Yesterday I found myself in hospital. Thankfully, I’ve recovered, but the experience reminded me of a truth that is easy to forget until life suddenly goes wrong.
We like to think we are independent. Modern life encourages it. We shop online, work remotely, communicate digitally and often know people on the other side of the world better than those living across the street.
Yet when a crisis strikes, it is usually the people nearby who matter most.
There is a growing movement that has been given a simple name: neighbourism. It is about far more than borrowing a cup of sugar or asking for a little milk. It is the quiet exchange of favours, kindness and practical support that helps hold communities together.
Neighbours rally around common causes, such as opposing an unsuitable commercial development. They collect parcels when someone is away. They offer spare plants to fellow gardeners on WhatsApp groups. They organise charity collections for clothing and food. They report suspicious activity, share information about crime, and check on elderly residents during heatwaves or storms.
Sometimes the help is even more personal. A neighbour may look after a child when daycare falls through, call an ambulance when someone has fallen, or make sure an elderly resident reaches hospital safely.
I recently experienced this generosity first-hand. When I became seriously ill, several people stepped forward without hesitation. Some helped me get medical attention and ultimately to hospital. Others looked after my daughter while I was unable to do so.
Their kindness was deeply humbling.
It reminded me that we often take people for granted until we truly need them.
Neighbourism is not a one-way street. There is an unspoken understanding that today’s recipient of kindness becomes tomorrow’s helper. It is not a legal contract but a social one, built on trust, reciprocity and goodwill.
Interestingly, this is no longer simply anecdotal. In April this year, Vox published an article titled Why “Neighborism” Is Having a Moment, arguing that people are rediscovering the value of local relationships as they confront rising living costs, climate-related emergencies and growing uncertainty. Physical proximity, the article suggests, has become a valuable social resource once again.
The idea is not entirely new. During the Covid-19 pandemic, The Economist reported on the rapid growth of mutual-aid groups across America. Ordinary neighbours shopped for vulnerable residents, delivered food, collected medicines and supported families facing hardship. In times of crisis, communities instinctively rediscovered something many thought had been lost.
All this brought to mind the English poet and cleric John Donne, writing more than 400 years ago. His words remain remarkably relevant today:
“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
Most people remember only the famous closing line, immortalised by Ernest Hemingway in For Whom the Bell Tolls. Yet the heart of Donne’s meditation lies earlier. Every life is connected to every other. When one person suffers, the rest of us are diminished, whether we recognise it or not.
The world may have become vastly larger, more crowded and more connected electronically than Donne could ever have imagined. Yet in another sense, nothing has changed. When illness strikes, when disaster arrives, or when life suddenly becomes overwhelming, it is often the people living just a few doors away who make the greatest difference.
My recent experience reminded me of that truth.
For that, I am profoundly grateful.
I only hope that when my neighbours one day need a helping hand, I will be there for them too.
