There’s a certain point in any good community project where someone crosses their arms, leans back in their folding chair, and declares that you’ve lost your mind.
This, I’ve learned, is the moment you know you’re on the right track. Because if no one’s uncomfortable, you’re probably not changing anything. You’re just passing around casseroles and pretending that togetherness alone solves problems.
I used to think community building was about harmony. I imagined people holding hands in a circle, someone strumming a guitar, and a shared sense of hope floating through the air like the faint, yet somehow overpowering, smoke from a fair-trade incense stick.
But reality can really have a way of smashing through that image with the subtlety of a suped-up lawnmower. Communities, it turns out, are messy. They are powered by friction, like old engines that need a little grinding to move forward.
The quote “If you’re not pissing somebody off, you’re not doing it right” has been attributed to various people who were probably good at pissing people off. It’s the unofficial slogan of every successful movement, from neighborhood cleanups to civil rights. The people who never irritate anyone are the ones who hold meetings that end with everyone agreeing to “form a subcommittee” and never speaking of it again.
When you decide to build something real in your community, you quickly find out who’s truly on board and who just likes the idea of things changing as long as nothing actually changes.
The woman who loves your vision for a “community garden” might not love it quite as much when the garden replaces her unofficial parking spot. The neighborhood coffee shop, run by ironic hipsters, that praises “collaboration” may lose enthusiasm when collaboration means sharing customers.
Everyone supports transformation in theory. The problem is that transformation, by its very nature, transforms things; and people have grown very attached to their things.
Every meaningful act of community building pokes at comfort zones. You want to start a time bank? Someone will insist it sounds like socialism. You want to open a free clinic? Someone else will suggest you’re enabling laziness. You could launch a neighborhood recycling drive and someone would accuse you of being anti-freedom because they don’t want the city telling them what to do with their bottles.
The great irony of trying to bring people together is that you must first survive their collective disapproval.
I’ve come to think of irritation as a byproduct of moral physics. The more force you apply to make the world better, the more resistance you create in return. It’s not a sign you’re failing; it’s proof you’ve left the shallow end. The key is not to go looking for conflict, but to stop fearing it.
If you’re upsetting a few people because you’re challenging old habits or power structures, you’re probably doing sacred work. If you’re upsetting everyone because you’re just an ass, that’s different. But the line between courage and arrogance is one you can only find by walking it.
Community building is a little like hosting a block party where half the guests bring food and the other half bring opinions. The trick is to feed them all anyway. You learn to take criticism as a sign of engagement. When people start talking (really talking, not just nodding politely) you’ve got momentum. Passion is rarely polite.
So I’ve made peace with the idea that I’ll never please everyone. If my work in the community makes a few people roll their eyes, grumble on Facebook, or mutter under their breath at H-E-B, I take it as a small badge of honor. Progress has always been unpopular in its early drafts. The goal is not to avoid offending anyone; it’s to offend the right people for the right reasons.
If everyone in your neighborhood agrees with everything you do, it’s a sign you’re maintaining the status quo, not improving it. But when someone accuses you of rocking the boat, smile and remind them that boats are designed to move.
So build your community. Start your movement. Annoy the complacent. Disturb the comfortable. If you’re not pissing somebody off, you’re not doing it right; and if you are, you might just be doing something that matters.
Join us in making the world a better place. You’ll be glad that you did.
Cheers, friends.