Network Theory of Care: Lessons from Los Angeles
How Technology Reveals Latent Networks of Solidarity
I’ve long since stopped seeing myself as an individual. Rather, I’m an assemblage. A networked entity. A node in a web of relations and relationships. By erasing my atomized nature, I disclose something that feels akin to truth: I exist by contingency in a vast network of factors and entanglements. This comes out most viscerally when I think of who I am: a self, yes, but also a multifaceted complex of roles—son, sibling, founder, friend…
Care: it traces the lines of contingency and assemblageship. The network theory of care views support and caregiving as a complex, interconnected web rather than linear exchanges between individuals. Care is the traversal and giving along relational lines. Resilient communities, for instance, fortify the enactment of care by building lines of relation that allow aid to flow. FireAid was a testament to the potential for technological augmentation of patterns of trust: flattening resources onto a map opened up new lines of sight, patterns of trust, and potentials for neighborship not easily rooted in simple proximity.
Care flows through networks the way information flows through neural pathways or nutrients through mycorrhizal networks. When we recognize ourselves as nodes rather than atoms, we see how strengthening our position actually fortifies the entire web. A stable node—what I've come to call a “base camp”—creates capacity for care to flow outward. This is the paradox: by securing our own position, we become better able to support others.
This has profound implications for how we design systems of mutual aid and community support. Traditional models often assume bilateral relationships—helper and helped, giver and receiver. But the network theory of care suggests something more rhizomatic: each node can be both supporter and supported, often simultaneously. We saw this clearly in the LA fires, where people offering aid in one domain were receiving it in another. The map became a “cartography of care” precisely because it revealed these multidirectional flows.
Like any complex adaptive system, care networks exhibit emergent properties that can’t be reduced to individual interactions. Trust propagates through the network like a wave. Resources flow along paths of least resistance. New configurations of support emerge spontaneously when conditions allow. This is why attempts to centrally control or standardize care often fail—they mistake the network for a hierarchy. Care flows and grows. What’s so surprising is how deeply embedded it is: a latent force readily unlocked by technological intervention. Understanding care as a system that traverses human networks of relations is to reckon with something deeply human: neighborly goodwill and solidarity.
We tend to think of infrastructure as concrete and steel—roads, bridges, power lines. But care has its own infrastructure, one built of trust, relationships, and shared understanding. When crisis strikes, this invisible architecture becomes suddenly visible. We saw this in Los Angeles: a simple spreadsheet transformed into a lifeline, revealing vast networks of mutual aid that had always existed but remained latent. The technology didn't create these networks—it simply made them visible and accessible, allowing them to activate at unprecedented scale.
This reveals something profound about the relationship between technology and care networks. Technology isn't replacing human care—it's amplifying existing patterns of human solidarity. When designed thoughtfully, digital tools can reduce friction in care networks, helping resources flow more freely and connections form more readily. But the underlying force remains deeply human: the desire to help, to share, to support one another through difficult times.
The network theory of care thus offers a new way of thinking about community resilience. Rather than focusing on stockpiles of resources or centralized response systems, it suggests we should invest in strengthening the connective tissue between people. This means building trust in times of stability so it can be drawn upon in times of crisis. It means creating platforms that make it easier for people to find and help each other. And it means recognizing that care, like water, will find its way through any channel available—our job is simply to remove the barriers and let it flow.
If you're inspired by these ideas and want to help build infrastructure for community care networks, consider supporting mutua.nyc. We're a non-profit organization working to develop tools that strengthen mutual aid networks while preserving their autonomy and principles. What we learned through FireAid in Los Angeles is just the beginning - together we can build lasting infrastructure for community resilience.
Visit mutua.nyc to learn more and contribute to this work.