Revolution Through the Gift Economy

I’ve had the pleasure of finally reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s latest book, The Serviceberry. (As usual, purchase responsibly - buy secondhand, from a local bookstore, or read for free from your local library.) I am a profound lover of her most famous work, Braiding Sweetgrass. It was one of the first things I read when I began reading again, last year. I was a self-proclaimed book-hater, despite watching my partner work through his graduate library science program and finding community within a group of young librarians. I had grown weary of reading after my undergraduate program, often spending late nights tearing through page after page of grueling academic texts that left much to be desired. I turned down every book recommendation offered to me until I stumbled into a library position as a career for myself.

Braiding Sweetgrass is a book I had heard people talk about and recommend, and after seeing an advertisement for the audiobook I thought hey - why not. If you haven’t read either of the books (I highly suggest you change that), they’re effectively reflections on modern life in the United States through the eyes of Kimmerer, a mother, scientist, professor, and enrolled member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. She uniquely contrasts aspects of American life to Indigenous practices and knowledge, guiding readers to consider their individual choices and the impact of modern life on our planet.

The Serviceberry is a short essay that extrapolates on the Indigenous practice of the gift economy. (It’s also an extremely beautiful little book, dressed with gorgeous ink illustrations by John Burgoyne.) Contrasting this from our capitalistic, materialistic, proprietary lifestyle, Kimmerer offers an optimistic strategy for combating the pressure cooker of a society we’ve all been born into, through the power of gifts. In her essay, Kimmerer recounts the act of picking serviceberries on her neighbor’s farm and explains how nature’s economy works without the concepts money, scarcity, and ownership we’ve all grown accustom to. She shares that nature is a gift that is given to us, that asks nothing of us more than respect and reciprocity. She ponders how our current economic system could benefit from learning from nature: by taking only what you need and sharing what is abundant, giving without the expectation of compensation, valuing relationships and exchange over money and power.

Wealth is something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently. I, like many people my age, have been burnt out from the start of entering the workforce. I worked in food service and retail positions before landing a super groovy job as a clerk at a Queer-women-owned art supply store. I loved that job for many reasons: I was surrounded by artists and art supplies, I was getting paid more than I ever had, and I was actually using my art degree for something I felt was meaningful. But the meaning in that job didn’t come from selling a shitload of art supplies (my coworkers and bosses could attest, there’s not a lot of money in the locally owned art-supply store game). The really cool part of working there was being a major part of a small community of artists who shared the same values and beliefs as us. People who were willing to spend a little more to get advice from practicing artists, support a small-business, put their money into their local economy, and benefit the small number of Queer folks who kept the place afloat. And I want to emphasize here that the money, for me and everyone working there, was the means of survival, not the ultimate goal. That is precisely what set us apart from the big-box stores. We had a strong presence in the community and meaningful relationships with the people who shopped there.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t work there forever, as life had other plans for me. I fell further down the rabbit-hole of anti-capitalist ideas when I began working at the library. I hadn’t seriously considered working for a non-profit before, but it would be unbearable for me to consider going back to a job that puts value on growth and profit before the benefit of the community. That’s something we’ve addressed very recently in work meetings. I work in marketing, so upon starting my position I was barking - “Growth! Engagement! Analytics!!” I was coming from running my own business (throughout my entire life, basically) and running social media at the art store, so my mind was fixed on these capitalistic notions of value. More recently, I’ve been coming to understand the value of libraries in a different manner. When marketing specific programs, the library does not have unlimited resources. We have a finite mount of tax dollars and federal grants that have to be divided throughout the entire organization. Much like how nature has a finite amount of resources at any given time. And apart from that, many of the programs the library puts on must be done on a small scale. If we had every single member of the community arriving for a cooking program, we’d have to turn people away. The library thrives on niche interests and small groups of engaged patrons. But it spans such a massive audience because it is funded by taxpayers. We can offer all services equally to those in the community who are homeless, working parents, students, the elderly, children, and more. There is no one who will stop you at the door and turn you away because you don’t have money. It’s really made me reflect on how our culture defines value.

