Sensory Overload

The trick is to just hold on ~

For the past several weeks, I have been sorting through countless boxes of the documentation of the past 10 years or so of my life.  I have been ruthless in sorting items into boxes marked for 'shredding', 'recycling', or 'Goodwill'.  Four boxes to the shredder, 10 boxes to Goodwill, and countless trips to the recycling bin.  There remains a small box of items I am cautiously keeping, for now.  One of those items is an envelope of photos of a weekend whitewater rafting trip I took years ago with 10-12 friends.  Through the magic of modern technology, and the nice guys at Ritz Camera, I was able to convert the film to digital, and now I may toss out the photos anyway.  But here I have the digital proof of the string of moments that made it all so memorable.

The memory of the trip is as vivid today as the roar of the rapids that weekend was deafening.  You can't really tell in the photo above, but we had an "all-chick" raft to take on Maytag, a Class V cascade on the north fork of the Yuba River.   As  you approach the bend in the river where Maytag lurks, you have to pull over and park your raft, then hike over some boulders to scout the rapid.  Maytag cascades violently down into an electric shock of white foam that you have to quickly navigate to either pull out into the eddy or get sucked into the next cascade, Son of Maytag, a Class IV rapid.

As we all parked our rafts and hiked over, we heard the roar of the rapids before we caught a glimpse of its brutal force.  Even before we reached the top of the boulder, some people were saying, "No way!"  Then, as we all stood shakily atop the slick slab of massive rock, the rest, in unison, said, "NO fucking way."  Maytag leered at us, spitting its foam up, daring us to get closer.

There was good reason for the resounding refusal of most of the group to even consider Maytag.  Earlier that morning, our raft had capsized in the raging river, swollen from the recent snow melt.  A massive wave pushed the front of the raft straight up into the sky and literally tossed everyone out...except for me.  Somehow, I had held onto the rope at the front ~ I was completely vertical as everyone else, including our guide, fell out; and then I came crashing down, face first into the raft.  When I peeked back up, I saw heads bobbing up from under the freezing water, their eyes full of confusion and fear ~ it all happened in a few seconds.  Someone's shoe floated by; I heard people in the other rafts shouting directions, but the words were drowned out by the wailing of the waves around me.  I grabbed a paddle as it floated by and scurried over towards the shore; then a friend's head bobbed up right beside me.  Somehow, I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into the damn raft ~ I have no idea how.  We made it to shore and we saw the others had reached the sides of the rushing river ~ lying back on rocks, panting and shaking. 

Because river rafting is such a clear metaphor for life ~ when you're deep in the middle of it, there's nothing to do except to get back in the damn raft and start again; the rapids only flow in one direction. 

Fear or no fear, there was no going back, and no one to pick us up midway through.  So, when we reached the boulders overlooking Maytag, many in the group had already been slapped around enough by the river.  Six of us, though, all women, stayed silent.  I don't think any of us looked at each other for reassurance, but almost all at once we said, "Let's do it."

My heart was pounding as we checked our gear and climbed back into the raft.  Our guide, a woman, told us to lean forward as much as we could, until we could almost fall out of the raft ~ to face the rapids head on, paddle furiously, and then hang on for dear life and DUCK into the raft at her signal.  She was amazing ~ shouting direction to us as the first rapid belted us back a few feet.  Then, as I felt the free-fall start, my heart soaring up into my throat, she screamed at us to duck ~ in perfect synchronicity we all turned in towards the center of the raft, and hung onto the rope as the raft did a nosedive into the foaming mouth of Maytag.

We slammed down, hard, into the center of the rapid, and immediately sat back out on the edges of the raft ~ to paddle furiously over to the eddy before getting sucked into Son of Maytag.  The roar of the rapids and my heart was deafening ~ but when we stopped moving, all I could hear was the cheering and clapping of our friends ~ standing tall at the top of the boulder above us.  And through the glossy glare of the sun and the water I could see also the satisfaction beaming brightly from the six of us who had climbed back into the raft.

