Is there any sound more powerful than the roar of a stadium? Than voices singing in unison, whether at a concert, a religious service, or with friends in the back of a car? How long has it been since you sat in a crowded theater and laughed or gasped or flinched in fear, in harmony with fellow audience members? That experience, of sharing energy and emotion and attention with the people around you cannot be duplicated in virtual spaces; when we are breathing the same air, feeling the same rumbling beneath our feet, tensing and releasing our muscles in step with the people beside us, even when they are strangers, is inimitable, empowering because of the might of the crowd.
The space we share with others outside of the home and the workplace is sometimes referred to as the “third place,” a term coined by sociologist Ray Oldenburg in his 1989 book The Great Good Place. Third places are on neutral ground so all guests have equal status. People are welcome to gather freely, without invitation or compulsion, and the environment is comfortable enough for all visitors to engage in conversation, share laughter, and return frequently.
Some of the third spaces in my hometown of Galesburg, Illinois, include coffee shops and bars, the YMCA and the children’s museum, the skating rink and the senior center, the public library and public parks. A 2022 community survey conducted by the City of Galesburg found that 62% of residents were in favor of developing a new community center, communicating a desire for more shared spaces. In these spaces, strangers find common ground, neighbors provide encouragement and support, and residents feel a sense of belonging.
Soon we’ll be trick-or-treating, a tradition I love and find completely unbelievable that we’re able to pull off successfully across the country, depending on the generosity and unspoken but mutual understanding of expectations for our neighborhoods. I live in a great trick-or-treating neighborhood, and for one night a year I overcome the mortifying fear of stepping onto another person’s property and knocking on their door. Between the liberating nature of wearing a costume and the collective participation of the rest of the neighborhood, the Halloween experience raises my risk threshold and my social anxiety takes the night off. Sharing a space, an activity, a tradition, and a goal with my community members, even those unfamiliar to me, is freeing and empowering.
The courage, strength, and lack of inhibition we feel when unified with others, sharing a space and a purpose, is indicative of the communal power we hold. We demonstrate that power when we march or rally or protest or vote. When we show up for each other. When we petition our representatives and speak freely, en masse. When we pool our resources to take care of those among us in need. When we engage in the call and response. When we turn on our porchlights on Halloween, sending a silent message that this a safe place for the families in our neighborhood. With that communal power, we can create new traditions. We can restore homes and hopes. Our collective marching feet can make the ground rumble and our unified voices can shake the walls around us.
It starts with sharing spaces. It starts with showing up together.
Noelle Thompson is director of the Galesburg Public Library.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of Western Illinois University or Tri States Public Radio.
Diverse viewpoints are welcomed and encouraged.