Cooperative economics in action
Or, what happens when we invest in each other
I keep returning to The Serviceberry, Robin Wall Kimmerer’s most recent book, for its simple wisdom. Recently on The Nature Of podcast, Kimmerer describes how our actions might change if we understood how the land loves us back. Along with this, she shares a familiar anecdote of a hunter—when faced with a surplus of venison—who makes the choice rather than to hoard, to store it “in the belly of my brother.”
In the loss of public sector funding and government allyship, there have been consistent reminders that we need to recognize and celebrate our interdependency on one another. Last month, when SNAP benefits became unavailable, neighbors came together to stock community and family pantries. Well-worn grooves of pandemic era mutual aid networks were quickly reactivated; the neighborhood group chats fired up again.
On social media this week, amidst gun violence, tragedy, and continuing genocide, there has been a viral post that echoes: all we have is each other.
My own work explores this notion of a gift economy—with particular focus on community-driven economic models that share ownership and shift power towards those historically barred from it.
This requires a reframe on what it means to be an investor or investee. When we make investments, we consider community governance, and soon find ourselves in the weeds of how voting works, what processes can reconcile differences and conflicts, and which decision-making structures facilitate democratic values, rather than impede them. When we think about who to invest in, we’re not just considering business profits, which ultimately return to owners and shareholders, but what it looks like when communities hold the equity and make the gains.
These ideas are not new. There are countless examples, from Boston Ujima Project to Kensington Corridor Trust—a neighborhood trust model we recently described to fellow investors in Proximate Press. The challenge is that we still have shareholder primacy, that the fruits of labor are rarely shared with labor. Luckily, the conversation around cooperatives, land trusts, and community-owned real estate are again gaining steam—forcing a re-examination of what an ownership economy might promise.
The ownership economy—even coops, which most people are familiar with—risks remaining abstract if not tied to lived experience. In fact, the most obvious mutualistic benefits felt mostly academic to me, until a recent experience made clear just how better off my family and our neighbors are by virtue of our own cooperative community.
The place I call home is the Clinton Hill Cooperatives, a legend in mid century architecture and permanent affordability in a middle class neighborhood that was once predominantly Black. In its short history, the coops were built as naval housing during WWII and had a chapter as public housing before being converted to coops in the 80’s, with a number of units grandfathered in from the public housing era. Some of my neighbors and friends were born here 50 years ago. Other newcomers, like my daughter, were also born here.
The history of the surrounding neighborhood is one of a successful Black middle class whose wealth has been slowly eroded by gentrification and displacement. Spike Lee, one of Fort Greene’s most notable residents, has depicted this tension in numerous films and made a home of his studio here, always showing up at local events to reinforce this point and reclaim the neighborhood for its original residents.
But today’s story is more about collaboration. And what happens when shared resources fail us and mutual aid—or each other—is all we have left.
The day the elevator went down in mid-September was blazing hot and I was inappropriately dressed in a wool suit. My whole family and a neighbor were crammed into the sticky elevator when it jarringly stopped between floors. It didn’t help that the emergency call buttons weren’t working, and we had no service to call for help either. It also seems the cameras weren’t working, or the firemen wouldn’t have expressed so much surprise at seeing an infant trapped inside the cramped and steamy space. Perhaps 20-30 minutes had transpired before we lifted our baby, her stroller, and then our scared dog up and out to rescue workers before climbing out ourselves. We thought the saga had ended and affected only us few.
The elevator was down for 10 days.
During that time, a surprising amount of life happened. There was a significant fire in the building, and acute medical issues where paramedics could not safely evacuate patients. Folks in wheelchairs were trapped in their apartments. Elders canceled medical appointments. Special needs students weren’t able to make the bus to school.
Neighbors suggested that we seek financial recourse but here’s the thing: when you are a shareholder, and you sue, you can only harm yourself. The knee-jerk American reaction to seek financial compensation is thwarted. When you own something together, you have to do something together. You have to organize differently.
The Clinton Hill Coops are also a place where you know your neighbors. Of the 65 or so units, we know the folks in more than half. On a good day, we bring each other freshly baked cookies, watch each others kids, walk dogs and water plants.
It was no surprise, then that in the 10 days the elevator was shut down, neighbors brought each other groceries and newspapers, carried strollers and pets up and down the stairs, checked in on each other, and most of all—organized. And trust me, you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of our collective fury.
We talk about cooperatives in the abstract—what it means to have a share, a say. But the power, choice, and ownership that comes along with it changes the dynamic of what it means to be neighbors. Our wellbeing—even financial wellbeing—is tied together.
As we demand recourse from management and a path forward that is safer for all, I’m reminded of why we advocate for these structural changes in our business ownership and financing systems. The benefits spread further when we are able to move together.