Reimagining Solidarity

Moving towards a culture of shared growth

When we think of solidarity, we usually picture hands holding together; a group of people taking action towards the same goal; a helping hand for someone who attempts to get on their feet, or a hot meal given to someone in need. More often than not, “solidarity” evokes the image of reaching out, of human connection.

We can say that solidarity sparks from the experience of being touched by someone or something — that the will to help others is tied to how closely we feel their story is to our own. At A Growing Culture, every time we start to work on a new piece for Offshoot, frame a narrative intervention for a partner’s campaign, pitch stories to journalists, or outline our posts for social media, we ask ourselves, “How can people see themselves in this story?”

It’s become essential for us to reflect on this question to shape our approach to narrative change in a way that not only sheds light on the many realities that coexist within the food sovereignty movement but also dismantles the fictional borders between movement struggles and our own. It is only through recognising that someone else’s liberation is tied to our own that we can move forward in great steps towards radical change. 

Solidarity demands we walk away from concepts like individualism, hierarchy, supremacy, and any narrative rooted in separation. It needs us to challenge habits of othering, a behavioural pattern imposed for generations as a tool to divide peoples and conquer territories. Solidarity confronts us with the individualistic frameworks of capitalism and encourages us to recognise ourselves as interconnected with our environment and legitimate builders of our communities. Solidarity is reclaiming our agency to effect great change for the benefit of all, rather than waiting for the direction and order of actors external to our affairs. It is realising the incredible catalytic power that resides in each of us to build bridges and cultivate transformation.

Solidarity is fluid, a thread that weaves communities together with every act of compassion that we seed in others. It is rooted in some of the simplest, yet most challenging acts for the human ego: to listen deeply without judgment or interruption, or to be generous without expecting praise or recognition. Solidarity is the recognition of our shared humanity, a horizontal act that does not exercise power or control over the needs of others, on the contrary, it demands we observe, listen, and unpack the reasons why there’s a need before stepping in as “saviours”.

When helping others is done in search of applause, profit or privileges of some sort, we are no longer talking about solidarity — be it tax exemptions, quests for power, greenwashing, or public praise, the further we are pushed towards the edge of our many crises, the more industries adorn themselves with a socially conscious facade.

Corporate hypocrisy needs to be confronted. On our social media, we’ve amplified challenges to industry giants that claim to champion regenerative agriculture, how white saviourism has shaped, controlled, and exploited the food systems of many African countries in the name of “fighting hunger”, or why international aid is used as a tool to violently undermine peoples’ autonomy.

This is what false generosity looks like; it’s an industry behemoth claiming to hold the key to our liberation; it's a philanthropist donating to another billionaire's foundation; it's an oil company investing in carbon credits for a sustainability report; it's a political leader flying private jets to summits on climate change; it's a “cruelty-free” brand busting their employees’ unions; it's a landowner refusing to give shade breaks, handing out fluorescent vest to farmers in case they die in the midst of yet another record-breaking heatwave; it’s a conservation entity displacing Indigenous communities to name their ancestral home a new national park. It is a stranger who claims to support your struggle while comparing your dignified rage to the violence of your oppressor.

As has happened with words like “inclusion”, “diversity”, or “equity”, solidarity seems to be increasingly co-opted by global corporate spheres. In times of false empathy and false solutions, it is vital to remember our own capacity to come together and build the alternatives that the ones in power simply don’t bother to support. In fact, they feel threatened the more steps we take towards radical change.

Many Indigenous cosmovisions give life to concepts that serve as a blueprint for resilient social fabrics amid the shocks their communities have had to endure and continue to face. For diverse Andean communities in South America, the word "Minga", from the Quechua language (Mink'a), is usually defined as a reciprocal system of community work, most of the time in agriculture. In practice, the minga transcends the borders of farm labour — it is a call to action towards a common good that starts from the fundamental need, and joy, to come together to care for the community one's part of, whether or not there is an issue to be solved.

Solidarity today is almost always thought of as something that arises from the awareness of someone else’s need, or as an act that seeks to do good in order to counteract evil, but not so much about doing good simply for the sake of doing good. In contrast, solidarity in the minga is based, first and foremost, in the power of sharing — it can be an open call to help build a house, (minga of labour), or the co-creation of a space to get together, listen, and engage in dialogue (minga of thought). In this framework, concepts such as social justice or autonomy are not an aspiration but a way of life — a shared responsibility among each member of the community. 

With the rise of capitalism came the spread of ideas such as “not doing anything for free” — an individualistic mindset that seeks monetary benefit before the common good, fracturing the very essence of solidarity-based systems like the minga. But even though it has been long under threat, it persists for Indigenous groups across South America. From the cultivation of a chagra (crop) to conflict mediation, mingas are an integral example of what solidarity can look like today.

