“This inclination toward group-centered leadership, rather than toward a leader-centered group pattern of organization, was refreshing indeed”
Ella J. Baker, Bigger Than a Hamburger (1960), excerpt
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Ella Baker believed that lasting social change depended on developing people's capacity to organize and act for themselves.
Born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1903, she became one of the most influential organizers of the American civil rights movement, working with the NAACP and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference before helping establish the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. Baker challenged the assumption that effective movements required charismatic individuals directing everyone else's efforts. She valued local knowledge, shared responsibility, and leadership developed through participation.
In April 1960, she helped convene student activists at Shaw University in Raleigh, North Carolina. They had already demonstrated extraordinary courage in challenging racial segregation. Baker encouraged them to establish an independent organization through which they could continue directing their own work.
Her contribution illuminates an enduring distinction. Bringing people together can create a moment of solidarity. Helping them develop the capacity to act together can create something that lasts.
The Difference Between Gathering and Building
The students had already demonstrated that they could challenge a system. Now they faced a different question: who would decide what they built in its place?
In April 1960, young activists gathered at Shaw University in Raleigh, North Carolina, after weeks of demonstrations against racial segregation across the American South. The sit-in movement had begun in Greensboro, North Carolina, on February 1 and spread rapidly as students challenged the exclusion of Black customers from lunch counters and other public accommodations.
Their courage had attracted national attention, but the movement was still developing its organizational form. Students in different communities had undertaken protests, established local relationships, and begun learning what collective action demanded. They shared a commitment to confronting injustice, yet they faced different circumstances and did not necessarily agree on every tactic or priority.
The gathering at Shaw offered an opportunity to consider what might come next.
Ella Baker, then working with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, recognized the importance of connecting the student organizers. She helped secure support for the conference and brought activists from different communities into conversation.
An important question concerned the relationship between these emerging student leaders and the established civil rights organizations that had already developed national prominence.
The Southern Christian Leadership Conference could provide resources, experience, and an organizational home. Some established leaders hoped the students might become a youth wing of that organization. Baker, however, believed the students should have the opportunity to establish their own organization and determine their own direction.
This was not a rejection of cooperation with experienced leaders. It was a recognition that cooperation and dependence were not the same thing.
The students had demonstrated judgment, initiative, and courage in circumstances where the consequences of their actions could be severe. The organizational arrangements they adopted would influence whether that capacity continued to develop or became subordinate to decisions made elsewhere.
The students ultimately established the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, known as SNCC. Their new organization would play a significant role in the civil rights struggle, participating in campaigns that extended beyond the early sit-ins into voter registration and grassroots political organizing.
Its history would include difficult internal debates, changing strategies, and relationships with other organizations that were sometimes cooperative and sometimes strained. Organizational independence did not eliminate disagreement or guarantee success. It did, however, establish an opportunity for students to develop their collective capacity rather than merely contribute their energy to an institution directed by others.
Baker subsequently wrote about the students' preference for group-centered leadership, recognizing in it an alternative to movements organized primarily around powerful personalities. Her observation invites a question that reaches beyond the historical circumstances in which it arose.
What allows people to accomplish something meaningful together?
At first, we might answer that they need a common purpose. Certainly, shared objectives can bring individuals into contact and motivate extraordinary cooperation. Yet a common purpose does not resolve every question about how cooperation will function. A group still needs ways to make decisions, distribute responsibilities, preserve knowledge, and respond when circumstances change. It must determine who can contribute to its direction and how disagreements will be addressed. These arrangements may develop through deliberate planning, but they can also emerge informally from the habits and preferences of people who have been involved the longest.
Over time, what originally seemed practical can become so familiar that nobody thinks to question it. The distinction matters because the conditions through which people cooperate influence what they can accomplish. A gathering can create connection, encouragement, and a powerful sense of shared purpose. But an enduring institution requires more than the enthusiasm of a particular moment.
It requires people to continue working together when the circumstances that first brought them into contact begin to change. And that introduces a different kind of responsibility.