And so I remember now ~ the trick is to hold on tightly and ride out the tumultuous tide.  With any luck, your friends will be on the other side cheering for you.

 

Social Capital ~ my only high yield investment

There’s more to wealth than just money. Social capital is as real as financial capital, and sometimes more valuable. ~ j.d. roth

Getting To Know My Money

Over the past few years I've learned the hard way about the need to bank my bliss ~ my attempts at sustaining a safe reserve in my emotional savings and loan association.  Unfortunately, deposits into my financial institutions have not been nearly as strong.  So, in recent months, for many reasons (not the least of which was Tax Day), I have been trying to master my money issues.  Let me tell you, with personal finances, ignorance is not bliss ~ and it's uncomfortable admitting it to anyone, anywhere ~ much less here.

The mountain of information was staggering and intimidating.  I had no idea where to begin (savings? stocks? mutual funds? IRA? what's the difference?).  Embarrassed by my financial illiteracy, and by the dismal return on my one request for help, I reached out to the anonymous, non-judgmental hero of information we all rely on ~ Google.  Thankfully, beyond all of the staid advice in the popular financial-self-help books, I found several very helpful, down-to-earth financial blogs, many of which serve as quasi-aggregators of the practical advice buried in the (expensive) get-rich books. ~ Thank you blogosphere!

I quickly became addicted to the Get Rich Slowly blog, although my goal is simply to pay down debt ~ no delusions of any sort of financial wealth.  I've taken the first few baby steps encouraged by the GRS blog; and I finally looked into the retirement fund that three+ years of government work has afforded me.  I was pleasantly surprised, relieved really, to discover how much of a nest egg I had built up without even trying (not from a high salary but from healthy contributions).  It's not a huge amount, but it's a safe start and much more than I would have ever saved had I tried on my own.  I've taken other steps, too; but I won't bore you with the details here ~ suffice to say it involves several side-jobs and eBay.  ;-)

All of this tortured explanation is to say that I have spent a lot of time recently (although late in life) learning the value of economic/financial capital.  Most of this anguished self-education has taken place alone ~ late at night, in libraries, or in my favorite tea houses.  Fortunately, Serendipity (in the form of a myriad of hyperlinks through a maze of money-management tips) led me to a December 2007 GRS article about the value of social capital.  To illustrate the concept of social capital, the article refers to one of my favorite movies of all-time, the very wonderful It's A Wonderful Life, and explains:

You generate social capital when you help your neighbor repair a fence, or have your Sunday School class over for barbeque, or join a bowling league. Any time you participate in the community, you are generating social capital, both for yourself, and for the other people involved. Individuals (and communities) with high levels of social capital are able to find help when they need it; those with low social capital can spend a lot of time frustrated and alone.

Getting To Know My Neighbors

Coming face to face with the cold, grim stare of my finances, however, nudged me quietly into the warm embrace of my social capital ~ that richness that revolves all around me in the many pockets of Oakland that claim me as an Oaklander. 

Saturday afternoon, after running a few too many errands on an empty stomach, I wanted to try out the super-cute new cafe (and their Blue Bottle Coffee!) at the bottom of my hill ~ Cafe 504.  I wasn't sure if they would be open, but when I drove up, there was a cute couple sitting outside in the sun, sipping coffee, smiling, chatting ~ so I walked in.  The owner  told me, though, that they had just closed ... because a water pipe under the street had burst and their kitchen was flooding.  Just then, "Chico," a sweet neighbor (and, apparently already a regular at the cafe) explained that two other businesses on that street were flooding, and that the pipe had burst several times over the years.  I told them I had the number to the Public Works Agency programmed in my cell phone...and added that I worked for the City so they wouldn't think I was a freak.  I called the PWA Call Center, but they were closed.  Luckily, I had the cell phone number to a Councilmember from another district, and she explained I should call the OPD non-emergency dispatch, who would transfer me to the Fire Department(!)  But when I finally reached the OFD, they explained that a fresh water pipe is controlled by EBMUD!  As I dialed yet another number, Chico said there was no way they would have known how to navigate through the morass of agencies to call.  In the midst of all this, the ladies from the old-school no-name hair salon next door and the laundromat on the corner wandered out onto the sidewalk and talked to Chico about the flooding.  Fortunately, EBMUD answered right away and the service vehicle was dispatched immediately ~ and Chico ran up to his house to get pictures of the other times the pipe had burst, to show the EBMUD tech. 

