Reflection
I’ve been paying attention to the language I use when I talk about what I see forming around me.
Often, the word mutual aid is used to describe everything that looks generous or communal. But what I’m noticing is more layered than that.
Mutual aid has a shape.
It relies on reciprocity, shared responsibility, and people recognising one another as contributors rather than recipients. It works best when people can give and receive freely — when support flows in more than one direction.
But not everyone I work alongside is in that circle.
Some people are inside a different one.
They are inside the circle of care.
Care doesn’t require reciprocity.
It doesn’t assume capacity.
It responds to vulnerability, instability, or exhaustion without asking what can be offered in return.
I’ve learned to place people carefully. Not to fix them in position, but to notice where they are right now.
When I expect mutual aid from someone who is only able to receive care, something fractures. Pressure replaces trust. Dignity becomes conditional.
And when I keep someone inside the circle of care longer than necessary, I risk holding them there — protecting them from the very agency they are ready to reclaim.
The work, I’m learning, is not deciding where people belong.
It’s allowing movement.
People move between circles as their lives change.
They step into mutual aid when capacity grows.
They step back into care when life narrows.
What matters is not the label, but the freedom to move — without being shamed for needing care, and without being prevented from contributing when the moment arrives.
Mutual aid fails when it becomes a requirement.
Care fails when it becomes a cage.
The practice I’m trying to hold is this:
to keep both circles open, and to let people cross their edges in their own time.
Discover more from Christiaan McCann | Risks and Solutions for the Vulnerable | Socialwork Projects in Hobart
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