(written with assistance from ChatGPT as a disability accommodation) In the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, we’ve witnessed something striking: our ability to show up for each other in times of crisis. Neighbors are sharing food, water, and power, offering showers and support with no strings attached. But a hard question lingers: Why do these resources, so easily shared in an emergency, become scarce or difficult to access in our everyday lives? The hurricane reveals a deeper injustice—one that goes beyond natural disasters and speaks to how society is structured. For many, the storm was devastating, but it hit some communities much harder than others. Those already living on the edge—facing poverty, housing insecurity, or poor access to healthcare—are the ones bearing the worst of this disaster. This isn’t just about losing power or homes; it’s about life and death. The hurricane has taken lives, and it’s important to reflect on how preventable some of this loss could have been if the systems meant to protect us were more just and equitable from the start. In Transylvania County, we are fortunate. We haven’t experienced the loss of life that other areas have. But this doesn’t mean we aren’t facing deep, systemic issues. Even in times of “normalcy,” some people in our community go without enough food, adequate shelter, or access to essential services. The hurricane didn’t create these inequalities—it just made them more visible. The people most vulnerable before the storm are the ones suffering the most now, and it’s not just because of the hurricane; it’s because of the way our society works. We see people stepping up to help, including government agencies and relief organizations. That’s important to acknowledge. However, we must be honest: the systems many of us rely on—government, corporations, utilities—weren’t built to keep everyone safe. For some, the resources were never enough to begin with. While the outpouring of support after a disaster is heartwarming, it raises the uncomfortable truth that these resources should have been there all along. The generosity and care we’ve witnessed after Helene show what’s possible when we come together. We don’t have to wait for a disaster to act like a community. If we can create spaces of mutual support during a hurricane, imagine what we could do if we carried that forward into our daily lives. Many of the structures we’ve been taught to rely on—jobs, services, utilities—are fragile and often leave out the most vulnerable. But in moments like these, we see that real resilience comes from people taking care of one another. This is where the injustice becomes clear. If we can organize to provide food, shelter, and essentials during a crisis, why can’t we organize to provide them all the time? Why do some people have to fight for survival, not just when a hurricane hits, but every day of their lives? This storm is a harsh reminder that the systems in place—capitalism, top-down infrastructure, and corporate-driven solutions—weren’t designed with everyone in mind. They are built to maintain order for the privileged while the most vulnerable are left to fend for themselves, often with tragic results. Amid the storm's aftermath, one unexpected lesson has been the gift of slowing down. With power out and telecommunications down, we’ve had a rare break from the constant hum of screens, notifications, and the pressures of daily life. Without the usual distractions, we've been reminded of what truly matters—connection, community, and presence. We’ve found ourselves dropping by each other’s houses for impromptu visits, sharing food, stories, and space. In a way, we’ve been forced to be more present, to really see and hear one another in ways that often get lost in the rush of modern life. The focus shifted from work and productivity to care and connection, reminding us that the things that sustain us—our relationships, our sense of community, our care for each other—are far more valuable than the grind of capitalism. This time has also given us the chance to talk with folks we don’t normally interact with, stepping outside our usual bubbles and connecting with neighbors whose values, politics, or socio-economic status might differ from ours. In moments of crisis, those differences seem to matter less—we’ve all needed each other in ways that transcend our usual divides. We've been reminded that we’re all part of this community, facing the same storms and navigating the same hardships. Reaching across those lines to check on a neighbor, share resources, or simply listen has shown us how powerful solidarity can be. It’s about seeing our shared humanity and realizing that we’re stronger when we’re all in this together, despite our differences. As we move forward, we can hold onto this spirit of bridging divides—not just in moments of disaster, but as part of our everyday lives. Listening to each other, learning from each other, and recognizing that a resilient, caring community includes all of us is essential. However, it’s important to reflect on how many of us have jobs that earn money and support ourselves, yet those jobs often don’t contribute to the real, necessary functions of our world. Instead, they simply serve capitalism. Capitalism is built on the premise of infinite growth, which is fundamentally contrary to how our Earth works. It relies on extracting infinite resources from the Earth and human labor, but that is neither possible nor just. I’m not advocating for luxury or laziness—rather, I call for work that contributes to real human good. While it can be challenging to financially support oneself by doing meaningful work, it is often far too easy to make money in ways that do not directly meet real needs. This pause has shown us that when we step back from the demands of always being "on," we can actually make time for the things that feed our souls--slowing down, being present, and prioritizing each other over the endless chase for more. In the face of this, our community has a choice. We can rebuild the way things were—unequal, fragile, and dependent on systems that only serve some of us—or we can take this moment to imagine something better. Mutual aid, self-sufficiency, and long-term community resilience aren’t just ideas for a crisis. They’re what justice looks like. We’ve proven we can show up for each other when it matters most. Now the question is: How do we keep showing up, every day, for those who need it most?
For more inspiration, read "Why I Do What I Do: Reflections of an Adventure Educator" by Morgan Hite
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