The point is, it took the teamwork of about six people to fix something in the neighborhood ~ and all the while that couple at the table outside quietly continued their caffeinated conversation.  Despite the mayhem and flooding, I felt an amazing sense of community ~ it was quite a memorable way to meet the owner, Jaime, and other neighbors; not to mention an elaborate way for the cafe to put together its 'emergency contact list'. 

I went inside to say goodbye to Jaime, since EBMUD was on its way.  Just then, Jaime's beautiful three little daughters came flying into the cafe, followed by their father.  It was so fun to see the whole family breathing life into the beautiful little oasis they had brought to our little street.  Then, for no reason at all, one of Jaime's daughters quietly walked over to me, and hugged me.  She only came up to my waist, so she wrapped her arms around my legs and pressed her head to my waist ~ I was overwhelmed.   She looked up at me with a smile.  Her blond hair literally glowed from the sunbeams streaming in through the windows, and the indigo color of her blouse was as profound as the deep blue oceans in her eyes ~ this little girl's smile felt like the sun washing over your face and the breeze cooling your toes as you lay in the grass. Overwhelming.  She silently hugged me again, and then ran off with her sisters. 

The owner and the Barista thanked me, and insisted I take a cup of coffee to go ~ I told them I wanted to come back as soon as they were open again (because that coffee was delicious!).  It's nice to know that I have a cafe only a block away, where everyone will know my name ~ I look forward to making Cafe 504 my own Oakland version of Cheers.

Walking The Walk

The coffee/flooding incident made me late for my 2 pm appointment ~ I had volunteered to meet at my boss's campaign office to campaign for her re-election, at local businesses up and down 20 blocks of Telegraph Avenue.  I still hadn't eaten anything all day, so I wasn't really looking forward to a two-mile city walk to discuss politics with people.

My partner, Reza, and I set out from the Plaza to the first business at 17th and Telegraph Avenue: Wigs by Tiffany.  The store was amazing!  It was huge, and mannequin heads with wigs of all shapes, sizes, and colors were displayed on shelves reaching up to the ceiling; there were hundreds of white foam heads with mysterious eyes and pouty lips, neatly lined up like floating soldierettes, staring at us as we wandered into the store.  We stumbled through our campaign pitch to Tiffany herself and, thankfully, she took a sign to put in her window. 

Having quickly found success, Reza and I confidently set out on our journey ~ a mile up Telegraph to 34th Street and then back down the other side of Telegraph.   We had the most amazing three hours, finding little gems (even the ones that are rough around the edges) all along Telegraph Avenue.  I discovered that McB's Shoes at 17th Street really has a large selection of nice dress shoes, kickin' boots, and hip handbags.  Because their windows are partially tinted, it seems it would be hard for the store to get noticed by drivers zipping through the intersection; but the store was very busy when we walked in.  Within minutes I was really glad I was out walking in a tiny portion of our District, actually meeting the business owners I usually assist by telephone (my Boss and another staff member are usually the ones who meet constituents in person).  In fact, when I introduced myself to some of the merchants, they recognized my name or said they had spoken to me by phone ~ and then the conversation would lengthen, deepen, to specific concerns of each business.  At the end of the day, I had a long list of issues to research for several of the merchants ~ but I also had a wealth of unique information about each business.

At Lam-Toro, the wonderful West African restaurant near 25th, Mamadou asked us how he could get information about business micro-loans.  At the Rock Paper Scissors Art Collective, they accepted our sign but explained the Collective would have to vote on Monday to decide whether they can place it in the window.  At Mama Buzz Cafe, the hipsterette behind the counter with the buzzed haircut said yes to the sign and then ignored us as I held the chair on which Reza balanced precariously while he tried to tack the sign into the wall. 

