Village Politics - Rebuilding Engaged Communities

How
do we
respond to a political landscape where Meg Whitman can spend $80 million
on her
primary candidacy alone? Or where, aided by the ghastly Citizen's United
Supreme
Court decision, right-wing groups are pledging over $200 million for the
November elections. On-the-ground activism is key, ordinary citizens
reaching
out to knock on doors, make phone calls, talk to friends, neighbors and
coworkers, spread the word through social media, and do everything
possible to
convince undecided voters and get reluctant supporters to the polls.
That's
what so many of us did during 2006 and 2008, helping tip the balance in
race
after race. If voters are dependent on campaign ads and sound bites to
make
their decisions, the most manipulative politics tends to prevail. If we
can
reach out broadly enough to talk about the real choices at and reach out
beyond
the core converted to those who may have vastly different perspectives
and experience
hand, we can overcome the electronic lies.

If we do this well enough, even with lowered expectations, we'll be in
far
better shape working to create a more just and sustainable world. If we
do it
badly, or fail to actually reach out, we'll go backwards. So the next
hundred
and something days matter immensely.

One
way
to do this outreach while simultaneously building a base for the future
is to
work toward engaging those face-to-face communities we're already part
of in
key issues like climate change or the challenges of creating a just and
sustainable economy. This means churches and temples, PTA's, block
associations
and Rotary Clubs, soccer clubs and softball leagues, the places we work,
and
all the other ordinary institutions of daily life. Building on the
community
that they offer, and on our relationships with colleagues, co-workers,
and
neighbors who already know us, they can provide powerful venues to
engage our
fellow citizens in our country's most critical issues.

I
first
saw the power of this approach initiated by a Baptist preacher in
Florence, South
Carolina named Bill Cusak. Although Bill had never
organized anything more controversial than a revival meeting, he became
concerned that the Reagan-era nuclear arms race was risking his
granddaughter's
future. The issue challenged him "like a crowbar to my soul." Bill
approached a community college biologist who'd written a letter to the
local
paper, and they began building an activist community from scratch. They
spoke
and showed a video on the arms race at every church, PTA, and garden
club that
would have them. They enlisted a key African American pastor and asked
younger
church members to enlist their friends.

One
of
the first groups Bill addressed was the local Rotary Club, where he was a
longtime member. "They kind of treated me like I had the plague," he
recalled later. But eventually some responded. "Basically," he said,
"it takes like to reach like: youth to reach youth; blacks to reach
blacks; Catholics to reach Catholics. I even think," he added with a sly
smile, "it takes Baptists to reach Baptists." Moving from this issue
to others like homelessness, Bill began to change his community.

Granted,
some
contexts are more intimate and approachable than others. And some have
been supplanted by virtual communities, which I'll talk about in a
separate
essay. But even megacities such as Los Angeles, New York, or Denver
are vast patchworks of smaller communities, or potential communities.
Every
neighborhood, business, fraternal organization, or church group
represents a
potentially fertile field for public discussion. When we use these
networks to
promote humane social visions, we can build on existing bonds of human
conviviality and connection, and have the advantage of acting where
people know
us. As Karl Hess, a former Barry Goldwater speechwriter turned Vietnam
War
opponent, once wrote, "To carry the message of a cause in a community
when
you are a generally respected neighbor is far better than when you do it
as
virtually your sole activity in public."

I
saw
another example of this in a University
of Michigan student group
called Greeks for Peace, founded after scattered fraternity and sorority
members got involved in peace and justice issues and realized that they
weren't
the only ones. They organized events that brought critical social issues
into
the traditionally disengaged domain of Michigan's
Greek system. People who otherwise would never have taken an interest
began to
respond. While these students wouldn't have walked across the quad to
hear the
exact same speakers discussing these issues, they responded when peers
invited
them to events held in safe and familiar environments, like the lounge
of a
major sorority. "So much politics," said one of the founders "is
geared for those already involved. We wanted a vehicle for people to be
with
their friends and learn to take a stand together."

Mobilizing
these
kinds of villages can give us both the confidence and means to address
often overwhelming political and economic problems. The community they
provide
can also ease the inevitable frustrations of working for social change,
helping
us endure the endless phone calls, meetings, and other repetitive tasks
needed
to galvanize people to act.

Most
of
all, engaging these communities can broaden the stream of those who
participate
in social change, drawing on common bonds that already exist, and
drawing in
those previously disengaged. In the wake of the Louisana oil spill, I
think of
how surfer (and computer scientist) named Glenn Hening began worrying
about the
pollution and deterioration of the California
beaches near his home. He'd just become a father and wondered whether
his
daughter would be able to enjoy the beaches when she was older. Glenn
was also
increasingly angry at the stereotype of surfers as dumb blond party
animals
"whose total vocabulary consists of 'hang ten,' 'cowabunga,' and 'far
out.' He decided to counteract that image by persuading his fellow
surfers to
"use their skills to protect the marine environment for all of us."

Glenn
first
talked to surfer friends who were similarly concerned. Their inaugural
effort addressed a Malibu
lagoon where spillage of polluted water was damaging the shape of the
waves on
an adjacent beach. The group, now called the Surfrider Foundation, next
challenged the dumping of contaminated waste into that same lagoon.
Fellow
surfers enlisted in droves.

Surfrider
went
on to win the second-largest Clean Water Act suit in American history,
stopping pulp mills from polluting northern California's Humboldt Bay.
Members
testified at hearings, filed lawsuits, educated schoolchildren about
marine
ecology, challenged destructive developments, and monitored coastal
water
pollution levels nationwide. They enlisted swimmers, divers,
beachcombers,
windsurfers, and sympathetic environmental scientists. The organization
now has
50,000 members in chapters throughout the United States, plus affiliates
in
eighteen other countries on five continents.

Glenn
has
helped change the culture of his community, in a way that offers lessons
for
other communities as well. The challenges we face to create a more just
and
sustainable world remain immense, but because of his efforts and those
of his
compatriots there's one more group of people ready to try and take them
on. "Before
we started, a beach full of surfers would end up being a beach full of
trash.
We let developers wreck some of the finest surfing areas on the planet.
That
doesn't happen anymore. By now, the issues we've raised have gained the
attention of surfers everywhere. They think about water quality, the
impact of
development, the need for government agencies to protect the
environment. We
created a new thread in the weave of what it means to be a surfer."

So
what
does this mean for November and beyond? We need the kinds of immediate
practical outreach that tip elections, but we also need to keep building
engaged community, as a base that makes everything else far more
possible. If
we do enough of both we have a chance to prevail.