An organization can welcome new participants without giving them meaningful influence. It can celebrate their presence while leaving every consequential decision to an established group. It can maintain a shared identity while making it difficult for members to propose a different direction.
These outcomes do not always result from deliberate exclusion. Some emerge because arrangements that once served a small group are preserved without reconsidering the needs of those who join later. Baker's historical example makes the consequences of organizational independence unusually vivid. The civil rights movement was confronting entrenched legal and social discrimination, and the ability of student activists to determine their own direction carried profound political significance.
The circumstances are not interchangeable with the challenges of ordinary community life. Nevertheless, they illuminate a question that arises whenever people establish a shared undertaking. Is the purpose simply to bring more people into arrangements that already exist, or to create an undertaking that its participants can help shape?
The answer may determine whether a moment of solidarity develops into something capable of enduring.
November: The World We Leave Behind
Throughout October, Lucivara explored Shadow, examining how intentions, assumptions, and familiar ways of thinking can obscure consequences we do not readily perceive. November turns that inquiry toward what comes next. Our foundational theme is Unity, explored through the 2026 lens of Legacy & Systems. Rather than asking only how people come together, we will examine what they create through their relationships, habits, traditions, and institutions. We will consider how everyday conduct influences other people, how inherited stories shape identity, how collective arrangements develop, and what responsibilities extend beyond our own lifetimes.
The question guiding our exploration is simple enough to remember, but substantial enough to occupy an entire month:
What are we building today that other people will live inside tomorrow?
We often imagine legacy as something that becomes visible at the conclusion of a life. We think of achievements, possessions, institutions, reputations, or the memories people leave behind. Yet much of what endures begins in actions that do not feel particularly consequential.
A child observes how an adult responds to frustration and begins learning something about the expression of difficult emotions. A family repeats a story about what constitutes a successful life, and that story gradually influences the expectations of another generation. A community develops a practice for welcoming newcomers, and over time that practice becomes part of what people understand the community to be.
These examples differ in their mechanisms and consequences, but each illustrates a possibility we will explore during November: what we repeatedly do can become part of the conditions others inherit.
Our first full week, The Invisible Legacy, will examine the lessons and expectations transmitted through ordinary behavior. We will explore the examples people set, the responses others remember, and the small customs that create lasting impressions.
In The Stories We Inherit, we will consider how family narratives, memory, encouragement, and tradition shape our understanding of who we are. Some inherited stories provide strength and continuity. Others may deserve reconsideration. We will ask how people can honor an inheritance without being confined by every expectation attached to it.
The Systems We Sustain will expand the inquiry into communities and institutions. We will explore cooperation, mutual aid, participation, and the arrangements that allow collective efforts to become more resilient.
Finally, The Future We Owe will turn our attention toward stewardship and responsibility across generations. We will consider what it means to make decisions whose consequences may be experienced by people we will never meet.
Across these thirty days, our daily publication will also adopt a new rhythm. Monday through Friday, we will continue examining individual ideas through stories, history, philosophy, and scientific research. Saturdays will offer opportunities to deepen understanding through puzzles, challenges, and playful discovery. Sundays will bring the week's ideas into a larger, independent reflection, designed to be meaningful even for readers who have not followed every daily installment.
The intention is not to make our exploration more complicated. It is to recognize that understanding develops in different ways. An idea can become memorable through an unexpected story, an illuminating scientific finding, a difficult decision, or the sudden recognition of a relationship between things we previously considered separately.
That variety is especially appropriate for a month devoted to Unity.
We tend to associate the word with togetherness, harmony, and shared beliefs. Yet some of the most productive forms of collective life involve people who disagree, bring different experiences, or understand a common problem from different perspectives. Unity cannot reasonably require everyone to become alike. Nor should it mean suppressing disagreement so that a group can maintain the appearance of consensus. A more useful understanding begins with the arrangements that allow people to participate meaningfully in something shared.
Consider a community garden.
Imagine that a group of neighbors discovers an unused parcel of land and decides to transform it into a productive public space. They obtain permission, organize volunteers, prepare the ground, and begin planting. The first season is difficult but rewarding. People who previously knew one another only by sight begin sharing tools, exchanging advice, and enjoying the visible results of their work.