When we walked into Bibliomania, at 18th Street, we were greeted by the comforting, dusty 'used bookstore smell'.  I love the smell of used bookstores ~ not only of the story itself, but the history of the book...where its been, whose read it, whose loved it, how many places its been through.  I sometimes buy used books which have been highlighted or otherwise marked up ~ personal notes in the margin, underlining in sections the past reader found important ~ and I love that about used books ~ the tiny glimpse I get into the thoughts of the person who read the book before me.  All of those thoughts whirled around me as we stepped inside and the gray-haired husband-wife owners greeted us.

Reza and I took turns making the pitch, and we received more Yeses than Noes.  As we walked along we also got to know each other.  Reza told me he was born in Canada, then moved to the States, then spent a year in Iran, and back to the States again.  When I asked him how his parents ended up in Albany, Ca, he explained: "My dad lived in the States, then he went to Iran to get a wife, and came back."  I laughed and said he made it sound so simple.  We both talked about speaking Farsi and Spanish at home, about our families, and a little politics.

When we reached the Marwa Halal Market at 30th Street, on 'Oakland's Butcher Block', Reza made the pitch completely in Farsi to the Afghan owner.  The owner didn't know very much about my Boss, so we showed him a picture.  A woman who was at the counter said, "Oh I know her.  She helped me with my literacy tutoring, at Second Start."  And that's how we turned the discussion to my boss's commitment to literacy ~ we couldn't have asked for a better real-life example. 

I began to notice that at nearly every business we went into, friends and neighbors were gathered around, talking and spending time together.  The exchange of social capital was taking place at least as much as, or in some cases, more than, the exchange of financial capital.

At the River Nile Market, next to Halal Meat and Produce, the beautiful young man behind the counter sat and talked with two of his friends ~ and let us place a campaign sign in his window.  He asked me, genuinely concerned but in a hip/tough kind of way:"Is it true Oakland is going to turn into the next Emeryville?"   At Prime Communications, the small wireless store next to Marwa Halal, three older African-American men sat in folding chairs and exchanged stories.  At the Korean beauty store near 27th Street, three older women sat around a tiny table having tea over animated discussion.  At nearly every one of the dozen or so nail shops we entered, families gathered around, waiting for the one getting her nails done.  The chatter mixed with the chemical fumes was dizzying.

On Telegraph Avenue, Ethiopian spices are being sold next door to Afghan breads next door to kosher meat and seafood next door to nag champa and shea butter next door to Cajun seafood (where super burritos also happen to be offered).  Sprinkled along the Avenue are also the cd's, videos, and body oils sold at House of Soul; the wildly busy market at Koreana Plaza; African art, clothing, and jewelery at Sami African Imports ~ all tucked in between the empty retail spaces we still need desperately to fill.

The day was topped off by a leisurely, amazing meal at Lam-Toro and two glasses of their delicious Bissap ~ where family members of the owner or employees gathered in the corner lounge by the window, and we all laughed as their toddler ran around, stumbling and giggling.  All of this was the Oakland I adore ~ I felt like my entire day was a huge investment in my portfolio of social capital ~ I hope you'll invest, too. ~ :)

The Poetry of Silence

Years ago, I somehow wrote a post about my version of The Function of Art.  Today, I learned a little about the function of poetry.

From today's edition of The World:
        The Politics of Poetry

Another art form is under scrutiny from another group of arbiters of taste.  In Britain, the Queen's English Society says it's fed up with modern poetry.  These guardians of the English language say it's not a poem if it doesn't have rhyme or meter.  That's open to debate.  Which leads us to ask: what is a poem?  The World's Alex Gallafent has the answer, or rather, the answers:

Sometimes a poem is an ode to love by Pablo Neruda or some nonsense verse by Lewis Carroll.  It could be a sonnet from Shakespeare or a howl from Ginsburg.  It can be all these things and more.  So, sure we could talk about the rules of poetry, whatever they might be.  But instead let's consider the function of poetry.

