In those heady, overwhelming days immediately following the 2016 Presidential election, I remember feeling like everyone I knew was grasping at straws: What can we do to protect ourselves and vulnerable people in our communities? How do we form better support systems and lines of communication so this… doesn't happen again? How can we support the values we care about most, invest in our immediate communities, and pick up the slack that's inevitably coming with this new administration?
Aside from that aura of panic, the closing months of 2016 were a total dissociative fugue state to me, as one national or international crisis after another reminded me of just how discouragingly out-of-my-hands everything was. What helped me emerge from that blackout the following spring was a new ritual in which I found great comfort: shopping at my local farmers' market. In Portland, Oregon, where I live, "farmers market" actually describes a sprawling network: I started with weekly visits to the main market downtown, then increasingly branched out into the satellite neighborhood markets that dot the city. Looking at fruits and vegetables was inherently soothing, yes, but supporting these hyper-local economies felt particularly valuable then, and it's something that I believe in to this day.
Sure, this isn't a new concept, but how we discuss political agency before then and now has changed substantially. Once the rallying cry of American voters fighting to express their political agency outside of the polls, "voting with your wallet" has become an overly simplistic way to think about activism. Buying the "right" thing might be a way to communicate our values, but happily paying more for my organic kalettes does not put meaningful pressure on big business or those writing policies; nor is it a statement akin to participating in a public protest or an outright boycott. As my colleague Jaya Saxena wrote in a piece about the charitable efforts of Salaam Cola, which gives a portion of its proceeds to Palestine: Unlike a product or brand boycott, which creates "concrete, financial consequences" for a company over its actions, choosing to divert or invest your consumer dollars in specific places has a softer effect. "It is about what you don't buy," Saxena writes, "not what you do."
But throughout that 2016 campaign, it became increasingly clear that the national government was a mess, and that the most vital place to turn attention to — and what felt more within control and in control of our day-to-day lives — was on the local level. (The same sentiment and the outpouring of mutual aid efforts during the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic was another way this manifested; it still manifests now in grassroots relief efforts after events like Hurricane Helene.) Shopping locally, supporting small businesses, and encouraging budding entrepreneurs seems like a tangible way to support these essential "community centerpieces," as the USDA calls farmers markets. It's to know who profits from the goods I buy each week, and to keep that money within the community.
Is this all very Pollyannaish? Probably! Is it a better approach than "fuck it, I'm buying a Tesla"? Maybe! But as this next consequential Presidential election looms, we're once again grasping for things that are within our control. Showing appreciation for the local, communal, accessible aspects of community feels especially imperative, however you may define it.
