crisis.
“To me in my daily practice, mutual aid is retreating into my community, falling back to a space I can help make safer and more secure and that can do the same for me, but it can be uncomfortable considering what we are typically taught to do...”
First, that retreat isn’t happening in the traditional sense. People, states, we, aren’t just rolling over, but are standing up, stepping out, protesting, using our voices and our right to protest as a means of sending our people and folks around the world a signal: this is not okay with all of us and it won’t go without resistance. This particular feature is genuinely what keeps me going some days, and this article is in no way intended to gloss over its importance or to discourage us from participating in this particular form of response. Writers who are much more adept than I am have done a wonderful job of reporting, recording, observing, and broadcasting it. I hope you are keeping up with it if it is in your capacity to do so.
The other feature is one that I have both seen in action and felt called toward the longer our current crisis continues, and that’s where my focus lies today. This feature is the act of retreating—not into oneself or even one’s family, for self-protection—but retreating into our communities. The act of retreating, which is otherwise connotative of loss and pain and a lack of prospects, is in our current situation a deep relief. It is finding out that right next door, right down the street, at work, at your local businesses, and in our communities, we can find the support we need to continue. Consequently, in my interest toward and observation of a cloistering and togetherness of communities to care for one another, I have been doing a lot of reading and learning about mutual aid.
Survival and Flourishing are Mutual Activities, Not Solitary Ones
Mutual aid is, in essence, the understanding that the government, massive organizations or corporations, or the ever vague “they” are not coming to save us. All we have is each other. We see mutual aid occurring when the crisis is essentially too big for such small problems, i.e., during natural disasters when your neighbors bring their boats to rescue you from a roof when the (big) government literally cannot get to (small) you in time.
We also see mutual aid when the systems created to “help” people come with either strings attached in the form of limitations on where funding can go, or strings attached in the form of who “deserves” to be helped. Programs and organizations that mean well and do indeed help folks sometimes leave out the most vulnerable of us. Examples include food programs that demand proof of sobriety, nonprofits that consider income but not that most Americans are one or two paychecks away from foreclosure or that we all get in a pinch, and government programs that demand attendance and participation in programs that are not readily accessible in the areas they operate.
Mutual aid says: community over corporations. It says: solidarity over charity.[1] It says: if not us, who? It says: for time out of mind, humans have needed one another to survive. No human is different in what basic needs they deserve. We can’t let the luxuries and the implied individualism of our culture make us forget that, especially at the local level.
The Discomfort of Retreat into Community
To me in my daily practice, mutual aid is retreating into my community, falling back to a space I can help make safer and more secure and that can do the same for me, but it can be uncomfortable considering what we are typically taught to do: retreat into self-protection versus reaching out in retreat to pick others up on our way. Certainly, reaching out to your community may seem the very opposite of a retreat, but remember, retreats are meant to find safety. To regroup.
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To survive.
So, the discomfort comes. What do you mean I need to check on my neighbors in this heat wave? What do you mean I can offer local kids popsicles, or donate to local aid efforts that are less formal and more based on trust of individuals, or share my skills in medicine, gardening, sewing, repairing, tools, mechanic work, painting, cooking, childcare, all in the name of community? What do you mean I would have to drive out of my way five or ten minutes to deliver something to someone without transportation, or pick up a friend’s medications? What do you mean I can do these things without expectation of payment or even expectation of a repaid favor? What do you mean I have to believe and trust this is a reciprocal, cyclical, unconcentrated, good-faith way of living?
Or, even worse for any feeling human being in our current times, what do you mean mutual aid is seen to be a revolutionary act, this retreat into community?
[1] This particular phrase, “solidarity not charity,” I read first in Dean Spade’s “Mutual Aid: Building Solidarity in this Crisis (and the Next).”