Remember Terry Waite?  He was one of the hostages held in Beirut. Well after his release, Waite wrote a poem:

Yesterday is with you now
the same train
the same grandmother
the same forefathers
now you may cry the bitter tears of anguish
now you may howl with the primitive howl of a lost soul
now you may embrace
forever

Now, you may like Terry Waite's poetry; you may not.  But it's a good guess that writing it had value for Mr. Waite.

Poetry can also hold value for communities.  The British poet Simon Armitage wrote this poem three months after September 11th:

Here is an architecture of air.
Where dust is cleared,
nothing stands but free sky, unlimited and sheer

Smoke's dark bruise
has paled, soothed ...

[Mr. Armitage] "There seems to be an urge to communicate through poetry and poetry has always had some kind of responsibility right down the edges.  Every now and again, the moment seems right to put things down in words."

So, poetry can be some kind of record - a detailed snapshot in language.  And it doesn't have to come from full-time professional poets.  Take for example Malaysian lawyer Cecil Rajendra : when he's not practicing law, he's practicing his poetry and he enjoys it: "The language of law is very ossified and stilted language, whereas in poetry, the language is more creative - it's more dynamic."

Here's part of Rajendra's poem, Apologies to the Trees:

...if only politicians were trees
think how our budgets and diets would be balanced
their fruit, flower, roots, and leaves could give such rich sustenance
and what a bonus it would be
if we the constituents could hack them down each time they became a nuisance
if only
politicians were trees...

[Now, you may like Mr. Rajendra's poem; you may not ~ but if you have never heard of Cecil Rajendra, I urge you to read more about this fascinating social justice lawyer-slash-political poet.]

. . .[Finally], all poets ... should listen to this wisdom from the late Mexican poet Octavio Paz:

....al poeta lo conocemos tanto por sus palabras como por sus silencios. Desde el principio el poeta sabe, obscuramente, que el silencio es inseparable de la palabra....

...poets are known both for their words and their silences.  From the beginning the poet knows that silence is inseparable from the word....

Good advice for poets and politicians.

[Note: I didn't transcribe the entire report.  There are two more poems included, and you can listen to the entire 4+ minute report, here or other stories from The World, here.  The lovely image is by Edric Hsu.]

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In 2005, Waite gave a lecture in Maadi, Egypt about his experiences in solitary confinement for four years in Beirut.  The title of his lecture was 'Survival in Solitude'.  Waite described his survival technique, of having to learn to live from within:

As Waite saw his physical body disintegrate he knew he had to learn to live from within. In his mind he ‘wrote’ poetry and thought of books he knew well. He used the language of his mind to create harmony in his soul. Your whole life is in your head, really; you cannot see, hear, think, talk, etc., without your mind. Therefore, you must use creative imagination to keep your soul going, but you must also discipline the mind so that it doesn’t run away from you and think of the worst possible scenario. Also, he said it is important for everyone, at some point in life, to be self-centered; not to be selfish, but to know the self. When you do this, you realize the dark side of your self along with the light side, and you must face it. You cannot focus on obliterating the darkness, but rather embrace your humanness and heighten your lightness for the world.

And so, I remain primarily silent ~ nothing much here tonight is original thought; you can hear it and read it on the Internet (and I really hope you click on some or all of the links when you have time).  I want only to share with you a little of what I heard today ~ a little food for thought in case, like me, you didn't have dinner; a snippet of what ran through my thoughts today and continues to mill about my mind as the northern California wind boldly howls outside, rattling the window panes as forcefully as it thunders through my thoughts ~ and this moment seemed right to put into words ~ so that, without speaking, without meeting, without knowing ... we share something.

