‘Mutual aid’ is a radical ideal. Will its pandemic revival persist?

The concept of the mutual aid society dates back to an aristocrat-turned-anarchist in pre-revolution Russia, who argued that human evolution was defined by cooperation. In the United States these ideals of mutual aid, which have sometimes taken root in marginalized communities, saw a 2020 resurgence linked to the pandemic.

Despite challenges maintaining their volunteer ranks since then, mutual aid groups are persisting. On a frigid afternoon at the headquarters of Mutual Aid Eastie in East Boston, two Spanish-speaking neighbors who have received eviction notices are getting help deciding what to do next. 

They sip Mexican hot chocolates garnished with homemade whipped cream. Out back there’s a food pantry and a free library, stocked by the group’s staff. 

A key difference between mutual aid and the work of nonprofits and philanthropists is that those receiving aid decide how it’s used, and those providing it ask no questions. 

“It’s the opposite of survival of the fittest,” says group member Leonard “Leo” Olsen. “It’s about thriving as a community, as opposed to trying to get ahead as an individual.”

It’s a frigid afternoon at the headquarters of Mutual Aid Eastie in East Boston, a predominantly working-class, immigrant community just across the Boston Harbor from downtown. There’s a tenants’ association meeting going on inside. Seated around a wooden dining table, members of a local housing advocacy group are helping two neighbors who have just received eviction notices decide what to do next. 

The atmosphere is jovial; they speak rapidly in Spanish and sip Mexican hot chocolates garnished with homemade whipped cream. In the kitchen there’s coffee brewing. Someone’s grandchildren wait patiently at the table, playing mobile games on their devices. 

Scenes like these are common at Mutual Aid Eastie’s communal space, a building donated by the local Channel Fish Co. The group – which is not incorporated as a nonprofit – holds weekly “office hours,” where neighbors can stop by to get help with complex problems like housing or food insecurity. Out back there’s a food pantry and a free library, stocked by the group’s staff. Among other services, the group has collected and distributed relief funds, advocated for immigrants in court, connected renters with lawyers and housing advocates, delivered groceries, and provided emotional healing to the East Boston community. 

As the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic tested America’s social fabric in early 2020, an unprecedented number of groups like Mutual Aid Eastie sprang up across the country, aiming to support those who’d fallen through the gaps in traditional social safety nets. In Boston, loose coalitions of passionate people involved in grassroots, non-hierarchical projects set out to transform the way communities interact with one another, envisioning a society that rejects the power dynamics of charity in favor of solidarity. 

Three years out, many of these networks have crumbled due to limited staffing, funding constraints, and volunteer burnout. Still, proponents and scholars see value in the lingering benefits of mutual aid in communities, and wonder if the movement might have a wider influence – perhaps toward a society in which being a neighbor means more than just living on the same street.

“We’re creating this as a space for neighbors to connect with each other again,” says Leonard “Leo” Olsen, Mutual Aid Eastie co-facilitator. “To convivir, as we say in Spanish, to actually live alongside one another and support each other.”