How I became a localist | Deborah Frieze | TEDxJamaicaPlain

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

Most of our big systems — education, healthcare, government, business — are failing our communities. What if we stopped trying to fix them? Deborah Frieze says it’s not possible to change big systems — we can only abandon them and start over or offer hospice to what’s dying. This talk explores the underlying beliefs in our culture that continue to prop up the global mindset and shares a radical theory of change that reveals how localism is the hope of the future — and you have a critical role to play.

Deborah Frieze is an author, entrepreneur and activist committed to strengthening local economies. She is a founding partner of the Boston Impact Initiative and founder of the Old Oak Dojo, an urban learning center in Jamaica Plain where neighbors gather to rediscover how to create healthy and resilient communities.

The way we're trying to change the world
is not going to work,

and it's never going to work.

I'd like to offer
a radical theory of change,

based on my experience
working around the world

with people trying to solve
our most pressing problems.

This belief turns most of our efforts
to fix our world on their heads.

Here it is:

you can't fundamentally
change big systems,

you can only abandon them and start over,
or offer hospice to what's dying.

By big systems I mean education,
healthcare, government, business,

anything characterized
by overorganization,

standardization, regulation,
and compliance.

And I'm saying you can't undo,
fix, reverse-engineer, redirect,

or reassign these systems.

That's because they are not machines,
they are living systems.

Somewhere along the way,
maybe around the time of Isaac Newton,

we got confused about how life works.

We convinced ourselves

that the world was causal,
linear, and predictable.

And so we began to treat our bodies,
our communities, and our ecologies

as if they were machines.

Machines respond really well
to top-down, preconceived strategies.

They rely on designers and engineers
to give them purpose.

A machine would never criticize
the 5-year plan or lose faith in the boss.

Thankfully, that's not how we are,
and that's not how life is.

Natural systems, living systems
are complex, emergent, and unpredictable.

Every system we, humans, participate in
is a living system.

Small wonder we keep failing
to predict and control

the outcome of our good-faith efforts

to repair our schools, hospitals,
banks, and bureaucracies.

So I'd like to offer a map
for what we can do to create change.

Maps orient us, they tell a story
about how we see the world,

and right now, I believe,
the maps we've been using

have gotten us tragically lost.

So here is a new map,
a living system's map,

to help us better understand
the complexity of the world we live in.

My colleagues and I call this map
'The two loops',

though for better or for worse,

I've also heard of it referred to
as 'Deborah's curves'.

(Laughter)

All living systems rise,
peak, and move into decline.

At some point, usually around the peak,
signs of turbulence appear:

disruptions in supply, spikes in demand,
volatility in pricing.

Alternatives to the dominant system
begin to appear.

I call these alternatives 'walk outs'.

People who turn their backs
on the dominant systems

so they can experiment
with creating something new.

If these 'walk outs' remain
isolated from one another,

nothing happens.

The dominant system will crush,
absorb, or coopt the pioneers,

because every living system
is inclined towards self-preservation.

But if they get connected to one another,
exchanging information and learning,

then their separate efforts
can suddenly emerge as a powerful system

capable of disrupting the old order
and giving birth to something new.

Let me offer an example.

How many of you grow your own food,
participate in a community garden,

or buy local produce
directly from farmers

through a CSA
or community-supported agriculture?

We're in JP, right?

OK, 40 years ago, only a few people
were talking about organic food.

Most of us were eating
the products of industrial agriculture,

a chemical and technology-intensive
food system

that has dominated this country
for most of our lifetimes.

But as that system began to peak,
as crops required

increasingly expensive and toxic inputs
to produce the same meals,

'walk outs' began to experiment
with local and organic food.

Today, there are more
than 6,000 CSAs nationally,

and the number of farmers' markets
has skyrocketed in recent years.

My guess is that in this room

most of us consciously choose
local and organic agriculture.

We see the same phenomena happening today

in the shift from fossil fuel
to renewable energy,

from conventional architecture
to green building,

from Wall Street and global finance
to main street and crowd-sourced capital.

What each of these transformations
have in common

is that nobody planned them.

Sometimes, leaders
like to take credit for them,

and we, citizens, like to ascribe genius
to our favorite innovators,

but the truth is
they are emergent phenomena.

Emergence,
which is at heart of this worldview,

is nature's way of creating change.

Emergence is tricky to see,
and it's hard to describe,

but we know it's present

when local actions spring up
simultaneously in many different areas

get connected,

and then, suddenly and surprisingly,
emerge as a powerful system.

I'm a localist.

I believe it is
through small, local actions,

alongside people who share
our visions and dreams,

that we create the conditions for change.

That's why I've chosen
to focus my attention

on working here in Jamaica Plain
and throughout the Boston area.

As an impact investor,
I want to create the conditions

for a just and sustainable local economy
to emerge here at home.

I do this through my work
with the Boston Impact Initiative

which provides capital
to locally-owned enterprises

that address the growing wealth gap
and ecological challenges of our times.

