As distributists, we're all strongly committed to localism; that is, to making our society, particularly our production, less remote and more local. Indeed, distributism is a name for that economic system in which more, rather than less, of the population is the owner of productive property; such a system necessarily entails more local production. Many distributists, however, forget that this economic localism corresponds to a very real
cultural localism, one which is part of the universal experience of mankind.
Culturally, we are all localists, even our so-called cosmopolitans. (Indeed, the problem with our modern cosmopolitans is that they are too local, not that they are not local enough.) The "it takes a village" mantra that the modern nation-state constantly uses as an excuse to preempt the just powers of parents is often grotesquely overextended, but nevertheless there is real and substantial truth in it. We are raised by our parents, but we inevitably have substantial contact with others around us, and others around us are inevitably those who come from the same locality as we do. They, in turn, were raised by parents, but also had substantial contact primarily with other locals. As a result, whole cultural systems rise up which are confined primarily to a given, localized area, distinguished from all others throughout the world.
Localities are distinguished from others in countless ways. Those in a given area sing songs that are unlike those sung in other places; they eat food that is not eaten elsewhere; they adopt curious hairstyles and clothing; they play games that others find odd. Men tend to share things with other men with whom they have more in common, rather than with those with whom they have less, and they have more in common with those who live near them than with those who live far away.
It's sometimes hard to recognize this in our age of distributed computing, but look at the question from a natural point of view. If a hurricane knocks my neighbor's tree down into my yard, who will help me clean up the flotsam? When my lawnmower breaks down, to whom do I turn to borrow one? When the city garbage collectors are careless with their task, with whom will I join my voice to obtain redress? When my house is on fire, who will call the firemen for me? When I lock my keys in my home, whose phone do I use to call for help? When the grocery store runs out of bread and milk before a snowstorm, who can I rely on to share?
Yet even in light of all this, many claim that localism is outdated, that we now live in a "global society." Now, after all, we have Twitter; many of us have more in common with individuals we've never even met than with our neighbors. But this overlooks the vast majority of our daily and necessary lives. While I'm sure many people find it wonderful that another person halfway around the world can know
exactly what I'm having for lunch today, it hardly compares with the localism we're discussing here. These globalists, these cosmopolitans too good for the universal localism may have global news sites and global networking, and these things are all fine and good. But the things of the earth, the things that are closest to who we are and what we need to maintain our safety and even our existence, are and must be local. And these things, by necessity, we have in common with
our neighbors, with those who live in real, physical proximity to us. We have more in common with these fine people than we do with anyone else in the world, no matter how closely we follow someone's Facebook feed.
My neighbors are really my best friends; I have more in common with them than I do with anyone.
And there is absolutely nothing in the world that can change that. No matter how cosmopolitan our society becomes; even if we begin a national policy of moving to another state at least twice a year; for as long as we live in a place, we are dependent upon that place and the people who share it with us. For anyone who doubts it, let him wait for his Myspace fans to call the fire department when they see smoke coming out of his windows while he sleeps. For the rest of us, we will rely on what men throughout the world have always relied on---the people who live next door. We can try to ignore it, but we cannot change it. Man is an inherently local creature.
Yet modernity has long been on a mission not only to ignore it, but to positively oppose it, like Harold the Usurper commanding the waves to cease. Our modern economy, in particular, has been a great force attempting to undermine this unavoidable localism. There are great incentives for leaving localities, particularly smaller ones, to gravitate toward great centers where, we are told, people aren't so "provincial" and "small-minded." Economic production is increasingly centralized; even that most quintessentially local activity, agriculture, has been warped into an industry, producing corn and hogs as though they were parts in a great machine. Television, radio, and other modern media have rendered the culture of our locality less and less important, as people increasingly follow whatever culture they see emanating from New York and San Francisco. Consequently, we are told, localities are irrelevant; only the "global society" is important.
One might as well say that men are irrelevant, and only the commune matters; yet without the parts, the whole will inevitably collapse. And that's precisely what's happening. As our localities weaken, as everything from our culture to our economy centralizes and our people increasingly ignore their roots, our larger societies become increasingly untenable. With nothing to anchor it, the ship continually blows further adrift, and our deracinated citizens continually invent newer and more disgusting debaucheries for the public approval, which is never long in coming. A people which forgets its roots will die as surely as will the branches of a rootless tree; and our people's roots, like all peoples', are in localities.
For how can we contribute to or benefit from our new global society if we're not even really part of our local one? The leaf can gather all the sunlight it can, but if the roots aren't in the ground the tree will die. The West is like a man so busy pressing his suits and gelling his hair that he forgets he still needs to eat. We are physical beings, necessarily tied to a particular place at a particular time; when our culture and our economy no longer reflects this reality, we know that the corruption of our society has reached a critical stage.
For the distributist, dedicated to men living as men and not as disembodied brains (for what else is the man without a place?), the solution is obvious: become more local. There is no need for me to rehash the many economic means of doing so, but think of the cultural means. These are simple; the most basic is, the next time you see your neighbor out mowing his lawn or washing his car, do the most revolutionary and countercultural thing you can imagine:
walk up to him and say hello. Really; it's that simple. Once upon a time, people used to have block parties; when the weather gets nice in the spring again, throw one. Invite not your friends from work, but your neighbors. Help organize a neighborhood watch to protect your community from becoming crime-ridden and keep your children safe.
You may even go the extra mile. Learn about your place's history and culture. Learn local songs, tell local stories. Go to local festivals and cultural events. Join local organizations, like museums or community centers. Get involved in local politics. Simply
be local; really
live in your place, rather than just store your earthly flesh there for a while. Plant your roots, or your branches will inevitably die.
Praise be to Christ the King!
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