RIP Humanity... and American Neighborhoods
How we lost our sense of community and love for our neighbors
Remember when you actually knew the people next door?
Some of you still do, and I commend you for that. But for those of you that do, you know, deep down, something’s changed— not in a good way.
I’m writing this as a husband and father in my late forties, who happens to live in a beautiful San Diego suburb. This is quite the change from my youth, which was spent riding around the blighted neighborhoods of Detroit, MI. Things have certainly changed. Even then, when things were bleakest, I can recall just how much closer we were with our neighbors. We cared for the ones we knew really well, and still looked out for the ones that kept to themselves. I know they did for us.
As election day approaches, I generally steer clear of politics, but I can’t help commenting on culture. Having lived through over four decades of highs and lows, I’ve witnessed countless election cycles. Yet, none have left me as deeply concerned about the state of humanity as the recent decade. It saddens me to write this, but I believe what follows will resonate deeply with many of you, and that’s primarily because like me, you likely agree that people care less for one another far more today than any other time in recent history.
Let’s go back for a bit—
I’m a first generation immigrant and the oldest of five siblings. When we got to the United States I had already experienced life overseas (Greece, to be specific). I remember living through the destructive earthquake in Corinth/Athens in 1981, and camping out in the outskirts of the city with all of our neighbors as we waited out the tremors. Nearly everything was destroyed, including our small home. I recall the kindness of people experiencing that traumatic event together.
Later that year we arrived in Detroit, Michigan, where I began assimilating quickly, mainly because my parents were culture shocked. I could tell, even at a young age, that my parents were not going to transition easily. It was my birthday when we landed in the United States. I was exactly five years old, but I knew I would need to grow up quickly.
Detroit was a monster. Every day was a struggle. There were times we had one meal only. Somehow, my parents registered me in school. I think family members and The Red Cross helped, because my parents had no clue what to do. They bought cat food thinking it was tuna, and marshmallows thinking they were cotton swabs.
I got into scuffles almost every other day. I was behind, still learning the language, and I wasn’t white or black, so both picked on me. Every now and then, a neighbor would come out of their home and they would stop something from getting worse when they heard a group of kids yelling at each other. It was like they knew. This happened more than you think off 7-Mile Road and State Fair. By the time I was ten, I’d gotten into so many street fights, I’d gotten a reputation for not backing down, so the fighting tapered off ever so slightly. Academics? Forget about it. I learned most of what I knew from street life and television.
The neighborhoods near the schools were an interesting place. Eventually, when you got big enough, the older kids that loitered around schools and the State Fair area didn’t care about your age. If you looked older, you became a target.
One day, the snow was so heavy that my mother practically had to force my father to drive me to school– which, back then, had to be really bad, because you were expected to be in school even if there was three feet of snow– we happened to come across a beat up Lincoln Continental that was stopped on the road. The driver, a burly black dude, probably in his late thirties, was shoveling snow from the front of the Lincoln, which had apparently stopped him from being able to drive any further.
My dad, being ex-military, and an electrician, was always prepared. He told me to hop out and help him. So we walked to the back of my dad’s old Mercury station wagon, which my dad loved more than most things, and he pulled a short shovel out. We got to the front of the Lincoln and my dad and the man exchanged a few words. Shortly after that, my dad started chipping away at the hard-packed snow that had collected at the front of the Lincoln. I remember doing the best that I could with my gloves on, but I think my dad just wanted to teach me the importance of helping others, and to be prepared.
The man was appreciative and was able to keep driving on the road. We followed a little ways until we got to my school, Grayling Elementary, where my dad promptly took off to work after dropping me off.
About a week later, while walking home after school and trying to avoid sinking into the disgusting yellow slush that used to be snow, I noticed I was being followed by a few older kids. I could hear them calling me names just before they started pelting me with snowballs. My early years were full of fist fights and defending myself from bullies. This happened to be a group of older kids and I was smart enough to know not to antagonize them. You see, in those days, and in the particular place I grew up, kids would egg you on just for fun. I thought that’s all that it was. But suddenly, I was pulled to the ground and a rush of cold liquid slush was in my face. I felt the kicks on my body and being jostled around. I curled up to protect my face and I knew I just needed to ride this out. I could hear them laughing. Then, I heard a powerful, “HEY!” and the kicking stopped.
“Cut that shit out now!” I opened my eyes and turned toward the voice. A large man stood on the other side of the fence and was scolding the older boys from his yard. He was holding a baseball bat. “He ain’t fightin’ back, so get your **expletive** asses outta here right now before I hop over this fence and break this bat off in your ass!”
The older boys took off running.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I got up to thank the man. It was the burly black dude with the Lincoln my father and I helped out the week before!
After a few thank yous and no problems, the man reminded me to thank my father for helping him out the week before.
We are all connected to one another.
I never saw those kids again, and I’m thankful that I didn’t.
