by Marie Goodwin & Caitlin Hoyland

When I was in graduate school, I read a book on the Kodi, an Eastern Indonesian culture on the island of Sumba. The author wrote that the Kodi perception of time was much more complex than anthropologists had expected, and that their ideas of time were tied closely to the way they coordinated trade, negotiated reciprocal gifting relationships, and exchanged every-day items, either within their communities or with outsiders.

For the Kodi, every object or gift carries with it a story. The value of a thing is largely created by the duration associated with the object. A highly valued item is one that either takes a long time to craft or travels a long distance to reach to their community. Maybe it has been raised and carefully tended for a long time, such as a prized bull grown from a calf, or it’s a cherished antique, an object kept safe for generations. Value is assessed in the gift giving process; the giver tells the story of the object’s travel through time to the receiver of the gift, usually in front of the community. The prestige of the object is not primarily based on scarcity, elite status, or expense (like it is in our consumerist culture), but rather on the story that the object carries with it and the time invested in its care.

After becoming a mother and finding myself largely in charge of creating the holiday experience for my children, I thought long and hard about what makes a gift valuable in our culture and how I might do things differently with my family. I think the desire for some form of meaning in gift-giving is a common urge. But so many are inured to the joys of thoughtless consumption. Mindless consumerism for consumerism’s sake feels pretty meaningless, and I think many people acknowledge how impersonal gift giving often feels during the holidays. Giving gifts that are special or unique, “perfect” for the receiver, is a common goal, but also elusive. Sometimes it feels impossible to give gifts with meaning, and for both the giver and the receiver, the exchange feels hollow.

Like the Kodi, I have come to embrace the idea that in order for gifts to be special (for both the giver and receiver), the input of the energy and time by the giver is a fundamental requirement. Gifts that contain stories — perhaps of their creation or of personal associations — encourage connection between giver and receiver. After all, like my friend Charles Eisenstein writes in Sacred Economics, “Community is built through co-creation, not co-consumption.” The War Economy has convinced us that all giving is equal, but that is another one of its lies.

Humans are natural story-tellers. But our culture is awash in stories of the War Economy — stories that normalize violence, genocide, and domination. War economy stories are on blast 24/7/365 in the realm of politics, history, film, and social media, and all relay ideas that infiltrate our well-being, seeking to define what it means to be a “normal” human being in a world dominated by violence and power-over behavior. We are inundated by stories as propaganda of a War Economy that has never served our interests and never will. We are told that consumerism will make us happy and make us more likely to find connection with others. It tells us that we are incomplete, fragile, and vulnerable; it preys on our deepest fears and anxieties. The War Economy convinces us that our identities are incomplete without the things we are told we must consume. But this story is simply a manipulation of reality that leads us to spend money we don’t have on things we don’t need.

Reclaiming stories is a way to restore values of peace, connection, and community. Storytelling is a personal and powerful form of resistance. One way to reclaim stories is to give gifts that hold “value” rooted in stories that reify the world we wish to create — from the ashes of the world as it is, deep in its death throes.

Here are some concrete examples of objects given to me that hold meaning because of the stories they embody:

My grandfather, who passed away many years ago, gave me a piece of pottery as a wedding present. He collected this piece when I was a child and told me about why he loved it and how he had negotiated with the seller at an antiques fair. The pot was produced at the factory where his grandfather worked before immigrating to the U.S. My great, great grandfather may have held this object in his hands 150 years ago.

A friend of mine creates upcycled clothing from thrift store finds. Her pieces are unique and tailored to the tastes of the intended receiver. The piece she gifted me, a long patchwork skirt, helps me remember her when I wear it.

My daughter made prints in a college class and gave them to all our family members as Christmas gifts one year. I plan to frame mine and hang it up in a prominent place in our house.

A friend of mine returned from a trip to Turkey where she purchased pillow covers from a merchant in a small town in Cappadocia. She spent the afternoon with the seller, drinking apple tea and negotiating the price — a cultural sign of respect in these rural villages. She got to see the loom on which they were made and showed me pictures of the house where the loom sat.

Most people have such items in their house, objects that come with interesting and connective stories. When I look at the pillows, I think of my friend lovingly and feel a desire to reach out and catch up with her life. The antique my grandfather gave me is especially valuable because of my relationship to him and, in particular, what the object meant to him — his memories of his own father and grandfather, my ancestors.

Ideally, every object we own would carry stories, but consumerism has robbed us of this kind of meaning. Most objects in our homes are stripped of such stories. We don’t know where they were made, or who made them. We often don’t even remember where we bought them or when. Several years ago, the author Marie Kondo asked people to simplify their lives by clearing out objects in their house that don’t “spark joy.” I always thought she meant clearing our lives of objects that had no story. This decluttering prompt became a viral internet meme, and her book a New York Times bestseller — all because people realized that the vast majority of the stuff in their houses might have cost something, but was essentially valueless without the connective tissue of meaning.

