Leah Pouw: Why Chicago’s block parties matter in a time of anger and disconnection

By Leah Pouw | Special to the Tribune

PUBLISHED: September 2, 2026 at 5:00 AM CDT

I’ve been to dozens of block parties this summer while campaigning for 45th Ward alderperson, and they’ve helped me come to a realization.

Yes, I’ve shaken hundreds of hands (still counting), petted plenty of dogs (the real reason I keep showing up) and eaten more than my share of grilled brats (no ketchup, please). And I’ve talked with neighbors about everything from the never-ending rain to the axle-busting pothole at the end of their street.

But here’s the thing: These block parties do more than help neighbors catch up on each other’s lives and recommend good summer books. They help create a deeper sense of community, which is critical today.

As I traveled across the ward, it struck me that these aren’t just neighborhood parties. They’re an antidote to something we’ve been losing: everyday human connection.

I’m a political candidate, but at these block parties, it’s not about politics — it’s about looking people in the eye and connecting.

I’ve met people who might have written angry posts about me if they were sitting in front of their computer. In person, they shook my hand and told me where they disagreed with me, and we talked it over. I might not have won their vote, but I showed them I’m open to talking about our ward and how we can make it better — together.

There’s something different about disagreeing with someone when you’re standing a few feet away from them — it’s harder to turn a person into a caricature when you’re looking them in the eye. Sometimes, a conversation that might have become an angry comment online instead becomes a handshake and a better understanding of where the other person is coming from. In other words, we develop empathy.

It’s something we used to take for granted, until the COVID-19 pandemic devastated our country. I’m still haunted by the drone footage of an empty downtown Chicago, the terrified eyes of people visible just above their masks at the grocery store.

That sense of loneliness is still with us. A few years ago, the U.S. surgeon general stated that the health effects of chronic loneliness are comparable to smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.

And we’re making it easier than ever to go through an entire day without really interacting with another person. We want our coffee ready before we walk in the door. We want to deposit money without speaking to a teller. We order groceries without seeing anyone, work without seeing colleagues and spend hours communicating through screens.

But, deep inside, we know this isn’t right. The science reinforces what we already understand intuitively: We need other people. We’re wired for connection, even as society gives us more ways to avoid it.

We look for these shortcuts because of our breakneck pace of life. We’re working longer hours, seeing prices skyrocket, worrying about tomorrow. By the time we pull into the driveway at the end of the day, we’re looking for the couch, not a conversation.

Meanwhile, our older neighbors are often home alone, with no one stopping by. Everyone says they don’t want to be isolated. But today, isolation is the path of least resistance — and connection is the thing you have to work for.

I saw this play out at a block party a few weeks ago. The street was full of toddlers chasing each other, parents laughing over paper plates, somebody’s speaker playing “Don’t Stop Believin'” a little too loud. Across the street, on his porch, sat a man in his 80s, just watching it all.

I walked over and introduced myself. He told me he’d lost his wife not long ago, then had a heart attack of his own and was still relearning how to walk. He wasn’t complaining. He just liked being able to sit there and watch the street come alive again — all that noise, all that laughter, right outside his door. He didn’t need anything from me. He just needed to be seen, and to see. That’s the whole point.

Not every act of connection has to be profound. Sometimes it’s a conversation with a neighbor you’ve never met. Sometimes it’s a disagreement that stays civil because you’re standing face to face. Sometimes it’s simply sitting on your porch and watching the people who live around you fill the street with life.

Block parties remind us of something we’ve always known: The instinct to connect hasn’t disappeared; it’s just waiting for the right moment. That’s the kind of Chicago I want to live in — one that keeps sending the invitation.

Leah Pouw is a candidate for alderman in Chicago’s 45th Ward.