Mutual aid as community, which you need to survive the coming apocalypse.
Principles and practices for collective care, mutual aid, and survival
Why This Matters
I don’t know about you, but I genuinely feel like the word has gone to shit. There’s climate crisis, economic precarity, rising fascism, and social fragmentation. The idea of surviving alone seems far fetched, like some sort of maladaptive daydream that I can’t quite escape from. The world we’ve inherited is built on faulty (if not outright fucked) systems of extraction, competition, and exploitation, and it’s failing us. It was always going to.
Survival isn’t just about meeting your material needs. It’s about belonging somewhere. Abraham Maslow, in his hierarchy of human needs, identified love and belonging as fundamental to wellbeing—just above physical safety and sustenance. Yet, modern capitalism takes this from us constantly. We become isolated, untethered, and uncohesive. We’re constantly told we only have worth when we’re producing or consuming.
True survival—the kind that sustains the soul as well as the body—requires connection. It’s about knowing, on a fundamental level, that there are people who will provide us with support in even our most basic needs. That there are people for whom we are willing to do the same for. It’s about being able to hope together, as well as being able to act together.
This post is about how to do that.
I don’t think there’s a single right way to do this, no perfect blueprint to build on, but there are shared principles and practices that people around the world are already using to build resilient, liberatory communities. There are examples out there, simultaneously messy and hopeful, that show us what’s possible.
This isn’t about waiting for someone else to fix things. It’s about starting exactly where you are, with only what you have, and who you know. It’s about making the world suck just a little bit less together. It’s about mutual aid as a tool for building a community that can survive the oncoming shitstorm, and the relentless pressures of late-stage capitalism.
1. Mutual Aid Is Not Charity
One of the most common misconceptions about mutual aid is that it's just another form of charity—just people doing nice things for others. But mutual aid isn’t really about generosity. It’s about solidarity. It’s about recognising that our liberation and our survival are incontravertibly bound up together. We cannot have one without the other.
Charity, as it’s practiced under capitalism, reinforces limiting hierarchies. It frames some people as givers and others as receivers, usually on a temporary basis, and often with strings attached—like bureaucracy, moral judgment, or gatekeeping. It says: “I have more than you, so I’ll help you—but only if you meet my criteria.” A typical example of this is the free meals handed out by churches—but only if you attend a sermon first. Or Food banks that require a referral from a GP or the Job Centre, which simply aren’t available to everyone who needs them. It also often only helps a specific type of person: Single mothers (rarely other parents!), children, sober people, or just people who are “the right fit” for whatever the charitable project is.
It can also be deeply performative. Corporate “philanthropy”, for instance, often serves as little more than reputation laundering—offering tax breaks and good PR while the underlying structures of exploitation or deprivation go untouched. “Round up your purchase for charity” campaigns shift the burden of giving onto consumers—often people who are themselves skirting the poverty line, while the companies themselves quietly pocket tax deductions and social capital. In these models, care becomes commodified and depoliticised—a feel-good moment that does nothing to redistribute power or fix underlying problems.
Mutual aid, by contrast, starts from the assumption that we all have needs—and we all have something to offer. It is reciprocal, not transactional. As activist and writer Dean Spade puts it, “Mutual aid is a form of political participation in which people take responsibility for caring for one another and changing political conditions.” It’s a strategy for survival, but also a tactic for resistance. And it is for everyone, not just the “right” subset of people, or the “good poor”. Everyone, including people you are going to sincerely dislike, which we will get to later.
A real-life example of this is Broxtowe Community Projects, a Broxtowe-based food bank and social eating group. When I was running my café, Dog & Bean, we partnered with them to offer pay-as-you-feel meals, creating a space where everyone was welcome and no one had to justify their need. The goal wasn’t just to feed people—it was to create a sense of community among our patrons, where sitting down for dinner meant filling your belly, sure, but it could also mean building relationships and support networks. The service was used by a wide variety of people, from those who couldn’t afford to pay a single penny for their meal to those who paid upwards of £50 per plate. Nobody knew how much anybody else was paying—by design— and everyone was free to participate in a way that suited them.