Value and wealth are two focuses in The Serviceberry, putting into words what’s been spinning around in my head these last few years. Kimmerer shares a report by Lewis Hyde in his book The Gift (which now belongs to my to-read pile). The report, written by linguist Daniel Everett as he learned from a hunter-gatherer community in the Brazilian rainforest, recounts a hunter who brought home a larger kill than needed to feed his family. When questioned about how he was storing the extra meat, the hunter balked, “Store my meat? I store meat in the belly of my brother,” as he sent out an invitation to the neighboring families to join his for a feast. Reading this was a major, “Aha!” moment for me. In a naturalistic economy, excess is shared. There is no dragon protecting a treasure trove of gold. There is no richest man alive rocketing other billionaires to Mars. There is sharing. There is reciprocity. Otherwise, there is nothing but waste. Sure, you could dry out the meat and save it for yourself. But this specific hunter valued more highly the relationships and well-being of the people in his community than the promise of food tomorrow.

And we see this concept echoed in modern ideas of mutual aid and community, though it’s more of an ambition than a reality. I recently read an article about how Gen Z shares a larger percentage of their comparatively smaller wealth to social causes, requests for mutual aid, and charities. Young people value each other, we value social causes, and we yearn for belonging and community - which is acting in spite of how we’ve grown up. We are people who are coming of age in an era marked by loneliness. In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General shared an advisory on the “Healing Effects of Social Connection and Community” in “Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation.” We are utterly disconnected from each other despite being largely “connected” by social media. Who among us have meaningful conversations in the comment sections of Instagram? I mean honestly, beyond that, how many of us even know our neighbors? I grew up watching media where people had parties, large groups of friends, hours-long phone calls, video chats, wrote letters, had picnics, borrowed cups of sugar, and generally… were a part of a larger community. The world I’ve grown up in does not reflect that at all. And it’s not like I’m a social recluse. Really. I’ve been a part of endless extra-curriculars through all of my schooling, joined tons of groups, amassed a decent following on social media, and played a role in countless community events. Even so, at 25, I feel completely and utterly isolated from my community and the world around me. And I know I’m not alone in this. How many people share these same issues? I’m consistently the person who texts first, tries to make plans, start groups, build community - and I’m often left with… little to nothing. No response. Left on read. I, famously, recently deleted my social media thinking it would allow me more time to genuinely engage with my friends, but there are very few who have the time and energy to engage back. So what’s going on here?

Our system is broken. I, having done it myself, cannot explain how exhausting modern American life is. Though, I’m sure all four of you reading this can relate. You wake up just in time to leave for work, spend nine hours laboring for minimal pay, go home and spend what little time and energy you have left grasping for easy serotonin on social media, or a streaming service, or with video games, eat some crappy quick microwave meal, and go to bed. Rinse and repeat. We’re driven by capitalism to work harder, labor more, buy more, and consume more endlessly. Again, the goal is exponential growth. But this concept is working at odds with the laws of nature. Kimmerer talks continually about how nature works in cycles. Everything plays a role. Nothing is in excess and nothing goes to waste. You know how it goes. The sun shines on the trees. They grow berries. The birds eat the berries and shit out the seeds. The seeds grow new trees. When the trees die, they’re consumed by fungi and decomposers who transform their energy into dirt. And it all goes around again and again. We are so far removed from the cycle of nature. We are so far removed from the laws of nature. We push ourselves to the brink. We are advertised to relentlessly and buy, buy, buy. We have more than we need. We’ve been sold this lie that the ultra-wealthy are morally and intellectually superior. That they pulled themselves up by their proverbial bootstraps and won the game. That Ramseyism that anyone can be a millionaire if they only give up their precious avocado toast and work 100 hours a week. This isn’t natural. It isn’t normal. It’s not okay. We need to re-examine what wealth and value ought to mean.

Kimmerer writes,

“In a gift economy, wealth is understood as having enough to share, and the practice for dealing with abundance is to give it away. In fact, status is determined not by how much one accumulates, but by how much one gives away. The currency in a gift economy is the relationship, which is expressed as gratitude, as interdependence and the ongoing cycles of reciprocity. A gift economy nurtures the community bonds that enhance mutual well-being; the economic unit is ‘we’ rather than ‘I,” as all flourishing is mutual.”

I truly believe this is the path forward. And in talking to people in my life, many agree with this sentiment. The world as we know it is changing. Drastically. Dramatically. It is getting sickeningly dark and depraved for many of us living in the US and around the world. Fascism is on the rise. To many of us, we feel so… out of control. Hopeless. Isolated. Fearful. But we also understand that this is what fascism thrives on. Though it seems contrite, it’s true that the enemy of hate is love. We are more powerful together than we are apart.

