Crises are the great equalizers. They expose vulnerabilities, shake established systems, and often catch people off guard. But while crises bring pain, loss, and instability, they also have the power to awaken something deeply human: solidarity.
The COVID-19 pandemic, floods in southern Brazil, wildfires in Australia and California, the earthquake in Haiti, the war in Ukraine — these are just a few examples of global and local emergencies that tested the limits of governments, economies, and societies. Yet, amid the despair, we witnessed a surge in collective action, community care, and spontaneous generosity. In the face of the unknown, people leaned on each other.
Solidarity in times of crisis is different from everyday kindness. It’s immediate, raw, urgent. It often requires improvisation, courage, and risk. It emerges from the understanding that we are connected — that your safety depends on mine, that my healing can also support yours.
During the first months of the COVID-19 pandemic, when hospitals were overwhelmed, vaccines weren’t available, and people were forced into isolation, a parallel movement grew: people sewing homemade masks, neighbors shopping for the elderly, restaurants offering meals to healthcare workers, artists streaming free concerts, educators giving classes via WhatsApp for children without internet. It was a mosaic of spontaneous generosity — messy, imperfect, but powerful.
In Brazil, community organizations in favelas took the lead where the State was absent. CUFA (Central Única das Favelas), G10 Favelas, and numerous grassroots movements created food banks, built hygiene stations, distributed basic income through digital wallets, and organized local volunteers to support families. What began as emergency action evolved into structured responses, with strong digital infrastructure, partnerships with private companies, and transparent reporting.
These experiences offer lessons about how solidarity can — and should — function in times of systemic shock. First, solidarity doesn’t always come from the top down. It often emerges from within communities themselves. People know their neighborhoods. They know who’s vulnerable, who’s isolated, who needs medicine or emotional support. Empowering local leadership is not just efficient — it’s essential.
Second, digital tools matter. WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter, and Pix became lifelines. They helped organize, fundraise, and spread information. Crowdfunding platforms such as Benfeitoria and Vakinha enabled millions of people to contribute — even in small amounts — to emergency campaigns. Technology enabled a new kind of donor: younger, informal, decentralized, but just as committed.
Third, solidarity is not just about giving material help. Emotional support, public visibility, advocacy, and fighting misinformation are all parts of the puzzle. During crises, fear, uncertainty, and loneliness can be as destructive as physical deprivation. Knowing someone cares — someone is listening — can restore the will to keep going.
And fourth, solidarity reveals who is usually forgotten. Crises shine a light on systemic inequality. During the pandemic, Black and Indigenous communities in Brazil had far less access to healthcare and vaccines. People with disabilities faced greater isolation. Women, especially mothers, took on disproportionate caregiving burdens. Solidarity becomes not just a response, but a protest — a way to say: we see you, and you deserve more.
Natural disasters provide another field where solidarity becomes tangible. When floods devastated cities in southern Brazil, hundreds of people lost homes, pets, documents, and livelihoods overnight. Yet, within days, volunteer brigades formed: people in boats rescuing strangers, doctors setting up mobile clinics, shelters opening with donations of blankets, clothes, and hygiene kits. In small towns, residents who still had water and electricity took in others. Social media turned into coordination hubs for help and rescue.
These are not isolated events. Similar stories emerged during the Brumadinho dam collapse, the Mariana environmental tragedy, and wildfires in the Pantanal. In each of these, the power of community action was stronger than any single government initiative. And it raises a question: what if we didn’t wait for disaster to act like this?
Solidarity is a behavior that tends to spike during crises but decline afterward. This cycle is understandable — emotional fatigue, economic instability, and the desire to return to normalcy all play a role. But what would happen if we worked to maintain solidarity as a long-term habit? If we structured our societies to be more cooperative, more attentive, more responsive — even without the urgency of catastrophe?
That’s where institutional support becomes crucial. Governments, schools, media, and corporations can help turn spontaneous solidarity into systemic change. Policies that support community organizations, reward volunteerism, and encourage corporate social responsibility make it easier for people to help and be helped.
One lesson from the pandemic is that mutual aid networks work best when they’re decentralized and trust-based. People donate more when they see results. They help more when they feel safe and informed. That’s why communication matters — not just in emergencies, but always. Telling stories of impact, showing transparency, and celebrating everyday heroes builds trust and encourages new participation.
Let’s not forget the emotional and psychological weight of solidarity during crises. Many people who acted as volunteers, caregivers, or organizers burned out. They faced trauma, grief, and exhaustion — especially when support systems were fragile. Caring for caregivers is part of building sustainable solidarity. Just as airplanes instruct you to put on your oxygen mask before helping others, communities must also nourish those who give so they can continue doing so.
Crises also highlight the importance of preparation. Solidarity can be reactive — but it can also be proactive. Community-based emergency training, stockpiles of essential supplies, local response plans, and resilient communication strategies are investments in a safer future. Teaching young people about disaster response, empathy, and collaboration can embed these values for generations.
Education plays a key role in shaping how we respond to crises. Schools can include real-life case studies, invite survivors and volunteers to speak, and organize simulations that teach cooperation and critical thinking. Universities can offer extension programs where students contribute to rebuilding efforts after disasters. Solidarity must not be left to improvisation — it can be cultivated with intention.
Another critical lesson is that solidarity is global. The pandemic proved that what happens in one country can quickly affect others. Vaccines had to be shared across borders. Scientific data had to circulate fast. Countries that initially hoarded resources eventually had to adopt cooperative strategies. The same applies to climate change, refugee crises, and digital security. A crisis in one part of the planet is not isolated — and neither should our response be.
Technology offers hope here, too. Open-source platforms, real-time coordination tools, and satellite monitoring systems can aid in both prevention and response. Blockchain technology is being tested for transparent disaster aid distribution. Remote training, telemedicine, and AI-driven mapping tools help bring support to places that traditional systems can’t reach. But none of this replaces human connection. Tech supports solidarity — it doesn’t replace it.
So how can individuals prepare to act in the next crisis? Start by understanding your context. Who are the most vulnerable people in your community? What risks are most common in your region — floods, droughts, fires, disease outbreaks? Who organizes locally when emergencies occur? Connect with them before disaster strikes.
Create a personal or family emergency plan. Build a habit of saving a portion of your income or time for solidarity actions. Learn basic first aid. Follow reliable information channels. Teach others what you know. Solidarity grows through relationships — relationships with people, organizations, and information.
The most powerful lesson crises teach us is that no one gets through them alone. The myth of individualism crumbles when people realize they need each other. Solidarity isn’t weakness — it’s wisdom. It’s the understanding that when we invest in others’ well-being, we protect our own.
We must honor the lives lost by continuing to care. We must carry forward the spirit of the volunteers, the neighbors, the anonymous donors, the overworked nurses, the exhausted social workers, the teachers who improvised lessons with cell phones, the delivery workers who kept cities running. They showed us what society can be: cooperative, generous, interdependent.
Crises will come again — some are already here. But each time, we have a choice. We can isolate, blame, and despair. Or we can remember what we’re capable of when we act together.
Solidarity is not the opposite of crisis — it’s the answer to it. It’s how we survive. And more than that — it’s how we heal, rebuild, and grow stronger than before.
