In 2016, my best friend, Sergio, and I opened P.A.R.C. (Politics, Art, Roots, Culture), a community and cultural center located in the deindustrialized landscape of Michigan City, Indiana. Like so many towns and cities throughout the Rust Belt, Michigan City was once a vibrant manufacturing hub, where people worked for the railroad companies, steel mills, and various manufacturing plants scattered about the region.
Over the decades, however, Michigan City fell victim to neoliberal economic policies. Its population significantly decreased due to the offshoring of good-paying union jobs. Communities fragmented. Crime increased. People fled for better opportunities. And the local ecology was destroyed. Today, the coal-fired power plant that sits on the shores of Lake Michigan continues to poison the predominantly black Westside. And the maximum security Indiana State Prison remains open. As a result, some of the better jobs in the city are with the power company, the correctional facility, or the casino, which preys upon the poorest segments of the city.
Unfortunately, due to the pandemic, we were forced to temporarily close P.A.R.C. in March of 2020. For the next twelve months, we hosted a podcast and used Patreon to keep the landlord paid and happy. However, with the pandemic still ongoing and no clear guidance from local, state, or federal officials (especially in Indiana), we eventually made the difficult decision to permanently close our doors. We could no longer, in good conscience, ask our supporters to cover the costs of keeping the space open.
For us, this was a heartbreaking series of events. We poured everything into the P.A.R.C. project: money, resources, and countless hours. After all, the aim was to create a political and cultural organizing hub that would last for decades. We were not interested in a short-term project. We were interested in developing and cultivating a long-lasting institution — something severely lacking in American culture and society. In order to achieve long-term success, we felt that digging our heels in and planting a flag was the only way to go. And we still believe that.
Spending Time With Nonpoliticized People
And so, in 2022, Sergio and I went our separate ways. He moved back to the Philadelphia area to pursue non-political consulting work and pay off his student loans. Meanwhile, I was offered the opportunity to start a tattoo apprenticeship at one of the world’s most famous tattoo shops, the Shamrock Social Club, in West Hollywood, California. Activism, after all, doesn’t pay the bills, nor should it. Now, however, we’re back in the fold, reengaged, recharged, and excited to pursue new opportunities in a radically changing and challenging political landscape.
Indeed, taking time away from political organizing efforts was actually quite useful. During my time with I.V.A.W., I worked at a local bar whose regulars ranged from city workers and union tradesmen to servers, mechanics, and cops. In other words, not self-identified leftists. The challenge, for me, was translating what I was learning about the world through spending time in left-wing political circles to people who’ve never spent any time in those circles, and vice versa. Every week, I had to spend four to five days rapping with ordinary, non-politicized, socially conservative Americans. I learned a lot. It kept me grounded.
Similarly, but from the opposite angle, I’ve spent the past four years in Los Angeles, more specifically, West Hollywood, California, one of the most socially liberal areas in the entire United States. Tattoo shops, much like local dive bars or neighborhood barbershops, remain one of the few locations where people speak freely about any number of things: politics, family, death, sex, sports, and so forth. Dozens of people from all walks of life stroll through our doors on a daily basis. Beyond more casual conversations, this also provides an opportunity to float ideas, ask questions, and engage in dialogue about current events, history, and politics.
Admittedly, anecdotal observations and interactions are limited, but so is quantitative data. Opinion polls show that Americans largely agree with progressive economic and political reforms, but the conversations I have with people in Los Angeles have revealed a more complex picture. The same was true when I lived in Michigan City, Indiana. And the same is true of my exchanges and debates with family members, friends, and neighbors. More often than not, my subjective understanding of where Americans are coming from, what resonates, and what doesn’t, has proved far more useful than whatever opinion polls I was reading at the time.
Political Organizations and Countercultural Projects Require Physical Spaces
Following a decade of antiwar activism (2006-2016), writing projects, and large-scale mobilizations, it became clear to us that a lack of physical spaces, independent of NGOs and the Democratic Party, posed a significant challenge to left-wing political efforts. Prior to the pandemic, Americans were already engaged in social distancing. Without question, the amount of time people spent in social settings has steadily and rapidly declined over the decades, increasing in speed and intensity since iPhones and social media platforms became a ubiquitous part of our lives.
For us, operating a physical space was crucial for building community and culture. More specifically, a space where people could go without having to spend money. We sold nothing. We expected nothing. Anyone could walk into the space, hang out, grab a cup of coffee or a beer (we kept the fridge stocked), and strike up a conversation. We hosted events—punk and hardcore shows, poetry slams, hip-hop shows, game nights, film screenings, lectures, art installations, debates, barbeques, and more—which connected people from different neighborhoods and socioeconomic statuses. Relationships formed across racial, age, and gender lines, with women participating in disproportionate numbers.
In our thinking, Americans, even back in 2016, were spending far too much time online. And even more so today, people spend an inordinate amount of their lives in front of TVs, laptops, and iPhones. This remains a primary challenge for political activists and organizers. The idea that we can accomplish long-lasting political reforms, let alone a fundamental transformation of society under such poor social conditions, is absurd. For us, bringing people together in a physical space and providing an atmosphere conducive to socializing was a key component to building a political organization. Serious political organizations require commitment and trust. By holding regular events, people developed deep relationships, mutual confidence, and bonds well beyond casual associations.
