This Is Our Stone Soup Year: Embracing Collective Power in Repressive Times

In this moment of escalating political and ideological repression, we are being tested—not only in our values, but in our imagination. The instinct of self-preservation is strong. Faced with shrinking resources, targeted attacks on truth-telling institutions, and intensified surveillance of marginalized communities, it can feel safer to circle our own wagons, to protect “our” people, “our” cause, “our” institution.

But this instinct, however understandable, is not neutral. It is a reflex rooted in the myth of white supremacy—a myth that thrives on scarcity, competition, and isolation. It teaches us to protect the little we have instead of dreaming bigger. It convinces us that we are alone in our struggle. It keeps us ashamed of our limitations, instead of inviting each other into our challenges and our courage.

We are conditioned to lead with a deficit mentality: we don’t have enough money, enough staff, enough attention. We forget to name what we do have—relationships, community, creativity, vision—and to ask what we can build together when we pool them.

An arts leader recently shared their story in the wake of losing critical federal funding. Instead of cutting artist wages, they made strategic choices to preserve people over programs. They opened up to collaborators, shared their situation, and found not pity, but partnership. “I guess this is the Stone Soup year,” they said, referencing the children’s book where a hungry traveler convinces a skeptical village to each contribute a little until together, they make a feast.

We should all be embracing this Stone Soup year.

The story reminds us of what is possible when we lean into interdependence. It calls on us to step out of transactional mindsets and into transformative solidarity. Whether we’re in the arts, advocacy, education, or direct service, we are part of an ecosystem. What strengthens one of us, strengthens us all.

In a time when our communities are under siege—books banned, histories erased, bodily autonomy denied, and cultural spaces defunded—clinging to silos is not safety. It is surrender.

What if we told a different story? One where scarcity is not a barrier, but an invitation to deepen our ties? One where vulnerability breeds reciprocity, not rejection? One where every challenge is met with creativity and care, not shame?

Let us act like a people who know that liberation is not a competition. That art, justice, and community are not luxuries to be hoarded—but birthrights to be shared.

Let this be the year we open our pots, name what we can offer, and make something bigger, bolder, and more nourishing—together.

- Nina Sanchez