Experiencing things like that at such a young age was a good reminder that villains existed, but that there were good people around also. Neighbors cared. This man didn’t have to do anything. He could have let the bullying play out and minded his own business. I’ve seen footage of people today recording violent encounters to later post on social media. It’s tragic.
Grayling Elementary was set ablaze by vandals on Christmas Eve of 1999, and the school was heavily damaged. It never really recovered after that. It was condemned in 2009 and demolished in 2013.
Visit THIS LINK to view a timeline of photos of Grayling Elementary, including the arson.
There were so many more instances like that which demonstrated neighborly care, but it’s clearly become a rarity today.
For Generation X and older Millennials, the concept of "community" wasn't just an ideal; it was a lived reality. People knew they shared the same struggles and families nearby were friendly to one another. It wasn’t always perfect, there were instances I knew about where some folks were not friendly, but generally speaking, people said hello, and would sometimes stop to chat with one another about their day and about their kids.
I’ve noticed over the years that people don’t look up much anymore to say hello. They just go about their business, many looking down, or staring at their phone. I observe people in lines, they are completely oblivious of one another. When I travel, I find it rare that people engage in conversation. I’ve been traveling since 2004, and I’ve witnessed a completely different travel culture. Is it because people live in fear? Do people today not want to draw attention to themselves?
Was it the pandemic? I heard it called the Plandemic recently. Americans have never distrusted government more than they do today. There is a major distrust of media as well.
You would think that as time has gone by, and technology has improved people’s lives, that relationships between people would improve. But, it’s been the opposite. There is increased hostility between people, cities, states, and nations. I don’t write about political things, not because I don’t understand them– in fact, I believe I would be a formidable political and cultural essayist (humble brag)- I don’t write about these things because humans today have thrown out history and reason. Feelings and personal identity supersede common sense and logic. Much of the distrust stems from corruption and greed of politicians, and powerful corporations that have weaponized race, economics, and the media. Good luck having an opinion out there.
An interesting study on civic engagement and trust, performed by Pew Research Center, found that many Americans link low trust in government and fellow citizens to difficulties in solving national issues, with 70% believing that lack of trust in each other makes problems harder to tackle. There are notable differences in trust levels across demographics, with younger, less educated, and lower-income groups expressing lower trust compared to older, wealthier individuals. Despite the pessimism, 84% of Americans still believe it’s possible to improve trust levels through political reforms and community-building efforts.
This is part of a longer-term decline in trust. In 1964, 77% of Americans trusted the federal government to do the right thing all or most of the time. There have been a few periods of increased trust in the decades since, including shortly after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. But since 2008, fewer than 30% of Americans have said they trust the government to do the right thing all or most of the time. (Pew Research)
Despite the hardships we faced, when we arrived to the United States in 1981, we knew America was our new home, and we were going to do everything we could to become Americans. That meant something. America symbolized hope, opportunity, and a fresh start. My parents fled economic hardship, political unrest, religious persecution, and they viewed America as a land of boundless possibilities, where hard work and determination could lead to a better life.
There were cultural and language barriers, for sure, but my parents taught us to persevere and to care for those around us. They made a personal sacrifice of leaving their homeland in pursuit of a brighter future for our family. I remember that even when we struggled, our parents reminded us that there were others out there that were going through worse.
Are these sensible and caring ideals being cultivated in our culture today? Can we honestly say that this is the general outlook of society in the America we are living in? Do those wishing to make a life in our nation still aspire to these principles of caring for their fellow Americans as they work hard toward being more prosperous? Or, has prosperity become the main objective?
The most difficult question to consider is whether or not our nation’s resources are purposefully being mismanaged by the ruling elite for nefarious reasons. What we once new to be the generosity of the USA has become an expected handout— a strategic tool used by political parties against its own citizens. Several nations have used immigration as a tool to manipulate and destabilize their own societies in the past.
This cultural shift plants distrust, hatred, and anxiety in the hearts of people toward one another. It’s difficult to drop all of this frustration on the back of a large government with all the resources to destroy someone’s life. Instead, people distrust and mistreat one another. They are less likely to care for their neighbor and more likely to dislike and distrust them.
Is this all on purpose?
What if I told you this is exactly how Rome fell?

There’s still hope…
There is still hope for neighborly kindness, and friendship between people in pockets across the nation. I experience that within youth sports my children are involved in today. I’ve found this to be one of the best ways to build community with fellow neighbors, besides church, of course. Families that have children can bond over the common interests of kids sports. Building tightly knit relationships within one’s own community is the best way to feel part of something bigger. It is also a great way to love and care for your neighbor.
When I reflect back to my youth, neighbors weren't just people who happened to live nearby—they were part of an interconnected ecosystem, sometimes for safety, and sometimes for help in dire times. We needed one another occasionally.