Additionally, the people who attended social and cultural events at P.A.R.C. were more inclined to participate in political organizing efforts. Someone who attended a poetry slam was more inclined to attend an organizing meeting, rally, or strategy session. Further, the idea was to expose people to concepts and projects they wouldn’t normally encounter in their day-to-day lives. And to connect individuals and groups of people to individuals and groups of people they wouldn’t normally socialize with under existing conditions. In places like Michigan City, Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, and various other Rust Belt towns and cities, people remain racially segregated. The notion that we’re living in some sort of multicultural, post-racial society is completely absurd (as evidenced by Trump’s second term in the White House). Under desperate circumstances, people largely stick to their tribes.
Plus, we believe that culture is an exceedingly vital part of our individual and collective lives. How people spend their time, what they read, what they listen to, what they eat, how they worship, what they watch, their rituals and symbols, and their understanding of life itself form the basis for their political views. Instead of just complaining about the dominant culture, we sought to create vibrant alternatives, encourage people to create their own music scene, aid those who were, and support independent artists, filmmakers, and various cultural projects. By doing so, people become empowered. And that sort of empowerment is contagious. When ordinary people see their peers engaged in creative projects, it no longer seems like an alien proposition to do so themselves.
That said, it all began with opening a physical location. And the reality is that it’s not too difficult to do so. Let’s say you can find a decent space to rent for $2,000 a month. Can you find 20 people who can commit to donating $100 a month? The more people involved with the space, the less money people would have to contribute. If you can get 40 people engaged, then that price drops to $50 a person. Even small contributions are important. They get people bought in. And the more engaging the project, the more likely people are to come up with the dough to pay for it. If people feel they have a say in what’s happening at the space, how events are organized, and so forth, the more likely they are to stay involved. It’s very doable. It just takes some time, effort, and social skills.
Another way to get people involved is to ask them for help. For instance, our friends helped renovate the space. Others donated furniture, a P.A. system, and kitchen equipment. One of our friends, Tony, a union carpenter who built bookshelves for the space, connected us with his father, who painted the sign for the front of the building. Local restaurants that Sergio and I frequented served food during some of our events. Local musicians volunteered their time for various fundraisers. Each event, each campaign, provided another opportunity to connect disparate members of the community.
No Guarantee of Success
In many ways, what we did in Michigan City was a social experiment, although we didn’t necessarily think of it as such at the time. There was no guarantee that P.A.R.C. would resonate with the local population. We assumed that some folks would enjoy such a space, even love it. And they did. Honestly, we weren’t prepared for the wide-ranging popularity the space engendered in such a short time, nor did we anticipate people requesting to use the space for baby showers, birthday parties, or family gatherings. But they did. Turns out, in a city where many people rent apartments or small houses and duplexes, there weren’t many options for hosting large social gatherings. We never even thought of that as a potential option for utilizing the space.
Most importantly, no one was paid for their efforts. Sergio and I worked part-time jobs. Everyone else involved with the space had regular gigs. There was absolutely no expectation that anyone would get hired or start a career managing, organizing, or creating events for the space. No full or part-time staff. Everyone was a volunteer. People gave what they could, however large or small. And everyone’s contributions were valued and praised. Our experiences with nonprofits over the years soured us to the idea that people should make careers out of politics. Poor and working-class people are capable of making decisions, especially decisions about what they require from the political and economic system to make their lives better.
The space also operated as an organic mutual aid hub. If someone needed something, from an auto mechanic or a connection at the local Social Security office, to housing, childcare, or a lawyer, there was always someone who knew someone who could point them in the right direction. That’s how community works. That’s how Sergio and I grew up. Nothing we did at P.A.R.C. was dissimilar from our personal experiences growing up in neighborhoods and communities in Ukraine, Philadelphia, the South Side of Chicago, or Northwest Indiana. Our parents always hosted friends for dinner parties or sporting events. People routinely visited our childhood homes, where spontaneous gatherings and communal dinners were the norm.
In the end, there is no guarantee that your efforts will succeed if you open a space, but unlike for-profit businesses that require reliable profit margins to stay open, a non-consumerist space funded by small donors and regular fundraisers is a viable long-term project. Such spaces are essential to building community. And community is necessary for successful political movements. P.A.R.C. provided an antidote to the hyper-alienation that plagues modern society. We actively and purposely rejected digital culture and provided alternatives. Along the way, you’ll make new friends, pick up useful skills, and hopefully create meaningful political, economic, social, and cultural changes.
Vincent Emanuele is a combat veteran, writer, and activist who lives and works in Los Angeles, California. Vincent testified to U.S. Congress in 2008 about war crimes and atrocities after refusing a third deployment to Iraq with the United States Marine Corps. Since then, he has worked with a wide range of social movements, community organizations, and labor unions. His writings and interviews have been featured in ZNet, CounterPunch, Alternet, TruthOut, and Verso. Vincent is also a contributor to the anthology ‘Paths of Dissent: Soldiers Speak Out Against America’s Misguided Wars’ (Metropolitan, 2022).