Give the Butterflies a Break

From today's edition of The World:

It's about 180 miles as the crow flies...the purple crow butterfly, that is.  One hundred and eighty miles is the length of the annual migration of purple crow butterflies through Taiwan.  The purple crow butterfly has a much shorter trip than its migrating North American relative, the monarch butterfly; still, it's not an easy journey.  The purple crow butterflies fly along busy roads where they can get sucked into traffic.  So, Taiwanese authorities have taken to closing parts of the highway to give the butterflies a break.

Caroline Gluck reports from National Freeway No. 3, "the front line in the battle to try to protect the butterflies."  This is the second year running that the National Freeway authorities have taken measures to try to protect the butterflies from  being crushed or killed by traffic as they make their annual migration from southern Taiwan to the north where they go to lay their eggs.  The measures are costing around 83,000 U.S. dollars, but the Director General of the Taiwan area National Freeway Bureau says it is money well spent, for this special creature.

When the number of purple crow butterflies reaches more than 500 per minute, authorities will close a section about one mile long along the outer lane of the freeway.  They will also set up 13-foot safety nets, fencing in part of the outer lane to encourage the butterflies to fly high above the traffic.  And, hundreds of new trees have been planted along the highway to serve as butterfly rest areas.

When Ms. Gluck traveled to a farm about 12 miles from the highway, thousands of the butterflies were taking nectar in the woods, gathering strength before they continue on their long journey.  The purple crow butterflies are highly sensitive to cloudy or cool temperatures; they won't move on until the weather conditions are just right.

Someone once told me, through a random thought, que la belleza aparece sin avisar.  Thank you Taiwan, for protecting your mari-posas.  San Francisco knows this is important too, especially in Yerba Buena Gardens:

If you know me, you'll understand this post.  But even if you don't, please remember to protect your personal butterflies~ that person who makes you feel butterflies in your soul ~ whomever and wherever they may be ~

And on that note, I give you these notes ~ an ode to maripositas everywhere ~ the sexy, the scandalous, and the sweet ~

Mariposa en Havana ~ Si*Sé

Mariposa Tracionera ~ Maná

Mariposita ~ Alberto Marino

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it's the little things

You work day in and day out with the same people; celebrating one, then two, birthdays within the same walls ~ they start to feel like family, especially during those 14+ hour days when you (have to) have dinner together in the office, preparing for the big meeting, sometimes bickering over your political positions as you pass the potatoes, often laughing together as you compare gossip, lightening the day's mood before it gets singed by the night's fiery rhetoric. 

It all starts to become a blur, it seems like everyone is wearing the same suit, or same colors, every week ~ or like nothing changes, despite the chaos around you.  So, it feels like they don't, or won't or can't, notice little things about you that seep in under your skin like shadows under a door ~ the shift in your shoulders as the days wear on, the dulling of the spark in your eyes as you wither under the weight of a silent avalanche of emotion.  You work quietly and think no one notices anything about you.  Just your work.

And then one day someone walks in and, from several feet away, exclaims, "You're wearing earrings!  You never wear earrings!"  And later, someone else notices, too.  And the tiny studs are a big deal because you never, ever wear any jewelry except a thin silver chain around your neck ~ and no one has ever asked why you just wear that chain and nothing else.  And the moment is momentous because you realize you have been noticed.  When all this time, you thought you were quietly hiding out in the open.

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Me, I never wear jewelry ~ save for that special chain.  I've never felt comfortable in earrings because I feel like they 'call too much attention'.  I wish I could wear them confidently like others (men and women), changing them to match my moods.   Apparently, my mother and grandmother thought I would be the type, because I hear they pierced my ears on the front porch when I was a toddler, with a sewing needle.  But years ago, as a teenager, I guess I decided I would like to walk past you and have you notice the sparkle in my smile, not the glint of metal dangling from my ear.  Maybe that's what happened ~ a strong rejection of style and peer pressure, to proclaim my individuality ~ of naked ears.