We can change things, one gift at a time.

This gift-giving holiday season, instead of the mindless consumerism that permeates November and December every year, commit to giving gifts that carry stories with them. It may take some planning and creativity, but it is possible to do. Following are some ways you might accomplish that goal:

Spend money hyper-locally: Purchase your gifts through makers’ markets or local artisans. Besides being a unique gift with a story inherent in the artist’s creativity, every dollar you spend locally is an investment in your community. Known as the Local Multiplier Effect, when you spend money in your community at independent markets and shops, the money continues to circulate and amplify its impact, creating more jobs, investment, and revenue. Ask the artist or maker to tell you the story of its creation, and share that with the gift recipient.

Bake or Craft: When you make a gift yourself, you’re giving both your time and your care. Each gift is unique and creates a connection between giver and receiver.

Gifts of Time: Invest time in a relationship rather than purchasing a gift. Invite a friend for a walk in the park, a cozy dinner at home, or simply carve out an afternoon for a long chat. Create vouchers or little notes promising future shared experiences, like a homemade dinner, a movie night, or an afternoon helping with a project. Sometimes the best gift is just showing up and deepening your connection.

Gifts of Creativity & Exploration: If someone in your life has a passion, give gifts that support their journey: credit for classes at your local community art center or maker space, a yearly pass at an arboretum, theatre, or museum. Better yet, make it an exploration for two and go on the adventure together. Prepare for next summer, and pay for a share of food from your local CSA. The list of possibilities is endless.

Use What You Already Have: Some objects we have in our possession might be more useful to someone else. Take stock of what you can spare, and give generously of what you already have. Tell the receiver the story of the object: how you received it and why you feel now is the best time to pass it on. Better yet, organize a gift swap.

Hold Gift Circles: Collect your friends in a circle — the more people the better — and tell each other what you need in your life and what you might offer. You might be surprised how many people can get their needs met when they share with their extended community ideas about what would make their lives better.

Volunteer together: Seek out a local food bank or other organization with needs, and invite friends/family to commit to common action in support of much needed mutual aid in your local community.

Community Exchanges: For families with children, consider organizing a “toy exchange” with other parents in advance of the holidays. I have also participated in jewelry exchanges, meal exchanges, clothing exchanges, seed swaps, and pottery exchanges in my community, returning home with beautiful no-longer-needed objects to give as gifts (or keep for myself.) Because these items are swapped, and not purchased, they all come with an inherent story — this object was once owned by my friend.

In this world, where BIG actions and LOUD words define activism, we can also make small changes that have a powerful impact on our lives and the lives of others around us, one gift at a time. Resistance and activism can be subtle. Practicing our way into a Peace Economy means understanding that “enough” is available to us when we deeply honor what we have, clearly define what we truly need, and focus our peace on the relational realms of life rather than the consumptive forces and pressures of War Economy thinking.

Purchasing a gift from Amazon is certainly easier than organizing a gift circle with your friends and family, but you will be surprised by the impact your efforts have on those you love. And maybe, years from now, your grandchildren will pick up one of the gifts you gave your child and say, “Tell me about this,” and your child will reply, “Well, that is an interesting story…”

You will be remembered by those who love you through the stories of your life; that includes the gifts you give. Make them memorable.

Join the next Local Peace Economy Call!

Marie Goodwin is CODEPINK’s Local Peace Economy Coordinator.

Caitlin Hoyland (she/her) is a writer and human rights advocate interning with CODEPINK’s Local Peace Economy program. She has written extensively on conflict, displacement, and social justice. Her work has appeared in publications such as E-International Relations, Decolonial Thoughts, and Europinion. Caitlin also provides front line support to survivors of trafficking in the UK and conducts legal research into asylum systems across Europe. She is passionate about feminist foreign policy, decolonial advocacy, and building sustainable peace through community-led action.

Notes:

• The book referenced at the beginning of this essay is called The Play of Time : Kodi Perspectives on Calendars, History, and Exchange, by Janet Hoskins (1997).

• Sacred Economics by Charles Eisenstein is both a book (which can be read online for free) as well as a short movie.

• For an extensive range of ideas about gifting and sharing, visit Shareable.com. It is a priceless resource.

• If you would like to explore how gift and story are intertwined, seek out the beautiful film, The Gift. Based on Lewis Hyde’s book of the same name, this film explores the nuance of gifting, story, community, and connection. You won’t be the same after watching it.