By Kathy Solberg / Herald Forum
I keep hearing the same thing from leaders everywhere: The comparison of the world feeling like we’re still in pandemic mode, riddled with uncertainty, and the need to redefine so much that is unknown.
The not-knowing how to define what always seemed clear, the growing distrust of systems that once provided comfort and stability in our everyday lives. It’s that carnival ride sensation; what started as a pleasant carousel on colorful painted horses suddenly starts spinning faster and faster until the horizon is a blur and we are holding on to the pole to stabilize, as it is the only thing keeping us from flying off into the distorted reality.
Here’s what’s keeping me up at night about this comparison: While the disorientation feels familiar, what we’re facing now fundamentally differs from the pandemic in ways that matter for how we respond.
The pandemic, while devastating and unprecedented for this generation, followed recognizable patterns. Public health crises have historical precedents. We had established frameworks for emergency response, medical interventions and economic relief. Most importantly, we shared a common understanding of the problem — a virus — and generally agreed on the direction of solutions, even when we disagreed on specifics. The challenge was operational: How do we adapt our services, protect our communities and weather this temporary storm together?
Today’s uncertainty runs deeper. We’re not managing a crisis with clear parameters; we’re witnessing what happens when the foundational fabric of our social contract begins to unravel. This isn’t about adapting to temporary disruption; operating in an environment where the very threads that held our systems together are being pulled apart, examined, and sometimes discarded entirely.
For nonprofits, this cuts to the core of their mission and purpose. During the pandemic, they were recognized as essential partners in relief efforts. Now, they face something far more challenging: not just funding cuts due to economic scarcity but ideological opposition to their work’s fundamental premise. The question has shifted from “how do we deliver services effectively during crisis?” to “do we still have societal permission to exist in our current form?” Their missions, not just their methods, are being questioned.
Cities and counties experience this differently, but no less acutely. Many made budgeting decisions treating temporary federal pandemic funds as permanent revenue streams; a form of willful optimism that has created fiscal cliffs just as community needs surge. Unlike pandemic challenges, where everyone understood we were fighting the same enemy, local leaders now navigate competing versions of reality with no shared metrics for success.
Businesses find themselves planning around unpredictable policy shifts where the rules change based on political winds rather than economic logic. Tariff threats create supply chain chaos not because of resource scarcity or natural disaster, but because the foundational assumptions about trade relationships are being actively rewritten. The familiar frameworks for business continuity planning prove inadequate when the challenge isn’t weathering a storm but operating in permanently shifting ground.
This is where the concept of unweaving becomes essential. The patterns that once provided stability — the social safety net, public-private partnerships, shared civic values — aren’t just stretched thin; they’re being deliberately undone. Understanding this process requires us to examine not just what’s happening, but how the very threads of our social fabric were woven together in the first place.
When we look closely at our current systems, we can see that many were woven during different times, under different assumptions about collective responsibility and social contract. Some threads have served us well; others have created patterns of exclusion or dependency that no longer match our values or circumstances. The question isn’t whether change is happening; it’s whether we’ll participate consciously in the reweaving process.
Reweaving demands something different from traditional crisis management. Instead of coordination and adaptation, we need fundamental reimagining of social infrastructure. We need leaders who can build resilience without relying on systems being actively undermined, create new forms of mutual aid that don’t depend on traditional funding streams, and foster genuine community connection when institutions are failing.
The pandemic taught us we could mobilize quickly for collective action when we shared a common understanding of the challenge. Now we must learn how to create sustainable support systems when the collective itself is fracturing. This requires moving beyond asking “How do we get back to normal?” to “What patterns do we want to weave going forward?”
Some communities are already experimenting with this reweaving process. They’re creating networks that transcend traditional nonprofit-government-business boundaries, building mutual-aid systems that function regardless of political winds, and fostering connections based on shared values rather than shared geography or institutions.
The carousel isn’t slowing down, but perhaps that’s not what we need. Perhaps what we need is the courage to examine the patterns that brought us here, to consciously choose which threads still serve us, and to begin the careful work of weaving something new. This isn’t about managing crisis; it’s about participating in the ancient human practice of creating the social fabric that will carry us forward.
The question facing every leader, every organization, every community is not whether they’ll be affected by this unweaving, but whether they’ll engage consciously in what comes next. The threads are in our hands. The pattern is ours to choose.
Kathy Solberg leads a consulting business, CommonUnity. Learn more at www.commonunity-us.com.
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