It is no coincidence that on most occasions, a minga concludes with a shared meal. Words woven around the fire are words that unite in spite of difference and can sow seeds of hope. Throughout history and across cultures, kitchens are considered to be the heart of a home, a place where stories are told in words or found in the way we knead our bread. A centre of reunion for the people and the harvest, a celebration of a place's diversity. Centuries of dispossession and violent indoctrination sought to erase Indigenous systems of communion, yet today, the many communities who still celebrate the closing of a day's minga remind us how sitting together and sharing a meal is a powerful act of resistance. 

Systems of communal solidarity are present in peasant and Indigenous cultures the world over: “Assogbê” in Benin, a cooperative practice that involves members taking turns to help with ploughing, planting, or harvesting in each other's fields as needed. "Tequio" in Mexico, a system based on reciprocity where all members of the community have to contribute to its vitality and the well-being of the ecosystem. "Gotong Royong" in Indonesia, where mutual cooperation and assistance are centred not only in agriculture but also in community life. "Kilimo Harambee" in Kenya, which translates to “all pull together” in Kiswahili. This practice involves community members pooling resources and labour to collectively address agricultural challenges such as soil conservation or irrigation projects. 

Systems like these lay fertile ground for community-led innovation. They hold space for trust-based relationships and can be an extraordinary tool for mobilisation, for they are rooted in the satisfaction of experiencing collective growth. In their most fascinating expressions, they are placed at the centre of community-led, pluricultural dialogues toward shared visions. Diverse, intersectional support is what paves the way for significant social change. Back in December, we shared a piece on the role of cross-sectional solidarity in the history of the US labour movement:

“​​A key example of collective action that spread across industries is the Great Auto Strike of 1946. More than 300,000 members of the United Auto Workers union went on a nationwide strike at General Motors for over 100 days. In solidarity, thousands of steelworkers, miners, and others joined them on the picket line. This series of long-term labour strikes halted production at 80 plants. At the end of the strike, the workers won their demand for wage hikes.” 

Unity across sectors was so powerful in the early 20th century that solidarity strikes are now illegal in the United States. Despite the systemic erosion of collective bargaining, the new labour movement, spearheaded by the efforts of unions such as those at Amazon, No Evil Foods, and Amy’s Kitchen, is lighting the way for those who are also swimming against the currents of corporate greed.

“Progress demands solidarity. The liberation of the farmworker is intimately intertwined with the liberation of the fast food worker flipping burgers, which is, in turn, tied to our own liberation. What would society look like if we each fought for and alongside each other?”

Solidarity does not exist in a vacuum, it is part of a system of values that help nurture and strengthen it, such as compassion, respect, and commitment. Without that system, it is nothing but a performative act of giving. It is often believed that being in solidarity means giving up something — giving up your money, giving up your time, giving up your labour. But this only drags us away from the essence, which is reciprocal, joyful, and bountiful. 

It’s only human to feel overwhelmed by the number of crises we see around us every day — powerless when thinking of overcoming the many challenges that stand in our way. The truth is, systems of oppression feed off of our isolation, and it feels utterly heavy to try and dismantle them on our own. The anxiety that stems from this thinking can paralyse and trap us in a loop of guilt and even apathy.

But long-lasting transformation comes from the “we” — from the will to build instead of the fear of losing. It comes from the richness of our diversity instead of the demonising of our differences. Solidarity is plural — only in dialogue and collaboration can we break free from the individualistic frameworks that erode it within our networks. 

How can we move from a place where solidarity is a scarce gesture to a culture that shapes how we engage with one another every day? What would it look like to integrate reciprocity-based systems like the minga or tequio into the digital spaces and dynamics we often navigate? How can we shift from solidarity as a product of need towards solidarity as a source of growth? Do you know any stories that follow this perspective? As always, we would love to hear from you in the comments. 

1. Rich Appetites, a short film series developed by AGRA Watch and the Alliance for Food Sovereignty in Africa exposing how billionaire philanthropists are pushing industrial, chemical-intensive agriculture in Africa in the name of “solving” hunger. 

2. The announcement of Tim Schwab’s new book, The Bill Gates Problem. An investigation into Gates’s use of philanthropy and his dangerous hold over public policy, private markets, scientific research, and the news media. 

3. The historic vote to halt current and future oil drillings in the Ishpingo, Tambococha, and Tiputini areas of the Yasuni National Park in Ecuador. Led by a coalition of Indigenous peoples, youth, and activists organised for decades, this is a massive win for the people and planet.

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Every resource produced by A Growing Culture, whether a newsletter, article, post, or design, results from countless hours of research, reflection, and the synthesis of profound conversations held both within our team and with our partners and comrades. Behind the scenes, a wealth of effort goes into making these conversations happen, from overseeing our day-to-day operations, and securing our funding, to forging deep relationships with communities around the world who are leading food systems transformation. These relationships fuel our thoughts, inform our words, and inspire our actions. 

We recognise that no single person can take credit for the work we collectively produce, which is why we prefer to sign as an organisation rather than as individuals. We believe that no idea is inherently our own and welcome anyone who sees value in our work to translate it, build upon it, adapt it to their own contexts, or share it however they see fit.