I know there are others like me
doing similar work

in New York, Detroit,
Oakland, and beyond.

I trust that our separate local efforts
will add up to collective change.

To do this work, I rely on 'The two loops'
as my theory of change.

So if you embrace this map of change,

then the question arises,
"What role do you play in it?"

When you recognize
that the dominant system,

the status quo no longer has
the capacity to create solutions

to the very problems
it was created to solve,

what do you do?

I'd like to share four roles
each of us can play

to support the shift to healthier systems.

You'll probably recognize yourself
in more than one.

'Walk outs' are the trailblazers.

These are the folks willing to turn
their back on the dominant system,

eager to be free
to experiment with the future.

If you're 'a walk out',

then you're willing to feel
ignored, invisible, and lonely

a good portion of the time.

That's because what you're doing
is so new and different,

people can't see you work
even when it's staring them in the face.

These can be difficult dynamics
to live with,

especially when you know
you've done a good work,

that you've already solved problems
others are still struggling with.

That's why we, 'walk outs',
need each other.

When we work as community,
we sustain the resilience and the stamina

to give birth to the new
in the midst of the breakdown of the old.

So, let me give you an example
from my local economy work.

In today's economy,

ownership and investment
are in the hands of the few.

But every one of us has the right

to participate in owning the assets
we work so hard to create.

Cero is a worker-owned
recycling cooperative

that operates in some
of our city's poorest neighborhoods.

In addition to being owned
by every single one of its workers,

Cero has figured out how to sell shares
of its stock directly to the public,

raising more than 370,000 dollars
from community investors.

These people are trailblazers,

and they are setting
an example for the rest of us

on what it looks like
to walk out of Wall Street

and walk on to rebuild
a local, living economy.

Of course, not all of us are suited

to the kind of uncertainty, isolation,
and risk that 'walk outs' must embrace.

So another role is to stay
inside failing systems

and become thoughtful and compassionate
in attending to what's dying,

to become good hospice workers.

As a skilled hospice worker,

your gift is to offer comfort and support
to those who are suffering,

and to help the dying
focus on the transition ahead.

It's my belief

that many of our big systems
are in their death rows.

Our schools are failing our children,
our food is making us sick.

Our financial institutions
are exploiting our citizens,

but all of us can't abandon
these systems all at once.

Take a look at the space

between the dying of the old
and the emergence of the new.

There is a gap.

And that's because the emerging systems
aren't robust enough yet

to receive all of us.

We still need fossil fuel
to manufacture solar panels.

We need to provide food aid
where there is drought and disease.

We need hospice workers
to guide us through these transitions.

In our local economy,
the Jobs Not Jails campaign

is an example
of compassionate hospice work.

These activists are fighting
to redirect two billion dollars

from prison spending to job creation.

They are working inside
our failed criminal justice system

to advocate on behalf of those
most vulnerable to its inequities,

and they are helping those who've suffered

regain the dignity of employment
and economic stability.

The third role to play in supporting
the emergence of the world we wish for

is to make visible the choice.

If you're an illuminator,
then you love to tell stories,

to shine a light on trailblazers' efforts
to create something new.

You have to be willing to repeat yourself

and to maintain grace
in the face of resistance and criticism.

It takes perseverance to help others see
new approaches for what they are,

examples of what's possible,
of what our new world could be.

How many of you have noticed

the JP Local First decals and stores
up and down Centre Street?

The buy-local and local-first signs
on many main street businesses

throughout our country
are the work of illuminators,

those who are helping us, consumers,
choose to support local businesses.

They're reminding us

that half of every dollar we spend locally
stays in our community,

as opposed to draining out
to multinational corporations.

Every day,

each of us makes dozens of choices,
usually unconsciously,

about which economy to support.

Illuminators help us make wiser choices.

And finally, there are those who've been
quite successful in the dominant system.

They wield power and influence,

and they have access
to resources and relationships

that could advance or destroy
pioneering efforts.

If you're a protector,

then you're willing to use
your power and position

to consciously create oasis
where people can innovate

protected from the disabling demands
of the old system.

You are the dedicated
and thoughtful revolutionaries

who live deep inside institutional life
to give birth to the new.

My friend John Barros
is a shining example of a protector.

John is the Chief of Economic Development
for the City of Boston.

His roots are as a trailblazer.

Right around the corner from here,
in Dudley Square,

John organized his community to reclaim
control of their property

through a groundbreaking land trust.

Now he uses his influence
to support pioneering efforts

to make our economy
more equitable and inclusive.

For too long, we've convinced ourselves

that change will come when someone else
figures out how fix what ails us.

But in living systems,
there are no silver bullets.

The truth is we need all of us

- the trailblazers, the hospice workers,
the illuminators, and the protectors -

to create the conditions for change.

So take a look around this room.

If we want a healthier
and more resilient Jamaica Plain,

then it's up to us.

The change we wish for will emerge

when each of us takes small, local actions

alongside people who share
our visions and dreams.

Join me in being a localist.

Thank you.

(Applause)