My parents were not the outwardly type. They liked to keep to themselves for the most part. But sometimes, my dad would surprise me and he would say hello to a neighbor a block down by name. Our communities had garage sales where you would get to know your neighbor by dropping in to see what they were selling. In fact, my first Arnold Schwarzenegger book, Arnold’s Bodybuilding For Men, I picked up from a yard sale our neighbor was having. I learned about our neighbor and got to know their kids that way. I paid a quarter for the book, by the way, and I read it cover to cover too. I recall holding on to it until I was about 30 years old and donated it to the local library.
You didn't just know your neighbor’s names; you knew their quirks, their routines, and probably what they were having for dinner.
Remember when borrowing a cup of sugar wasn't just a cliché but a genuine interaction? It wasn't uncommon to knock on a neighbor's door, not for an emergency, but simply to chat or share the latest neighborhood gossip. As kids, we roamed freely from one backyard to another, and parents kept a collective eye on the tribe of children that seemed to belong to everyone and no one in particular.
The neighborhood was our social network before social networks existed. It was where we learned about life, love, and the importance of community. We celebrated together, mourned together, and navigated the ups and downs of life with a support system that extended beyond our immediate family.
But somewhere along the way, things changed. The digital age promised to connect us more than ever, yet paradoxically, it began to erode the very fabric of our local communities. Suddenly, it became easier to text a friend across the country than to walk next door and strike up a conversation.
The rise of suburban sprawl didn't help either. As developments expanded, so did our emotional distance from one another. Garages replaced front porches, and fences grew taller. The impromptu adventuring on our bmx bikes and gathering at a neighbor’s house to play Atari or Nintendo became something of the past.
Our lives have all become busier and more hectic. Two-income households have become the norm, leaving less time for neighborhood socializing. The breakdown of the family has contributed to tremendous challenges being felt by all generations around today. This could be a large contributor to the breakdown of kindness. Adversity within families ripples through society.
The irony is that while we've never been more "connected" in a global sense, we've become increasingly disconnected from those physically closest to us. We know more about the lives of Instagram influencers than we do about the family next door. We're more likely to get our sense of community from online forums than from actual face-to-face interactions with our neighbors.
This shift has had profound implications. The erosion of neighborhood connections has contributed to a broader decline in civic engagement and social trust. We're less likely to participate in local government, join community organizations, or even vote in local elections. The social capital that once bound communities together has been steadily depleted.
What does this stem from? Again, I ask, is this on purpose?
The consequences extend beyond just feeling disconnected. Strong neighborhoods have been shown to have positive effects on everything from crime rates to mental health. When we know and look out for our neighbors, we create a safer, more supportive environment for everyone.
We have the greatest mental health crisis in recorded history.
So, what can we do to reclaim that sense of community? It starts with small steps. Making an effort to introduce yourself to new neighbors, organizing or participating in community events, or simply spending more time in your front yard instead of your backyard can all help rebuild those connections.
We did these things.
Some communities are taking more organized approaches, creating neighborhood associations or using apps designed to connect neighbors. While these digital solutions might seem at odds with the old-school neighborhood vibe we're missing, they can be a bridge to more meaningful, in-person connections.
The challenge for Gen X and older Millennials is to reconcile our nostalgia for the neighborhoods of our youth with the realities of modern life. We can't turn back the clock, but we can work to create communities that blend the best of both worlds—leveraging technology to facilitate real-world connections rather than replace them.
As we navigate an increasingly complex and often isolating world, perhaps it's time to look to our own backyards (and front yards) for the sense of belonging we crave. The death of the American neighborhood doesn't have to be permanent. With effort and intention, we can breathe new life into our communities, one friendly wave and shared conversation at a time.
After all, sometimes the best way to move forward is to remember where we came from—and the neighborhoods that shaped us.
I challenge you to go say hello to your neighbor. I bet it would shock them. Maybe it will even change their perspective. We need a neighborhood revival.
Great article. It's frightening because you see it everywhere you go, especially when people ignore you or turn a blind eye when something goes wrong and you're in trouble. I keep asking myself: have we stopped being human?
Awhile back, I took a deep dive into this problem because it disturbed me—as you say, it's how we live, but it's sure not how we grew up. I found "Bowling Alone" and "The Vanishing Neighbor" to be really enlightening books on the topic. Because this particular problem (according to these authors) invites others: helicopter parenting, Karens and dilettante activism, to name a few. I'm no sociologist but it seems to me there is some kind of connection.
During the Covidian years, my wife and I moved to a small town precisely because we wanted to get our kid away from this problem and participate more with our community. Where we lived in suburbia, we used to come back from trips just happy to be inside and see our pets and use our reliable coffee machines. We still do that now, of course, but every time I come home I now have an added feeling of being back where I belong—in a community. We take the turn into town and see Mr. Fields gassing up his mower to make his landscaping rounds. The EMT lady who feeds the birds in the afternoons. Old Matt who I helped with some videography work a few weeks back. I'm so glad I know these people.
Really great article and the comparison between life back then and life today is fully appropriate. Something has changed. Ways of living that were once good for us were also just the way things were done; we had no other choice. But now, we have to be deliberate about these choices if we're to not lose our mark on the world through our communities.