Going Once, Going Twice, Sold: How Capitalism Erased the Village That Raised Us

Editorial Assistant Rahima Bilgrami discusses the disappearance of the village it took to raise a child, and wonders if capitalism has anything to do with it.

My friend’s voice crackled through the phone, equal parts awe and exhaustion. “Don’t get me wrong—my husband’s amazing,” she said, the universal preamble to a confession, “but I’d trade literally anything for my mum to swoop in right now. Or, honestly, any warm body who knows how to hold a baby without asking if it’s ‘too early’ for screen time.”

Her sleep-deprived bargaining got me thinking: When did we decide parenting was a solo sport? Has it always been this way, or did it change over time? That line of questioning dragged me back to my own childhood in a developing country—where the concept of being alone didn’t really exist, mostly because no one left you alone long enough to try it.

If I had to define my childhood in just a few words, I’d say it was a time when curiosity was gently nurtured, never clipped. The people around me became an extension of family—the neighborhood wasn’t just where you lived; it was who raised you. Families brought generous servings of food to each other’s homes, packs of kids roamed like sugar-dusted wildlings, and if you skinned a knee? Well, someone’s mum was already patching you up before yours even got the news.

Fast forward to today, and my brilliant, capable friend is rationing showers like they’re wartime currency.

That’s when it hit me: “It takes a village” wasn’t just a sweet proverb—it was my family’s entire operating system.

So, where did this supposed village go?

A quick scroll through social media reveals more than it hides. The modern parenting playbook has truly evolved (read: regressed), and it reads like a survival guide: work full-time, parent full-time, sleep never, and whatever you do, don’t admit you’re overwhelmed—because somewhere out there, someone is baking gluten-free snacks in a spotless kitchen while teaching their toddler three languages.

Enter stage left: Capitalism. Sure, it has given us 24/7 food delivery and oat milk, but it’s also sold us the myth that we should be able to do it all—alone, and ideally, while being deeply grateful for the opportunity.

While capitalism has driven great innovation, it has also normalised a life where productivity is paramount. “Hustle culture” thrives on this obsession with optimisation, where parents are expected to work nonstop to provide both necessities and niceties.

This leaves little time for building your ‘village’ and elevates individualism over collectivism. Asking for help becomes a source of shame, a whispered confession instead of a shared load.

To understand why these communal connections matter so deeply, I turned to my mother—an expert in parenting and calm efficiency. “It made all the difference,” she said, casually dropping wisdom between sips of tea. “If I was running late, my friend just picked you up from school. Summers? I’d take much-needed afternoon strolls with friends while you kids kept each other busy. Our ‘me time’ was built into the day. There was breathing room just to be me.”

And there it was. We didn’t abandon the village. The village deteriorated with the onset of hyper-individualism.

Today, “community support” comes with a price tag: $25/hour for babysitters, triple-shot lattes as emotional support, and the crushing guilt of “Shouldn’t I be able to do this alone?” (Spoiler: No mammal on Earth is this bad at teamwork. Even meerkats have a babysitting roster—look it up.)

Needing help doesn’t make you a bad parent—it makes you a human. Maybe the revolution starts small: watching a friend’s kid so she can take a break, reviving the lost art of “Here, I made extra,” or simply admitting, “This is hard. What should I do?”

Because in the end, this isn’t just about sleep deprivation or the rising cost of daycare. It’s about the deep, aching loneliness of a first-time parent rocking a newborn at 3am, scrolling through forums because there’s no one to call. It’s about children who have never known the noise and comfort of a crowded dinner table, or the safety of a dozen watchful eyes. Parenting didn’t just become more expensive—it became lonelier.

But maybe, just maybe, the village isn’t gone. It’s just waiting for us to build it back—starting with me giving my exhausted friend a break, so she can shower, nap, or just stare at a wall in peace.