In 1992, during the LA riots, I witnessed something that would fundamentally shape my understanding of community resilience. The 32nd Street Market, a mom-and-pop store that had served the South-Central LA and adjacent University of Southern California (USC) communities since the 1960s, stood as the last remaining grocery store in the neighborhood.
The market was protected not just by National Guard troops who had been called out by the governor in recognition of the importance of this critical food retailer, but more crucially, by three local ministers who stood vigil and convinced potential looters to move on. These community leaders engaged directly with angry folks from the neighborhood day and night, persuading them to spare this vital resource. It was a powerful demonstration of how local networks and trusted community voices could accomplish what armed forces alone could not.
But here's the bitter twist: Less than 20 years later, in 2006, that same store was converted into student housing by their landlord, USC. Today, that neighborhood remains a food desert. No community input, no alternative solutions - just a decision that stripped a vital resource from an already vulnerable community.
This story reveals something crucial about our food systems that challenges conventional wisdom: The modern supermarket model isn't just inefficient, it's fundamentally fragile. Even more surprisingly, it's not a natural evolution of commerce. According to Shane Hamilton - author of Supermarket USA: Food and Power in the Cold War Farms Race (Yale, 2018) - supermarkets began as a Cold War era demonstration project in the 1930s, when the U.S. government collaborated with food retailers to showcase American agricultural abundance on television.
For years, after I got involved in food security advocacy I struggled to understand why simpler, more efficient food distribution models faced such intense resistance. The pushback seemed to go beyond normal market competition or regulatory hurdles - it felt systemic, almost ideological. But it wasn't until I stumbled across a 2019 Freakonomics episode (re-released and updated in 2024) featuring a disturbing tell-all that the pieces finally clicked into place.
Shane Hamilton, author of Supermarket USA: Food and Power in the Cold War Farms Race (Yale, 2018) revealed something stunning: The first modern supermarket wasn't created as a business innovation. It was literally staged for television - including cars driving down aisles past apparent miles of fresh produce displays - showcasing America's agricultural might to the world. This wasn't commerce; it was Cold War theater.
That interview made the implications clear. This wasn't just about selling groceries - it was about selling an idea. An idea so successful that we've completely forgotten it was ever just an idea. The supermarket model wasn't adopted because it was the most efficient way to distribute food. It was adopted because it told a compelling story about abundance and prosperity.
But that story came with hidden costs. As supermarkets scaled up and standardized through the 1960s, they began systematically pushing out smaller, local food retailers. The model that was designed to showcase abundance paradoxically created scarcity - what we now call 'food deserts' - in any community that couldn't support its theatrical scale of operations.
Today's technology and coordination tools, including web3 and AI advances, offer us a chance to look past this artificial model. We can actually revisit what worked before the supermarket theater took over - local distribution networks, community-scale operations, focus on shelf-stable goods - and enhance these proven approaches with modern capabilities.
But first, we need to understand what we lost. Pre-1930s food distribution wasn't primitive - it was pragmatic. Local stores focused on what their communities actually needed: dry goods, pantry staples, preserved foods. Fresh produce came through local markets and community networks. It wasn't flashy, but it worked. More importantly, it worked everywhere, not just in affluent neighborhoods with enough population density to support theatrical displays of abundance.
The most promising solutions I've seen don't try to replicate the supermarket model on a smaller scale. Instead, they start with a simple question: What do people actually need to feed themselves and their families? The answer often has more to do with accessibility, storage, and preparation than with endless aisles of fresh produce being constantly rearranged for display.
The possibilities become clear when we stop trying to replicate supermarket theater and start thinking about actual needs. A simple bulk bin section, properly managed with modern inventory systems, can provide more reliable food security than aisles of packaged goods. Smart contracts could help coordinate bulk purchasing across multiple community hubs, achieving the economies of scale that once required supermarket-sized operations.
Food rescue operations, which currently struggle with logistics and timing, could be transformed through real-time coordination networks. Imagine a decentralized system where restaurants, farms, and food banks can instantly match excess food with nearby needs, using digital tokens to track and incentivize efficient distribution.
Remember those three ministers who protected the 32nd Street Market? Their action demonstrated the power of community networks. Now imagine enhancing such networks with tools that let communities collectively manage their food resources. A neighborhood could coordinate bulk purchases, share kitchen facilities, manage community food production, and ensure everyone has access to what they need.
Commercial kitchens, which often sit idle for large portions of the day, could become community food hubs. Smart scheduling systems could maximize usage, while digital tokens could manage access and resources. A single kitchen could serve multiple food businesses, community programs, and training initiatives.
The beauty of these solutions is that they don't require massive infrastructure or corporate scale. They work by enhancing what communities already do naturally - share resources, coordinate efforts, and take care of their members. The technology simply makes this coordination more efficient and reliable.
What we're looking at isn't just a different way to distribute food - it's a fundamental shift in how communities can meet their essential needs. The supermarket myth has shaped our thinking for nearly a century, convincing us that centralized, theatrical abundance is the only viable model. But as that 1992 night in Los Angeles showed me, when systems break down, it's community networks that keep people fed.
We're at a unique moment in history. We have the technology to enhance the best aspects of traditional community-based distribution while solving the coordination challenges that once made centralization seem necessary. We can build systems that are more efficient, more resilient, and more accessible than anything the Cold War propaganda machine could have imagined.
This is just the beginning of the conversation. In future articles, we'll explore specific tools and strategies, examine successful models, and dig deeper into how communities can take control of their food security. But for now, the most important thing to understand is this: The barriers to better food systems aren't technological or economic - they're perceptual. Once we see past the supermarket myth, the possibilities are endless.