After the café closed, Broxtowe Community Projects carried that work forward and expanded it. They now serve scores of people every month with their own regular community meals, and have created spaces for people to gather, connect, and support one another. Crucially, they also signpost people toward volunteering and participation—inviting them not just to receive help, but to be part of the system of care. That’s mutual aid: a model where dignity, trust, and shared power are at the centre.
When we treat care as collective rather than charitable, we give people power and agency rather than forcing them into dependency. We create communities where everyone is safer and accommodated, not just more grateful.
2. Start with Small, Shared Actions
Not everyone can launch a food co-op or run a community space overnight—and that’s not the point. You build community and collective resilience the same way you build anything lasting: a little at a time, with other people. Small, shared actions are where mutual aid begins. They’re also where trust is built, skills are exchanged, and relationships start to form.
When I first started participating in mutual aid groups, I didn't expect to make much difference, and I didn't expect to find much of a sense of community. I was just interested in offering my help when people needed it. The first real mutual aid I engaged in was during the early days of the COVID pandemic. My housemate and I were part of a local group, and we helped to deliver things around the city (and as far away as Rugby) for people who couldn’t leave their houses.
A lot of mutual aid organisations start similarly. Broxtowe Community Projects began as a non-referral food bank in response to increasing need in the local area, especially for people who had difficulty accessing food banks through standard (sometimes quite exclusionary) routes. As the number of people involved grew, so did the number of skills and resources brought to the table. Other local groups, like Incredible Edible Beeston, emerged from similar motivations—growing food for free in public spaces and sharing it with the community.
The key is starting with what you’ve got. No one has to be perfect, and no action is too small. The first step is simply showing up and sharing whatever resources, time, or skills you can. If someone needs help moving, and you can carry a box, that’s a start. If you have a garden and can offer fresh veg to a neighbour, that’s another. When you start with small, shared actions, you don’t have to worry about building a massive, perfect system right away—you just have to show up and do what’s needed.
These small acts build a sense of collective care, which is the bedrock of stronger, more resilient communities. And they spread. You’ll find that the more you engage in these small actions, the more others will want to join in. These aren’t isolated good deeds—they’re part of a much larger movement of mutual aid, one that’s powered by everyday people doing what they can to make the world, or at least their corner of it, better for everyone.
3. Build Around Common Needs, Not Ideals
Probably the most common pitfall when starting or joining a mutual aid group is focusing too heavily on a shared ideology or set of beliefs. While it’s important to have guiding principles, the real power of mutual aid comes from rallying around common needs. It’s easy to get bogged down in debates over politics or to insist that everyone share the same vision of a utopian future. But, if that’s where the focus is, you risk excluding people who could otherwise be part of the solution. That’s not to say that it isn’t good to have a shared vision, just that if you spend all your time arguing about what colour the walls should be painted, the house never gets built.
The key to building a thriving mutual aid group is to stay grounded in the basic, urgent needs that everyone shares. Whether it’s access to food, housing, mental health support, or safe spaces to connect, mutual aid is about addressing those needs in ways that allow everyone to participate. When people can come together around a practical need, they’re more likely to feel empowered and motivated to contribute, regardless of their personal background or political beliefs.
But mutual aid isn't just about the bare minimum—it can also be about fulfilling desires and bringing joy. There's a saying, “Give us bread, but give us roses too,” which speaks to the idea that survival isn't just about meeting basic needs, but about offering something that nourishes the spirit. This could mean sharing knowledge, hosting community events, or creating spaces for creative expression. Sometimes, it’s the things that people want—the connections, the beauty, the shared laughter—that make life worth living, even in the midst of struggle.
Common needs could be anything from food, shelter, and safety - to emotional support, childcare, or access to legal resources. But it’s also about the little things—creating a space where people can find beauty, joy, and meaning—even in difficult times. When you build around those needs and wants, the group becomes more inclusive by nature—every type of person needs shelter, physical and psychological safety, sustenance of the body and the mind, and companionship— and the focus stays on practical action, not abstract ideas. This is crucial, especially in communities that may have diverse backgrounds, priorities, or experiences. The work isn’t about ideological purity—it’s about meeting people where they are, and that’s how real solidarity grows.