The garden becomes a source of pride.
Its founders establish practical routines. They decide when watering should occur, where shared tools will be stored, how planting beds will be assigned, and who will maintain the pathways. Because the early participants know one another and have worked together from the beginning, many decisions can be made informally. At first, that familiarity is an advantage. It allows the project to move quickly.
But the garden succeeds, and success brings change.
New residents ask to participate. Some have gardening experience and want to introduce unfamiliar crops. Others have limited physical mobility or cannot attend the regular weekend workdays. A few are interested in growing food but have never worked in a garden before. The founders now encounter circumstances their original arrangements were never designed to address. Their procedures were developed for a relatively small group with similar availability and expectations. Those procedures were not necessarily unreasonable. Indeed, they helped the garden become established. But what worked for the founders may not work equally well for everyone who now hopes to participate.
The garden's success has created a new responsibility.
The organizers could preserve every original procedure and require newcomers to adapt. They might explain that the system has always worked well and that changing it would introduce unnecessary complexity.
Alternatively, they could reconsider what the garden is intended to become.
If its purpose is simply to maintain a productive piece of land, the original arrangements may be adequate. But if its purpose includes strengthening community life, sharing knowledge, and creating opportunities for more residents to contribute, its design may need to evolve. A weekday watering schedule might accommodate people unavailable on weekends. Raised planting beds might make participation possible for residents with different physical needs. Shared decisions about crops could allow cultural traditions and unfamiliar gardening practices to enrich the project.
These changes would not necessarily make running the garden easier.
Resources would remain limited. Disagreements would arise about planting space, maintenance, and priorities. Some choices would require experience that not every participant possessed, while others would require negotiation among people with equally legitimate interests. The founders might have to surrender familiar privileges or accept arrangements different from those they would have chosen themselves.
Yet the garden could become more capable of serving the people who sustained it.
A project that began through the initiative of a few neighbors could gradually become a shared institution whose future was shaped by a wider community. That transition involves more than a change in membership. It changes the relationship between the people who created the garden and those who will eventually inherit responsibility for it.
The founders might reasonably hope to be remembered for their work. But the garden's lasting value may be found elsewhere: in the opportunities it creates for people who arrive later, develop relationships, acquire skills, and eventually assume responsibility for something meaningful. The original organizers have not merely created a place where vegetables grow. They have established arrangements through which people can cooperate, contribute, and build upon work begun by others.
This imagined garden illustrates a question that appears throughout collective life. Does an institution exist primarily to preserve the intentions of its creators, or can it develop in response to the people who inherit it? The answer is rarely absolute. Some founding principles deserve protection. Some procedures require stability. Others become obstacles when the circumstances that justified them have changed. The work of stewardship involves understanding what should remain and what needs to evolve.
A psychological perspective helps explain why this matters.
In 1986, community psychologists David McMillan and David Chavis proposed a theory of psychological sense of community organized around four related elements: membership, influence, integration and fulfillment of needs, and shared emotional connection. Their framework suggests that belonging involves more than proximity or identification with a group. People may also experience community through mutual influence, meaningful participation, and a sense that their involvement matters. This does not mean every decision should be made through unanimous agreement or that participation must take the same form for everyone. It does suggest that belonging and influence are related dimensions of community experience.
The distinction is particularly useful in our garden.
A newcomer might feel warmly welcomed yet remain unable to contribute ideas or influence decisions. Another participant might help establish a new practice that benefits everyone while still occasionally disagreeing with the group's direction. The second experience may involve more conflict, but it can also involve a more consequential form of participation. The garden's enduring value, then, is not measured solely by how pleasant people find their interactions. It also depends on whether the shared arrangements allow them to act together in meaningful ways.
That question leads us toward a deeper understanding of what unity can accomplish.
The World We Create for One Another
There is an important difference between a group that enjoys being together and a group that has developed the capacity to accomplish something together. Both experiences can be valuable. Friendship, affection, familiarity, and shared enjoyment contribute meaningfully to human life. We should not diminish them merely because they do not produce formal institutions or collective achievements.