Oh, I've tried over the years ~ I've bought fancy, dangling, beautiful earrings ~ but when I look in the mirror, it is not me.  A little (or a lot of) lipgloss, yes ~ but a shiny shout of personality dancing around the nape of my neck?  No.  Years ago, a boyfriend was pleasantly surprised, even grateful, for my disinterest in jewelry ~ cheap date and easy to impress, it seems.  But I am interested; I secretly covet certain gems ~ I just don't want them, and wouldn't know how to wear them anyway.   Besides, the guilt over diamonds would take all the fun out of it. 

And so, much of the experimental jewelery I have bought for myself sits in little trays on an antique dresser in my bedroom ~ a collection of colorful little eyes that watch me walk by every morning without touching them.  Waiting every day to be noticed ~ I know that feeling.

But this morning, for no reason, I picked up a pair.  Sometimes I really do do things for no reason at all.  Ask around ~ it's true.  ~ As usual, I was late to work.  The unruly curls went unwashed so I scooped them up like a single-dip cone of Haagen Dazs dark chocolate ice cream ~ and stuck a pin in 'em.  Then, without explanation, and as if I had been doing it every morning for years, I grabbed two tiny blue pearl-like earrings and pinned them to my ears as I walked out the door.  I felt like such a girl ~ I didn't know how to feel about that.

So, I thought no one would notice the little studs ~ or that no one would notice that I never wear jewelry.  But a few people did.  And it was startling, but also a little comforting, to realize people do notice you ~ notice things about you, or habits you have ~ that you don't even realize seep into people's subconsciousness. 

And so of course, it made me wonder what other little things people notice ~ especially all of the little things I try to hide.  And it made me think about what I notice in other people ~ the quiet little things they do or don't do, that speak volumes about them. 

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I like to watch people in my favorite local tea shops ~ friends and couples and people sitting alone ~ the secret body language between lovers, the comforting slouching among friends, the way the loner dangles the pencil between his lips as he ponders over which profound statement to scribble in his journal that day.

What do you think?  What little things, or changes from the ordinary, do you notice in the people around you ~ the ones who have been around you for years ~ what new thing will you notice about them today?  Will you smile slyly, content in being a part of their secret?  Will you miss it because you are blinded by the banality of seeing them every day?  Will you notice if they notice a subtle change about you today?

I'm just asking ~ It's 3:00 in the morning ~ I just worked a 14-hour day ~ I was pulled over by a police officer on my way home from work, at 11 pm, and had to hope he would believe my explanation about the registration tags ~ really, tonight of all nights did that have to happen?  And I have to be back in the office in six hours ~ but maybe I'll wear earrings again, a different pair ~ just to see what happens ~ ~ ;-)

It's About Community and Vision ~ and some Luck

My motivation is, what I keep learning ~ from the people, from the cities, from the governments.  I don't keep doing this because I have so much to offer  ~ I keep doing it because I have so much to learn. ~ Mark Hildebrand, 2 April 2008.

I just returned from a compelling lecture by Mark Hildebrand at U.C Berkeley's Institute of Urban and Regional Development (IURD), in the Global Metro Studies department.  Before today, I'd never heard of Mark Hildebrand, but after today his words will ring in my mind every time I get discouraged with my work, which, lately, has been often.

Mark helped establish the Cities Alliance at the World Bank in 1998, and built it into a global coalition of cities and development partners which, in short, works to create 'Cities Without Slums'. More specifically, Mark's mission through the Cities Alliance was to help cities in developing countries cultivate strategic decision-making in managing urban growth ("City Development Strategies"), to realize the positive impacts of urbanization, and to unleash the potential of cities in managing urban growth to reduce poverty ('slum upgrading') as well as prevent the creation of new slums.

Why was I at this lecture, entitled 'Policy Choices and Slums'?  How did I get to leave work early to attend this lecture on global issues, you ask?  Because the invitation to the lecture pointed out that "slums are not inevitable -- they are the result of failed policies, not poverty.  Policies which anticipate urban growth and promote city-wide inclusion strategies can pre-empt environmental degradation and health risks and help nations realize the positive impacts of urban growth."  And, while we do not have "slums" per se in Oakland, we do struggle with a serious level of poverty and blight, some of it exacerbated over the years by short-sighted land-use policy decisions (or non-decisions) from previous Administrations.  We must also address serious environmental issues, both because of the Port and the impending peak oil collapse.  To compound it all, we also face significant population growth: the projected population growth for Alameda County is 18.3% from 1997 to 2010, and 28.2% from 1997 to 2020.  Here in Oakland, there is intense debate over zoning, land development, and housing issues on how to best manage density and affordable housing, and how to attract business, and how to serve our current residents.  It is a Herculean task.