I talk a lot about meeting people where they are in this post, and by that I mean: Meeting people without prejudging or assessing what you think their abilities, experiences, and needs are. It means accepting that each person you meet, even if on the surface they seem to be the same as someone else, will have a unique set of experiences, abilities, and needs that you cannot possibly know without getting to know them personally. Two single mothers who live next door to each other in an area you know to be underprivileged, and who send their children to the same school, for example, may have wildly different personal circumstances, and you cannot possibly know about them just from hearing that they’re single mothers from the same area. One could own her own successful business and have an enormous amount of family support to look after her children. She doesn’t have a lot of time to offer the group, but offers her accountancy skills for 2 hours a week. The other could be underemployed and dealing with mental health difficulties following a traumatic experience, and who has no family to share childcare with her. She has 10 hours a week to volunteer to distribute food parcels, and to provide company to older people in the community. Both people have really important, and very different skills and experiences to draw on, but on paper “single mother, 2 children, lives in “rough” area” look the same and lack any nuance.
You must meet people where they are, and you must accept what they say they are and what they can do.
4. Build Trust through Consistent, Honest Communication
Trust is the foundation of any strong community. Without it, your mutual aid efforts will struggle to survive, let alone thrive. One of the best ways to build trust is through consistent, honest communication. This means being transparent about your intentions, being clear about what resources you can offer, and being open about what you’re asking of others.
Honesty also means acknowledging when you don’t have all the answers or when things aren’t going as planned. Communities don’t just need leaders with all the right answers—they need people who are willing to share their struggles, to learn together with everyone else, and admit when they need help. Communication isn’t just about conveying information; it’s also about creating a space where everyone feels heard and valued.
It’s also important not to let your ego get in the way of doing good work. In a community, sometimes you’ll do something truly important or meaningful, and you may get little to no recognition for it. That has to be okay, you have to be able to cope with that. The value of the work does not come from the praise or the credit—it comes from knowing that you made a positive difference, whether anyone acknowledges it or not. This mindset helps prevent burnout and keeps the focus where it belongs: on the collective good, not personal accolades. I will not lie to you and tell you it is easy, but I am being honest with you when I tell you it is absolutely necessary.
It’s equally important to recognize that everyone brings different strengths, abilities, and challenges to the table. Some people may have more energy to give, others may be juggling multiple commitments or have physical or mental disabilities that limit their capacity. Mutual aid communities work best when we give each other grace, and respect each person’s unique circumstances. We have to trust that everyone is doing their best in the moment, with good intentions, even if they can’t always give as much as they would like. Also, some people will not be able to give at all. This is another thing that has to become okay—a community is not truly inclusive if it cannot take care of its least able members, and we cannot exclude or dismiss people who aren’t “doing enough” from our communities without acting like the very systems we are trying to resist in the first place. Sometimes, mutual aid also needs to be radical acceptance. When we freely offer that understanding, we create an environment of support, not judgment and we allow people who may never have been extended that grace before to become the very best that they can be.
This also means being consistent in your actions. If you say you’ll show up to help, do so. If you promise to bring resources or knowledge to a group, follow through. The reliability of your actions speaks volumes more than any words can. And when you consistently act with integrity, others will start to trust you, too.
The caveat here is that you need to know how much you can commit to without damaging yourself. There aren't any awards for reaching burnout the quickest, and whilst mutual aid is the aim, self care is also important. You cannot pour from an empty cup, as they say, and you must know and respect your own limits, just as you would respect the limits of the other members of your group.
It’s important to remember that trust isn’t built overnight. It takes time, especially in groups that may not know each other well at the start. But every time you show up, offer help, or simply communicate openly, you’re reinforcing the foundation that your community needs to succeed.
5. Embrace Collective Decision-Making
One of the core principles of mutual aid is that everyone should have a voice in the decisions that impact the community. While it might seem tempting to let a few people make the decisions on behalf of the group, true mutual aid is about fostering equality and participation. Collective decision-making creates a sense of shared responsibility and ensures that everyone’s needs, experiences, and perspectives are taken into account.
