We often talk about "bringing communities together"; But community without accountability isn't community—it's complacency.
If a corporation pollutes our water, names matter.
If elected officials approve projects that threaten our aquifers while Minnesota faces increasing water scarcity, names matter.
If wealthy industries profit while shifting environmental and social costs onto working people, names matter.
Accountability begins with telling the truth about who benefits, who pays the price, and who made the decision.
One of my biggest critiques of capitalism is that it rewards profit even when that profit comes at the expense of people and the planet. Under our current economic system, success is too often measured by quarterly earnings instead of clean water, healthy families, thriving neighborhoods, or future generations. When profit becomes the highest priority, our communities become an afterthought.
As I've been reading A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn, one question has stayed with me:
Who gets to define the national interest?
Zinn argues that history is often written from the perspective of those who held power while the experiences of ordinary people are pushed aside. I think the question deserves our attention.
Too often, we treat the interests of those with wealth and power as though they represent the interests of the nation itself.
there is a REAL DISCONNECT.
A nation's interests should not be defined by the richest, the loudest, or the most politically connected. They should be defined democratically by the people who make up that nation.
That means asking uncomfortable questions.
Who benefits from this policy?
Who bears the cost?
Whose voices were excluded from the decision?
History teaches us that prosperity has often come with hidden costs paid by people who never volunteered to bear them—Indigenous communities forced from their land, enslaved Africans whose labor built immense wealth, and indentured slaves whose bodies fueled industrial growth.
Generations of families are left behind by decisions made in distant boardrooms or legislative chambers.
Recognizing those truths isn't about dividing people. It's about refusing to erase the people who paid the price for systems they did not create.
That same principle applies today.
When corporations extract our natural resources without paying the environmental costs, we should say so.
When elected officials prioritize corporate influence over clean water, affordable housing, or public health, we should say so.
When communities are intentionally divided by race, class, culture, or political identity so they cannot organize around their shared interests, we should recognize that division for what it is: a barrier to collective action.
Building community doesn't mean pretending conflict doesn't exist. It means creating the conditions for solidarity despite our differences.
As someone who believes in democratic Eco-socialism, I believe democracy shouldn't stop at the ballot box. Our economy should serve people, not the other way around. Workers deserve a voice in their workplaces. Communities deserve a voice in how their resources are managed. Housing, healthcare, education, food, and clean water should be treated as public goods—not merely opportunities for profit.
This is also why I believe in decentralization. Strong communities don't wait for every solution to come from the Capitol or from corporate headquarters. They organize. They cooperate. They build local institutions. They hold one another accountable while demanding accountability from those with the greatest power.
Community isn't built through silence.
It's built through truth, courage, and shared responsibility.
Because democracy is strongest when the people—not wealth, not corporations, and not concentrated political power—define what is truly in the public interest.