Tag Archives: writing

“Grassroots” Doesn’t Always Mean What We Think

Walk into any grocery store and you’ll see it, packaging covered in reassuring words.

All natural.
Farm-fresh.
Made with real ingredients.

Most of these phrases aren’t lies. They’re just not the whole truth. “All natural” might mean the product used beet juice for coloring… and still contains nine types of preservatives. “Farm-fresh” might mean the farm was three thousand acres owned by a multinational corporation. The label signals purity. The reality is supply chains, processing, and marketing.

That same pattern has become normal in American politics. One of the most beloved words in modern activism is “grassroots.” It evokes images of neighbors calling neighbors, volunteers knocking on doors, and everyday citizens organizing themselves with nothing but passion and conviction. But like the grocery-store label, “grassroots” often tells only the part of the story people want to hear.

The Two Layers of Grassroots

Most large-scale political movements, whether progressive or conservative, operate on two levels:

1. The visible layer: volunteers, rallies, and local chapters

This is the part the cameras see:

  • people holding signs
  • small groups meeting at libraries
  • decentralized energy
  • local organizers who care, often deeply

This layer is real. People are genuinely involved.
Just like a snack labeled “all natural” probably does include real fruit.

2. The invisible layer: infrastructure, funding, and national coordination

This is the part people don’t see:

  • nonprofits that create toolkits
  • national organizations providing legal resources
  • donor-funded groups paying for communications staff
  • coordinated messaging that appears “spontaneous”
  • networks that give local volunteers the ability to scale quickly

This layer is also real. And it explains how protests or campaigns can come together in 10 days or appear in major cities within days. It something true grassroots activism simply cannot do without help.

This pattern exists on the left, right, and center.

Democratic-aligned examples

  • People’s Action: neighborhood-based organizing supported by national foundations.
  • Alliance for Youth Action: local youth activism boosted by national grants.
  • Faith in Action: local congregational mobilizers supported by large faith-justice networks.

Republican-aligned examples

  • Convention of States Action: volunteer-led chapters using major conservative funding and think-tank infrastructure.
  • Moms for Liberty: local school-board activism amplified by national donors and legal organizations.
  • The Libre Initiative: community engagement backed by a major national donor network.

These organizations aren’t pretending people don’t care; many volunteers are genuinely passionate. But the speed, scale, and coordination depend on something deeper than neighbors texting neighbors.

Just like the “farm-fresh” eggs that actually came from a massive distribution system. The term “grassroots” creates trust. It signals:

  • authenticity
  • independence
  • purity of motive
  • citizens acting without manipulation

That’s why movements use it. But when we assume “grassroots” automatically means “no national influence” or “no financial backing,” we misunderstand the actual dynamics shaping public action.

Why We Should Pay Attention

Just as reading a food label helps you understand what’s actually in the package, looking beneath the “grassroots” sticker reveals the full ingredient list of a movement. So the next time you see a movement calling itself “grassroots,” treat it like that container labeled “all natural.”

There’s probably some truth in it. But it’s worth remembering that behind every clean, confident label is a system much bigger than the words on the front. And the story gets clearer once you turn the box around and read what’s actually inside.

Where “The Phantom Tollbooth” Trips Over Its Own Story

Norton Juster’s The Phantom Tollbooth is a classic. It’s whimsical, sharp, and dripping with creative brilliance. But if you’re the kind of person who likes to dig deeper, theologically or philosophically, you start to notice that there are a few places where the story doesn’t quite hold together. Here are three big incongruences that stand out, and what they reveal.

Wonder Without a Foundation

At the beginning of the story, Milo is bored and disinterested. By the end, everything is magical and full of purpose. On the surface, it’s a beautiful arc, but here’s the problem: nothing external actually changes. Milo’s “new world” is just a shift in perspective, and while that’s inspiring, it’s also hollow. If wonder is only based on a feeling, what happens the next time Milo wakes up bored?

Feelings are great, but feelings also change, therefore, the reader has to ask the question, “Without an anchor for meaning, something outside of herself or himself, where does a person find something more stable than feelings?” I love “wonder” but “wonder” alone is temporary at best.

The Rhyme and Reason Dilemma

The whole plot revolves around restoring Rhyme and Reason to the kingdom, which I appreciated. Once they’re back from their journey, everything is balanced again. But pause for a second: why were they exiled in the first place? And why does their mere return magically fix a broken kingdom?

The story never digs into those questions. It wants the satisfaction of resolution without the complexity of wrestling with why wisdom was lost, or what sustains it in the long run. It’s like patching a leaky roof with duct tape: it works for now, but it won’t hold when the next storm of life rolls in on someone.

In short, you could make the argument that this book could do spiritual harm to someone, which is what the authors are trying to avoid. It’s great to ask questions but simply fanning the flame of deconstruction could lead a person to a place of confusion. How’s that helpful?

Growth Without Real Community

Milo matures throughout his journey, no doubt about it. He goes from apathetic to engaged, passive to proactive, which is great! But he mostly does this alone as an individual. Sure, there’s Tock and the Humbug tagging along, but the story doesn’t show deep, transformative community shaping Milo.

In real life, and certainly in a biblical framework, real transformation usually happens with people, in relationship, through accountability and shared experience. Milo grows in isolation, which makes for a clean narrative but a shallow reality.

Why These Gaps Matter

None of these incongruences ruin the book, far from it. In fact, they make it a great conversation starter. They reveal that while The Phantom Tollbooth offers brilliant observations about curiosity, courage, and wonder, it struggles to ground those truths in something unchanging. That’s where a biblical worldview shines: it takes the good questions the story raises and points to a better answer — one rooted in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

What do you think? Where have you noticed moments in The Phantom Tollbooth that feel a little thin? Or are these the very things that make the book such a timeless read?