Bowling Together
So do you all know about the much-lauded research by Robert Putnam, author of Bowling Alone? He posits that "we sign fewer petitions, belong to fewer organizations that meet, know our neighbors less, meet with friends less frequently, and even socialize with our families less often. We're even bowling alone. More Americans are bowling than ever before, but they are not bowling in leagues."
Since the book was published, many critics have argued that citizen participation remains vibrant, but that it's taken new forms--and even Putnam now acknowledges this. But still, there's a lot of talk about the general apathy and cynicism surrounding civic life and the political system.
As you've gathered from my vague and (hopefully) stalker-deterring-non-specific work-related posts, I do a lot of work with small-town politics, and one of the hardest aspects of my job is to get residents to speak up for progressive causes. This is a real departure for me, since I was never politically active until I took a graduate school class on civic engagement, and then got roped into volunteering on several successful, power-to-the-people local political campaigns (my favorite: an openly gay 24-year-old beating out a crotchety, long-term incumbent who'd been in office, doing essentially nothing, for almost a decade). Before that, I'd never voted in a local election, and I didn't know the names of my state reps, much less my alderman.
But I digress. At work, we were crushed in our first advocacy effort (a real travesty, which still makes my blood boil when I think of it), and then soundly defeated on an ill-fated ballot initiative. On Tuesday night, I attended the last of three public hearings about the fate of a vacant city-owned lot--which could be auctioned off for profit, or redeveloped for the greater good. The Aldermen compromised, and decided to auction it off and then use the proceeds for the greater good. But then we had to ask: what percentage of the proceeds? Would anything prevent the construction of a hideous condo complex?
Alas. A group of residents came together. They approached my organization. With our help, they mobilized. They circulated letters, submitted a petition, and contacted their aldermen. And then they attended--and spoke passionately at--three hearings, the last of which had a packed agenda, such that the fate of the lot wasn't discussed until 11:30 p.m.. We all sat through riveting discussions about City Council rules of order and municipal health insurance. Then we enjoyed a scintillating presentation entitled "Tax Assessments: How and Why."
Then, finally we had a chance to say persuasive things, and watch the wheels of democracy churn, and celebrate when the decision was made to auction off the lot and give all of the proceeds for the greater good, while stipulating that any new construction fit with the character of the neighborhood.
The next day, one of the leaders of the efforts sent a thank-you message to everyone involved. He wrote that the City had given a Valentine to all the disadvantaged residents in Town. I started crying happy years, because the power of a small group of amazing people really did make an impact. Some people really do care, and sometimes they can influence the Powers that Be to make good decisions. In the scheme of things, this vacant lot is a tiny drop in the ocean of injustice, but it meant a lot to me.
And it made Valentine's Day suck a lot less.
Posted by Dori at 10:42 AM
1 Comments
Yay! You rock!
Post a Comment
« Home