So, while my job focuses on a tiny corner of the world called Oakland, I often seek out lectures and seminars on global urban development because there is always a parallel in the issues that cities (and local governments) face, whether in California or Cameroon.   What I expected most out of this job is that we truly are directly accountable to everyone in Oakland, not just the voters ~ and in turn, I wanted that to mean that I could directly create change, however small, here within our city limits ~ even change inspired by people and programs on the other side of the world.  Often, too, I am desperate for innovation, for creative development solutions that seem to only occur in developing countries where red-tape doesn't act as a blindfold over vision nor suffocate community voice.  So, I set out to attend a lecture on global poverty, to regain my local focus and inspiration.

According to a 2006 UN-Habitat Report, globally, the slum population is set to grow at the rate of 27 million per year in the period 2000 to 2020.  Mark's lecture focused on Sub-Saharan Africa (where he lived for many years), where 72% of the urban population lives in slums; Latin America and Caribbean, with 134 million slum dwellers; and Asia where slum dwellers make up approximately 60% of the world's total slum population.

Mark discussed the lessons learned in implementing the Cities Without Slums goal in various countries, including innovative programs (and some success) in Brazil, Thailand, and Morocco, as well as shortcomings in several cities.  Ultimately, Mark wants to unleash the potential of cities, noting that the key challenges should serve as guiding goals:

• Cities need to be transformed into proactive developers of urban infrastructure, rather than passive service providers.
• Cities need to mobilize domestic capital.  In Oakland this means creating opportunities for local entrepreneurship, training our work force, and retaining and attracting business.
• We must nurture a well-managed City benefiting the environment.
• We must develop policies predicated on growth.
• We must create a conducive climate for the informal sector.

In other words, Mark said, instead of debating the contribution of cities to development, more energy needs to be spent on unblocking it.  (I wish he would come say this at Open Forum at one of our City Council meetings.)  Overall, Mark stressed the importance of capacity building and coherence at the local government level, and the need to create community building strategies, not just housing strategies.  Mark knows this ~ in addition to the countless cities he has assisted in developing countries, he also built 360 classrooms in rural Chad.  That fact is the one he said with the most pride.

After the lecture, I spoke briefly with Mark, about the parallels between the global issues he addresses in his work and the local issues we face here in Oakland.  I asked him, if he had one element of his model to impress upon our local leaders, what would it be?  He answered simply, "It's about the community, and vision ~ the community vision."

Somehow I overcame my awe of this man and continued speaking with him, eventually asking him how he started in this amazing line of work ~ of life.  He said he is actually an Architect and, decades ago, he tried for about two years to work on this type of urban development.  He said that through a friend he snagged an interview for a job in Tanzania.  It was clear the interviewer was not interested in hiring Mark and so he continued his job search.  A year or so later, a house Mark built was featured in a magazine.  The man who had interviewed him saw the article and called Mark ~ and hired him.  The rest, as they say, is history.  "It's about luck," he said.

After that, I introduced myself to the Professor, thanking him for allowing me to barge into his class.  It turns out the lecture I was invited to was actually the regular class of about 10 students ~ I felt like an interloper, bringing local concerns to a class about global issues.  But it turns out the class is conducting a study project on People's Grocery, which is in West Oakland.  The Professor said he'd like to invite me back to the class to discuss local issues ~ and maybe even to give a presentation.  After Mark's lecture, I was humbled and honored (amazed) the Professor even considered me.

And so I left, inspired, motivated, and hoping I can make my way into some kind of luck ~