That doesn’t mean every decision has to be made through a lengthy and tedious consensus process, but it does mean that every person in the group should have an opportunity to contribute to the conversation and feel like their voice matters. This might look like regular meetings where everyone can share ideas, vote on important issues, or even just check in on how things are going. By building spaces for input and feedback, you create a culture of collaboration rather than top-down authority.
There are many ways to facilitate collective decision-making, from consensus models to more structured voting systems. The goal is to ensure that decisions are made in a way that reflects the needs and values of the group, and incorporates the collective wisdom of everyone involved. While it can be messy at times—especially when there are differing opinions—it’s essential to remember that this messiness is part of the process. It’s through these moments of disagreement that deeper understanding and stronger connections can emerge.
In practice, this can look like a lot of different things. It could be that every decision is voted upon by the entire membership of the group, or it could look like a board of elected trustees or representatives facilitating decisions on behalf of the membership. It might look like electing a new spokesperson every quarter, or it could look like decentralised teams each with the autonomy to make decisions on their own behalf. The most important thing is that there’s a clear and agreed upon method for making decisions that empowers the entire group, not just one or two people who stand to benefit more than others through the decisions they make.
Sometimes, however, a group can get stuck in a decision-making deadlock, especially when opinions are strongly divided. In these cases, it can be helpful to frame disputes as "the group against the dispute," rather than seeing it as individuals or sub-groups arguing with each other. This perspective encourages the group to focus on the problem at hand, rather than the personalities involved, and helps shift the focus back to collaboration rather than confrontation. I’ve directly experienced this in my role as a trustee at Nottingham Hackspace; when we face disagreements, we work to find common ground by addressing the issue itself, not by trying to "win" the argument.
Another method is to use a “mediated decision-making” approach, where an impartial third party helps guide the conversation and ensure that everyone feels heard. It’s also important to acknowledge when the decision at hand is less urgent, and perhaps a temporary compromise or pilot solution can help buy time for more discussion. Ultimately, it's about remembering that the process itself is part of the work—sticking together and remaining flexible allows the community to move forward, even if it takes time.
Mutual aid is about empowering everyone to take part, to make their own choices, and to act with agency. It’s about creating a space where power is shared, not concentrated in the hands of a few. And when you embrace collective decision-making, you create a community where everyone feels like they belong and has a stake in the work being done.
6. Focus on Long-Term Sustainability
In mutual aid, it's easy to get caught up in the immediate urgency of meeting people's needs, especially when the stakes feel high. But if we only focus on short-term solutions, we risk burning out our resources and our people. Real sustainability comes from a mindset that looks beyond just "getting through" the current crisis, and instead, seeks to build a foundation that will allow mutual aid work to thrive in the long term.
This might mean building systems that are scalable and adaptable, so that as the community grows, it can continue to meet the needs of its members. Not in a “unrestricted, exponential growth of the economy” sort of capitalist way, but in a “the need for this sort of aid is probably greater than we can predict” sort of way. That could look like open-sourcing and automating things like mailing lists so that it doesn’t become a gargantuan task for a single person once more people subscribe, or it could look like looking at long term plans for the physical space your group occupies and planning with a growing membership in mind.
It also means creating structures that allow for the continuous learning and development of those involved. This doesn’t have to mean formal qualifications or training programs; people should be able to engage with what interests them without the pressure of taking on specific roles or responsibilities. Encouraging organic learning within the group—whether through informal mentorship, skill-sharing, or simply trial and error—can be a key factor in sustaining participation. A major part of keeping people engaged is making sure they don’t feel like they’re working in a rigid, corporate environment, but instead, that they have the freedom to contribute in a way that feels right for them.
Long-term sustainability isn’t just about resources, either. It’s also about ensuring the emotional and psychological well-being of everyone involved. This includes recognizing that mutual aid work can be emotionally draining, especially when you’re working in situations of acute need. People might experience trauma, burnout, or feelings of helplessness. It's essential to create a culture where self-care is seen as part of the work, not separate from it. One key factor here is to avoid compassion fatigue—the emotional exhaustion that can occur when constantly caring for others without sufficient rest or support. To prevent this, it's vital that mutual aid groups create space for people to step back, take care of themselves, and recharge.