But when people undertake a shared responsibility, another dimension becomes relevant. They need ways to coordinate effort, develop trust, distribute responsibility, and respond when circumstances change. The conditions that support those capacities are rarely as visible as the accomplishments they make possible.
Consider again the community garden. Visitors may admire its flowers, vegetables, shaded benches, and orderly pathways. They may see neighbors greeting one another and conclude that the garden is successful because the community gets along. What they are less likely to notice are the arrangements that make the visible result possible. Someone knows how the watering schedule works. Someone helps newcomers understand where tools belong. People have developed expectations about repairing damaged equipment, resolving conflicting needs, and deciding what should happen when a planting bed becomes available. These arrangements may be imperfect, and some may require reconsideration. But together they create the capacity for the garden to function beyond the enthusiasm of any single participant.
The garden is not simply a place. It is also a set of relationships, expectations, responsibilities, and opportunities for action. This helps explain why unity cannot be evaluated solely by whether people feel connected. Connection can encourage cooperation, but coordinated action requires something additional.
Sociologist Robert Sampson and his colleagues explored a related concept in their research on neighborhood collective efficacy. Their 1997 study examined the relationship between social cohesion, residents' expectations that neighbors would act for the common good, and levels of neighborhood violence in Chicago. Their analysis found that neighborhoods with higher measured collective efficacy tended to experience lower levels of violence, even after accounting for several relevant characteristics. The study did not demonstrate that a particular community intervention would necessarily reduce violence. Its observational design cannot establish every causal relationship, and the findings emerge from a specific social and historical context.
Nevertheless, the concept of collective efficacy provides a useful distinction. People may feel friendly toward their neighbors without believing they can act together when a shared problem arises. Conversely, people who do not know one another intimately may still have sufficient trust, expectations, and established practices to coordinate an effective response. A sense of community concerns, among other things, how people experience membership and connection. Collective efficacy concerns their shared expectations about the capacity and willingness to act for common purposes.
These are related ideas, but they are not identical. The distinction gives us a different way to understand the garden. A group of neighbors might genuinely enjoy one another's company yet struggle to organize repairs when a water line breaks. Another group might disagree about many aspects of the garden but have developed a reliable system for addressing urgent maintenance. The second group possesses a form of collective capability that cannot be inferred simply from the warmth of its social relationships.
This is not an argument against warmth, affection, or enjoyment. Those qualities can enrich collective life and make participation more rewarding. It is an argument for recognizing that the arrangements through which people cooperate also matter. And when those arrangements endure, they become part of what a community passes forward. The people who first established the garden may eventually move away, grow older, or choose to direct their energy elsewhere. The next generation of participants will inherit more than raised beds, gardening tools, and a patch of cultivated soil. They will inherit procedures, expectations, habits, and ideas about who is entitled to make decisions.
Some of those arrangements may serve them well. Others may require adaptation.
A thoughtful legacy does not require future participants to preserve every decision made by their predecessors. It gives them something valuable enough to sustain and sufficient freedom to improve it. This is the larger significance of Ella Baker's approach to leadership. Baker recognized that an organization built around the authority of a celebrated individual offered different possibilities from one that developed the capacity of its members. Her emphasis on student autonomy did not imply that experience was irrelevant or that leadership should disappear. Rather, it challenged arrangements in which leadership became synonymous with control. The students who formed SNCC did not simply need an institution that could speak on their behalf. They needed opportunities to develop their own organizational judgment and pursue strategies appropriate to their struggle against racial injustice.
The historical stakes of that decision were far greater than those of our fictional garden. Their struggle concerned fundamental civil rights, political representation, and resistance to entrenched discrimination. Yet the underlying distinction helps illuminate an ordinary question about the things we build together. Are we creating arrangements that require others to remain dependent on our decisions, or are we developing the conditions through which they can exercise greater responsibility themselves? This question does not have a single answer for every relationship or institution. Parents must sometimes make decisions children cannot yet make responsibly. Professionals may possess expertise that others need. Organizations require coordination, and emergencies can demand clear authority.
