What I Brought Back from Tacoma
By: Anthony Hernandez, Board Member
On the final evening of the Consumer Cooperative Management Association (CCMA) conference in Tacoma, Washington, a room full of cooperative leaders gathered around a karaoke stage.
There were GMs and board members. Store managers and organizers. Staff members, directors, and cooperative advocates from across the country. Some stepped confidently to the microphone. Others needed a little encouragement from friends. A few could really sing. Many could not. Nobody seemed to care. For a few hours, titles disappeared. People laughed, sang familiar songs, cheered one another on, and shared stories. Strangers became acquaintances. Acquaintances became friends.
At first glance, karaoke might seem like an odd thing to remember from a conference devoted to governance, leadership, finance, and cooperative management. But by the end of the convening, community building felt like one of the clearest expressions of what cooperatives are really about.
That lesson emerged throughout the conference, but nowhere more powerfully than during one of the opening panel discussions. Leaders from Minneapolis cooperatives reflected on guiding their organizations through a period of profound uncertainty and upheaval in their city. In the middle of discussing the challenges they faced, several panelists paused to acknowledge something that happened hundreds of miles away. In front of that conference room filled with cooperative leaders from across the country, they specifically mentioned the donation from Willy Street Co-op, describing it as both a meaningful contribution in a time of fiscal uncertainty and an important morale boost during a difficult moment.
As a Willy Street Co-op Board member, I felt proud hearing our cooperative recognized in that way. The amount itself mattered, of course. But what seemed to matter even more was what the gesture communicated. Another cooperative community was paying attention. Another cooperative community cared. Another cooperative community was extending itself to help others carry their burdens.
The acknowledgment lasted only a few moments, but it captured something essential about the cooperative movement. One of the internationally recognized cooperative principles is “Cooperation Among Cooperatives.” It sounds simple enough. Yet hearing those Minneapolis leaders describe the impact of that support transformed the principle from an abstract ideal into something really tangible and human.
Their stories that followed were emotionally honest and deeply moving. They spoke about serving communities during moments of crisis, responding to rapidly changing circumstances, and making difficult decisions when there were no easy answers. They spoke of how the community rallied around the cooperatives when they saw how the co-ops were showing up for the community in Minneapolis.
What struck me most was not simply what they did, but why they did it. Repeatedly, they returned to the idea that cooperatives exist to serve the community. That may sound obvious. Yet it is worth revisiting, especially at a time when many institutions seem increasingly disconnected from the communities they serve. Many businesses ask what is profitable. Cooperatives also ask what is needed. The two questions are not always in conflict. But they are not the same question.
Throughout the conference, I heard leaders describe organizations striving to remain grounded in relationships, democratic participation, and genuine concern for community. The strongest examples of leadership were rarely stories of individual achievement. Instead, they were stories about collective effort. They were about neighbors helping neighbors. About organizations supporting one another. About communities choosing solidarity and inclusion over isolation and subtraction.
The karaoke gathering reflected those same values in a different way. Community is not built only through strategic plans, committee meetings, or board resolutions. It is also built through shared experiences. Trust develops in conversations between conference sessions, around dinner tables, and yes, even around a karaoke stage. Relationships are formed long before they appear in a governance document.
That may explain why cooperative gatherings often feel different from other professional conferences. People certainly come to learn. They come to exchange ideas and improve their organizations. But they also come to reconnect with important values that can sometimes feel increasingly rare in public life, like democracy, participation, mutuality, and concern for others. In many ways, cooperatives are uniquely positioned for the current moment.
We live in a time when loneliness is rising, trust in institutions is declining, and public discourse often feels defined by sharp division. Cooperatives offer a different approach. They remind us that economic institutions can also be community institutions. They demonstrate that democracy is not merely a governance structure but a lived practice of participation, responsibility, and belongingness.
As I return to my work with the Willy Street Co-op Board, that is what I find myself reflecting on most. Not a particular presentation. Not a management framework. Not even a specific leadership lesson. Instead, I keep returning to the Minneapolis leaders who remembered a gesture of support after it was made. I keep thinking about the relationships formed throughout the conference. And I keep thinking about a room full of cooperative leaders singing karaoke together. Those moments may seem small. But they point toward something significant.
Strong communities are built when people invest in one another. Cooperatives get that. It is reflected in our principles, our governance, and our daily work. Sometimes it appears in moments of crisis. Sometimes it appears in moments of celebration. And sometimes it appears when one cooperative reaches out a hand to another and reminds them that we stand together.
That may be the most important thing I brought home from Tacoma. Not a new strategy or management tool, but a renewed appreciation for the power of community, and for the simple truth that cooperatives are at their best when they help people feel connected to something larger than themselves.
During karaoke, I found myself singing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” It wasn’t planned, and I certainly wasn’t the best singer in the room. But as voices joined in from every corner of the room, the song felt less like a performance and more like a reminder. Cooperatives are, at their core, communities of people who continue to believe, in one another, in democratic participation, and in the possibility of building something better together. In times like these, that seems like a belief worth holding onto.