To support sustainability, you must also create mechanisms for reflection and feedback. Regularly assessing what’s working, what’s not, and how you can improve as a group will allow you to adjust your approach before problems snowball. These reflections can also be a way to celebrate successes—whether it’s recognizing the completion of a project, the acquisition of new skills, or even personal growth within the group. Celebrating progress, big or small, helps people feel valued and motivated to continue their work. When people feel that their contributions are acknowledged, they’re more likely to stay engaged and contribute further. Conversely, punishing failures will not increase success. Shame, humiliation, or fear of making mistakes will only drive people away and diminish their capacity to perform well. Creating a culture of positive reinforcement is key to building a supportive, engaged community. If we create an environment where people are afraid of being punished for making mistakes, they are less likely to try new things, or to be stuck in rigid patterns of behaviour or thinking, and to encourage other people to behave similarly. If folks feel like they can’t take risks, they’re going to feel like they can’t be innovative or imaginative in their problem solving, and this can lead to stagnation and boredom as much as anything else.
It's easy to focus on "urgent" actions when the world is full of immediate crises, but to create lasting change, we need to focus on creating systems that can endure, adapt, and grow in the face of new challenges. Sustainability is not just about surviving the moment, it’s about ensuring that the work of mutual aid continues to build community resilience long into the future.
7. Acknowledge the Beauty of Mutual Aid
One of the most profound and moving aspects of mutual aid is its ability to create beauty—often in the middle of crisis, scarcity, or uncertainty. It’s not only about meeting material needs; it’s about building something meaningful together. Mutual aid brings people into relationship with one another. It fosters community. And that community, formed not through consumption or competition but through care, is in itself a beautiful and radical thing.
The beauty of mutual aid lies not just in generosity, but in the solidarity, and collective responsibility it nurtures. It can be seen in the shared meals, the borrowed tools, the spontaneous childcare swaps, and the acts of kindness that ripple outwards from even small efforts. These acts are not charity handed down from above and for which we are required to grovel and thank our betters—they are community care, rooted in reciprocity, respect, and mutual trust. In giving and receiving without judgment, people often rediscover a sense of purpose and connection that has been worn thin by the isolating forces of capitalism and systemic inequality.
What’s especially beautiful is when mutual aid doesn’t just respond to hardship—it transforms it. It turns scarcity into abundance by pooling collective resources. It turns strangers into neighbours. It makes visible the social bonds that already exist but are so often overlooked. In doing so, it forms communities that are resilient, compassionate, and rooted in shared responsibility and a sense of belonging.
These communities are not just a means to survive—they are places where people can feel seen, valued, and understood. They can be places of joy, laughter, creativity, and celebration, even in the face of struggle. They are living proof that care and connection are powerful forms of resistance. In a world that so often profits from disconnection, mutual aid helps us remember what it means to belong.
8. Build a Culture of Inclusion
For mutual aid to be truly effective and sustainable, it must be inclusive. That means building communities where everyone feels welcome, respected, and able to participate fully, regardless of their background, identity, or level of experience. Inclusion must not be an afterthought—it has to be foundational. Without it, mutual aid efforts risk replicating the same hierarchies and exclusions that they aim to overcome.
Building a culture of inclusion starts with recognising that people bring different strengths, needs, and capacities to the table. Not everyone will contribute in the same way—and that’s a good thing. Some people might be able to show up physically, while others can offer emotional support, share knowledge, or help organise behind the scenes. It’s essential to create space for all these forms of contribution to be valued equally. Inclusion also means acknowledging and accommodating different access needs, neurodivergence, disabilities, language barriers, and economic realities.
It’s not just about representation—it’s about participation. People need to be empowered to take part in ways that feel safe and meaningful to them. That might mean providing childcare at meetings, using plain language instead of jargon, or actively reaching out to people who may not yet feel confident stepping into the group. The goal is to build spaces where people are not just welcomed but where they can thrive.