The point is not to abolish responsibility or dissolve every form of leadership.
It is to recognize that responsible leadership can include preparing others to act without our constant direction. This brings us to a more demanding understanding of unity. We often describe unity as the absence of division. We imagine that people become united when disagreement disappears, when shared identity becomes stronger, or when a common objective commands everyone's attention. But those conditions do not necessarily tell us whether people can contribute meaningfully to the life they share. A group can appear harmonious because dissent is discouraged. It can possess a powerful common identity while excluding people whose experiences differ from those of its established members. It can celebrate cooperation while depending on a small number of individuals to make every consequential decision.
Conversely, people can disagree openly, retain distinct identities, and still create a shared undertaking that becomes stronger through their participation.
Unity is not the absence of difference. It is the creation of conditions in which difference can contribute to something shared. But the significance of those conditions does not end with the people who first establish them. When others can inherit, sustain, improve, and carry them forward, unity becomes something more enduring than an experience of togetherness. It becomes a legacy. That realization changes the questions we might ask about our own contributions. Instead of considering only what we have accomplished, we might examine what other people will be able to accomplish because of the conditions we helped create.
A teacher may establish a classroom culture in which students learn to question, collaborate, and eventually develop ideas of their own. A family may preserve a tradition while allowing younger generations to reinterpret what gives it meaning. An organization may distribute knowledge and responsibility so that its purpose survives changes in leadership. In each case, the original accomplishment creates possibilities that extend beyond its creator.
Those possibilities cannot be entirely planned or controlled. The people who follow us will encounter circumstances we could not anticipate, and they may reach conclusions we would not have chosen. That freedom is not necessarily a failure of our legacy. It may be evidence of its strength.
This is a useful distinction with which to begin November.
Over the next thirty days, we will examine the influence we exercise without realizing it, the stories and traditions we inherit, the institutions we sustain, and the responsibilities we carry toward people whose futures we may never witness. But beneath those explorations lies one continuing question: What becomes possible for others because of the world we are helping to build?
Return, for a moment, to the garden.
Its founders will not always be there to choose the vegetables, organize the volunteers, or decide how the paths should be arranged. One day, other hands will turn the soil. New gardeners will bring unfamiliar seeds. The layout may change, and the place may look different from what its founders originally imagined. Yet if the original undertaking was built to accommodate the contributions of those who came after, these changes need not represent its disappearance. The garden may continue growing precisely because its founders made room for it to become something more than their own creation.
And long after they have stepped away, others will still be planting.
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Practice: The Space We Make
Estimated time: 12 minutes
Objective: Examine how a familiar shared environment creates opportunities for meaningful participation.
Expected outcome: Recognize one practical change that could make belonging more participatory.
Every shared environment develops ways of making people feel included, valued, and able to contribute. Some of these practices are deliberate. Others become so familiar that we no longer notice them.
This exercise invites you to consider one of those environments from a different perspective. You may discover that creating more room for another person's contribution requires a smaller, more achievable change than you imagined.
Scientific Context & Summary
The argument developed in this article draws upon community psychology, sociology, and the history of collective organization. Each offers a different way of understanding shared life. None establishes a universal scientific formula for unity.
Two research perspectives are particularly useful: psychological sense of community and collective efficacy.
Psychological sense of community
McMillan and Chavis (1986) proposed a theory identifying four related elements of psychological sense of community: membership, influence, integration and fulfillment of needs, and shared emotional connection.
Membership concerns the experience of belonging to an identifiable group. Influence describes the reciprocal relationship between individuals and their community. Integration and fulfillment of needs concern the value people receive through participation, while shared emotional connection develops through meaningful common experiences and relationships.
These elements help explain why proximity, formal membership, and emotional attachment do not fully describe every aspect of community life.
Someone may identify strongly with a group while experiencing limited influence over its decisions. Another person may participate actively in collective responsibilities without feeling particularly close to every other member.
The framework provides a vocabulary for examining such differences. It does not establish that a particular organizational design will reliably produce belonging, nor does it prove that greater participation is always preferable in every decision.
