What My Neighborhood Taught Me About Community

Guest Post – Gabriela Robles, Chief Executive

My neighborhood in El Monte, California, was a place full of laughter, music, and movement. Kids ran freely, families gathered regularly, everyone knew each other, and we all kept up with who had gone to Mexico over the weekend, bringing back goods, or seeing loved ones.

But beyond the parties and the shared food, there was a powerful, unspoken structure that held us together – community.

My earliest lessons in community building didn’t come in college or beyond. They were from our lived experiences. We were a tight-knit, mostly first-generation immigrant neighborhood, united by shared struggles, values, and aspirations. My mom became one of our community’s unofficial leaders. She knew where to find babysitters, what resources were available at school, when the church was handing out free clothes, and which doctor down the street accepted cash. Her door and heart were always open, and our apartment was a hub of information, comfort, and connection.

In our world, community meant showing up for one another. If someone lost a job, extra food showed up on their doorstep. If a neighbor fell ill, someone else picked up their kids or folded their laundry. We may not have had formal systems, but we had each other.

We also had a strong network through the church. That’s where we organized, accessed services, and celebrated, mourned, and planned together. There was a community committee at church dedicated to keeping us connected and informed.

Even as children, we were participants in our community. I was often the neighborhood interpreter, helping my neighbors navigate social security appointments or medical diagnoses. Some of these conversations were extremely hard not just to have, but to understand. Imagine being a child and having to tell someone their loved one only had two months to live. I may not have understood the gravity, but I knew I had to do my best for my community. I carried that responsibility heavily, and there was always a worry about what would happen if I had translated something wrong.

Communities are Different Now

Growing up, everyone knew your business, not out of nosiness, but out of care. Thursday was grocery shopping day, and we knew who had what on sale. People asked, “How are you?” and meant it. Today, I live in one of the “safest” communities in the country, but I don’t know my neighbors. That contrast is striking.

So much has changed over the decades. Policy and mindset shifts, plus overall changes in how we live contribute to these changes. How different communities would be if individuals (and policymakers) had seen my neighborhood through my eyes. Where they might have viewed us through a deficit lens—too many kids, not enough income, not enough English—they would have missed the wealth of lived experience, the strength in our social fabric, the pride in our self-sufficiency, and the cultural wisdom our families held. They might not have seen that despite language barriers, our parents had innovative ideas and solutions. They would have missed how mothers were architects of resilience, deeply resourceful, networked, and visionary in their own right.

My community modeled leadership that is relational, collective, and rooted in love. There was no formal strategy, but there was clarity. If someone needs help, you help. If something needs fixing, you figure it out together.

My community shaped my approach to leadership and reinforced my belief that the most powerful community-building begins not in institutions, but in living rooms, in church basements, and in the simple daily acts of kindness.

And it’s why I believe that our communities—then and now, with a little effort—offer models of community building that the world desperately needs.