Kimmerer offers a hopeful outlook. The Serviceberry ends describing how berry picking has forged communities. She shares that her family members have created a berry patch in their front yard with a sign inviting people, including young children who had been specifically shouted off neighbor’s lawns, to bring a basket and take their share. I tearfully read the final pages of the book, recalling one of my earliest memories: picking blueberries with my mom and my very first friend at 2 years old. This full-circle moment has left me with a profound sense of belonging and hope.

We don’t know what is going to happen next. Many of us feel helpless. So, what can we do? How do we incorporate these ideas, the gift economy and reciprocity, into our lives when we don’t have the option to opt-out of the oncoming oligarchy ruling capitalism? The change really starts here where you sit. In your home, with your neighbors, and in your community. When shit gets rough, we lean on each other. Because at the end of the day, that’s what nature intends for us. Start to think of what you have to offer the world. What small way you can make an impact on those around you. It could be as simple as starting a local book club. Hosting a clothing swap. Sharing resources, recipes, and books. Starting a band. Talking to your neighbor. I could go on, but instead I’ll share a poster I saw in a shop window while vacationing in Nashville, Indiana for my 25th birthday.

“How to Build Community: Turn off your TV. Leave your house. Know your neighbors. Look up when you are walking. Greet people. Sit on your stoop. Plant flowers. Use your library. Play together. Buy from local merchants. Share what you have. Help a lost dog. Take children to the park. Garden together. Support neighborhood schools. Fix it even if you didn’t break it. Have pot lucks. Honor elders. Pick up litter. Read stories aloud. Dance in the street. Talk to the mail carrier. Listen to the birds. Put up a swing. Help carry something heavy. Barter for your goods. Start a tradition. Ask a question. Hire young people for odd jobs. Organize a block party. Bake extra and share. Ask for help when you need it. Open your shades. Sing together. Share your skills. Take back the night. Turn up the music. Turn down the music. Listen before you react to anger. Mediate a conflict. Seek to understand. Learn from new and uncomfortable angles. Know that no one is silent though many are not heard - work to change this.”

One of my personal goals, since getting a decent union job and suddenly having more time, resources, benefits, and money than I’ve ever known, is to share that wealth. I’ve been making goals for 2025, and one of my most serious ambitions is to host a weekly potluck. When living in Illinois, I attended a potluck hosted by my professor/chef/professional dancer friend Bao. He held a potluck every Friday and brunch every Sunday with open invitations to any friends of those who attended. I met people from all over the world, tried food from numerous cultures, and shared stories with people I’d never encounter in my day-to-day life. Since moving back to Michigan, I’ve felt a hole in my heart where Bao’s potlucks used to be. And now that I’m dead set on effecting positive change in my life, what better way to practice cooking, bring people together, and ensure my friends are fed than a weekly potluck?

I’ve also had this notion in the last year (admittedly, largely due to owing $400 in taxes) to stop selling my art. I had been hustling for so long. My entire life, actually. I’ve always been an entrepreneur, instilled in me by my father from the start that my skills are valuable. Though, as I reflect on my values, I’m realizing more and more that selling art is antithetical to my beliefs. Many people I went to art school with feel similarly. I talk regularly with my peers who feel we don’t have a choice. That selling art is the only way to get by. But in learning about gift economies, I’d like to pose art as being another service or skill we can share with our community. We can use our skills to promote education, activism, mental health, and so much more if we apply it in the right places. I encourage anyone who’s thinking creatively about how to benefit their community through art to share it with me. Let’s get freaky with it!

So to wrap this novel up I want to encourage everyone to, like my friend Wren often says, lead with love. Share what you have. Give without the intention of compensation. Hone your skills. Feed your soul. Write. Sing. Cook. Read Robin Wall Kimmerer’s books. Live your life and live it with those around you. You’ll be rewarded, tenfold, in memories and gifts. All we have at the end of the day is each other, right?

As always, peace and love from your friend Rissa.

P.S. Apropos of nothing, I recently read Michael DeForge’s itty bitty graphic novel Big Kids and found it impossible to understand, wildly colorful, and uniquely cathartic as a Queer kid who never quite fit in. Give it a read and let me know what you think. It’s like abstract art… for your soul.

Also, go read my first blog post.