The relative importance of different forms of participation also depends on circumstances, responsibilities, available resources, and the people involved.
Collective efficacy
Sampson, Raudenbush, and Earls (1997) investigated collective efficacy in a major study using survey data from 8,782 residents across 343 Chicago neighborhoods.
They examined a concept combining social cohesion among neighbors with their expectations that residents would intervene for the common good.
The researchers found that neighborhoods with higher measured collective efficacy tended to have lower levels of violence, even after accounting for several relevant characteristics, including concentrated disadvantage, residential instability, and prior violence.
These results suggest that shared expectations and the perceived capacity for coordinated action may be important features of neighborhood life.
However, the study was observational. Its findings do not establish that increasing collective efficacy alone will cause violence to decline, nor do they demonstrate that a particular community program will reliably produce the same outcome in a different setting.
Collective efficacy is also not simply another term for friendliness. It concerns expectations about whether people can and will respond together when collective action is needed.
Three useful distinctions
The two research perspectives can be translated into three questions that help readers examine their own communities.
Belonging: Do I experience myself as part of this group?
Influence: Can I meaningfully affect what this group does?
Collective efficacy: Do we expect that we can act together when circumstances require it?
These questions are a simplified explanatory synthesis, not a separately validated three-part psychological model.
They help distinguish experiences that are related but not identical.
A person may feel warmly accepted without possessing meaningful influence. A group may share a strong identity while struggling to coordinate practical action. Another community may contain substantial disagreement yet maintain reliable arrangements for responding to shared problems.
These distinctions matter because none of the qualities, considered alone, guarantees that a community is just, inclusive, or effective.
Groups can coordinate around harmful purposes. Members can experience belonging through the exclusion of outsiders. Institutional arrangements can support cooperation while distributing its benefits unequally.
Scientific findings about belonging and collective action therefore cannot settle every ethical question about how communities ought to be organized.
Those questions require attention to purpose, authority, consequences, and the people affected by collective decisions.
Historical context and interpretive limits
Ella Baker's role in the development of SNCC offers a historical example of the importance of grassroots organization, student independence, and the cultivation of collective capacity.
Her work should not be presented as an experimental demonstration of modern community-psychology theories. It emerged from specific historical conditions and from her practical experience confronting racial injustice.
The scientific research helps distinguish dimensions of community experience and coordinated action. Baker's historical example illuminates the political and ethical significance of organizational arrangements that allow people to exercise meaningful agency.
Together, these perspectives support a careful conclusion.
The experience of belonging, the opportunity to influence a shared undertaking, and the capacity to act collectively are related features of community life. Understanding their differences can help us examine what our institutions make possible and where their arrangements may need to change.
The accompanying Practice exercise is intended for reflection and personal learning. It is not a validated psychological assessment or a demonstrated intervention for improving collective efficacy.
Bibliography
Baker, E. J. (1960, May). Bigger than a hamburger. The Southern Patriot. Historical transcription hosted by Civil Rights Movement Veterans. https://crmvet.lib.duke.edu/docs/sncc2.html
McMillan, D. W., & Chavis, D. M. (1986). Sense of community: A definition and theory. Journal of Community Psychology, 14(1), 6–23. https://doi.org/10.1002/1520-6629(198601)14:1%3C6::AID-JCOP2290140103%3E3.0.CO;2-I
Sampson, R. J., Raudenbush, S. W., & Earls, F. (1997). Neighborhoods and violent crime: A multilevel study of collective efficacy. Science, 277(5328), 918–924. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.277.5328.918
SNCC Digital Gateway. (n.d.). Establishing SNCC. https://snccdigital.org/inside-sncc/establishing-sncc/
SNCC Digital Gateway. (n.d.). Founding of SNCC. https://snccdigital.org/events/founding-of-sncc/
SNCC Digital Gateway. (n.d.). Ella Baker. https://snccdigital.org/people/ella-baker/
The Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute. (n.d.). Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Stanford University. https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/student-nonviolent-coordinating-committee-sncc
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