This also involves actively challenging oppressive behaviour when it arises. Racism, sexism, transphobia, ableism, classism, and other forms of marginalisation can and do show up in community spaces. It’s crucial to have shared values, clear expectations, and a willingness to hold each other accountable with compassion. Inclusion doesn’t happen by accident—it takes care, intention, and continuous reflection. It is also another place where in order to succeed, you must let go of ego. It can be hard to be told that a project you’ve poured yourself into is excluding or marginalising people, but we need to listen to those groups when they tell us that. We cannot dismiss those voices without becoming like the systems we are trying to resist and replace, not matter how much it hurts us personally to be told we have done wrong.
Ultimately, an inclusive culture strengthens the whole group. When people feel safe and valued, they’re more likely to stick around, invest their time and energy, and build deeper relationships. That sense of belonging feeds back into the work of mutual aid, creating a resilient, diverse community that’s better equipped to support itself—and others.
9. Dealing With Harm and Holding Boundaries
No community is perfect. Even in the most well-intentioned groups, things will go wrong. People will make mistakes. Sometimes, those mistakes will cause real harm—especially to members of the group who are already marginalised. When that happens, how a community responds matters deeply. Without clear boundaries and a commitment to accountability, mutual aid efforts can end up replicating the very systems of oppression they’re trying to dismantle.
It’s not enough to say that a space is “inclusive” or “safe”—you have to build the structures that uphold that claim. That means having things like a clear and accessible code of conduct, collective agreements about how people will treat each other, and processes for conflict resolution and accountability. And most importantly, it means sticking to them.
In some of the spaces I’ve volunteered in, we’ve had a strict code of conduct to ensure that everyone—particularly those from marginalised backgrounds—felt safe, respected, and supported. When someone repeatedly failed to uphold those standards, even after being given opportunities to reflect and change, we removed them from their position. This wasn’t about punishment or public shaming—it was about prioritising the safety and well-being of the community. People cannot thrive in an environment where they are routinely harmed or undermined.
Protecting marginalised members of your group is non-negotiable. If your collective allows racism, transphobia, ableism, or any other form of systemic violence to go unchallenged, then it is not truly doing mutual aid—it is just reproducing the same old oppressive structures under a different name. You cannot build trust without safety. You cannot build solidarity without accountability.
That doesn’t mean everyone has to be perfect—far from it. What it means is that we need to be able to own our mistakes, listen when harm is named, and take steps to repair it. Sometimes that will look like a conversation. Sometimes it will look like stepping back. Sometimes, it will mean leaving the space entirely.
You will need to learn how to apologise meaningfully, and do so every time it is necessary. You must acknowledge the harm you have caused, and take responsibility for it. If you like, you can explain why or how it happened, but that cannot turn into an excuse—and the difference between a reason and an excuse is accountability, and acknowledging what you should have done differently— and you must explain what steps you will take to make sure it doesn’t happen again in the future and commit to them. You must also make amends, which will look different every time but is a crucial step nonetheless. It could look like having an item you broke repaired or replaced, or it could look like committing to educate yourself and be more sensitive about an issue in the future. If you do not make meaningful and timely apologies, you will erode people’s trust in you and in the collective.
The health of the group depends on our willingness to uphold shared values and to centre care—not just in the easy moments, but especially when things are hard.
Finally
Mutual aid isn’t a new idea. It’s something humans have done for thousands of years—looking after one another, sharing resources, finding ways to survive and thrive together. There’s evidence of neanderthals supporting each other through lifelong disabilities fifty thousand years ago. What is new is how urgently we need to return to that model. In the face of climate collapse, rising authoritarianism, economic exploitation, and deepening inequality, we can’t afford to wait for institutions to save us. They’re not going to. We have to save each other.
But that’s not cause for despair. That’s cause for hope. Because mutual aid doesn’t just help us meet urgent needs—it helps us build the kind of world we actually want to live in. A world where people are cared for not because they’ve “earned” it, but because they’re human. A world where solidarity replaces competition, where generosity replaces scarcity, and where communities become sites of safety, joy, and resistance.
Mutual aid doesn’t require you to be a hero. It doesn’t require perfection, or endless time, or a flawless political analysis. It just asks you to show up. To listen. To offer what you can, and to accept help when you need it. And when you do that—when we all do that—something extraordinary will happen. We will remember that we’re not alone. We will remember that we’re capable of taking care of each other. And we will begin, bit by bit, to build something better than what was handed to us.
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