I think a lot about gentrification.

As Wikipedia describes it:
Gentrification is a shift in an urban community toward wealthier residents and/or businesses and increasing property values,^[1] sometimes to the detriment^{[citation needed]} of the poorer residents of the community.

I went with a Wikipedia definition on this one because there’s something intriguing about that little [citation needed] superscripted to the idea that gentrification hurts poor people.

Gentrification is a complex, and often controversial, issue.

Not so hot that the Wikipedia article is locked to prevent abuse or dramatization, but controversial enough that [citation needed] reads to me like a snarky, “Yeah? Prove it, buddy.”

Today, a community voices article from my hometown (holllla!) has been making it’s way around the web. 20 ways to not be a gentrifier in Oakland is a positive article articulating the ways that “outsiders” can move to a community without becoming gentrifiers.

“…it isn’t the mere act of moving into a neighborhood that makes you a gentrifier; it’s what you do once you get there,” the article opens before delving into tips for how to really appreciate a community for what it is and to understand and appreciate your neighbors.

And all of that is great. Whether in Oakland or beyond, new people moving into a community should be thinking in terms of community assets. They should see the strength and spirit of a place and understand why the locals scrawl Oakland Pride with spray paint under the overpasses.

And while its great to have such a welcoming attitude, I’m not sure I agree that “it isn’t the mere act of moving into a neighborhood that makes you a gentrifier.”

I was struck by that comment, particularly since this article is from Oakland.

I was born and raised in Oakland, CA. If I hadn’t stolen away to go to school in Massachusetts, I’d be a fifth generation Oaklander. My mother still lives there. My grandparents had a bakery – over on High Street, if I’m getting my history right.

I love the city. I know its sights, sounds, and smells. I’ve seen its dark corners and its bright days. I’ve talked smack about San Francisco and dominated anyone who ever breathed a word putting us down.

If I lived in Oakland, I would be a local. With deep roots and authentic passion. If I lived in Oakland, I’d do everything on the “20 ways” list, and possibly a few more. If I lived in Oakland, no one could call me a newcomer.

But if I lived in Oakland, I would be a gentrifier.

With my middle class and my East Coast airs.

I’d love the city and appreciate the city, and arguably I’d belong in the city. But I’d still add to rising rents and growing costs, eventually forcing my neighbors from their homes.

It’s okay that I’ve grown the way I have. And I hope it’s okay that I’ve found a new community to make my home. But the truth is I’m gentrifying Somerville just as I’d gentrify Oakland.

Living the American dream, perhaps, but at the cost of whom?

Is equality in dialogue possible?

I had scribbled in the margins of an article on deliberative dialogue which I re-read this morning.

Apparently, I’d been feeling quite skeptical on first read since additional scrawls included:
How do you socialize people to be prepared for engagement? Listening to stupid opinions, being patient.

And perhaps worse:
Is there something elitist in saying “we know public deliberation is best for you?”

I don’t always feel that skeptical. I am, in general, quite in favor of deliberation and would most certainly put it in my mental list of Good Things. And I love the romantic notion that if we were all just a little more open to each other’s views, all a little more prepared to listen thoughtfully, and if we were all more frequently blessed with fabulous facilitation and intentional meeting design – then our deliberative democracy would be something quite awesome to behold.

But I’ve also been battle scarred by poorly facilitated meetings. I’ve seen too many opportunists sure to have their say, and too many disempowered members who don’t think they have anything worth saying. I’ve seen meetings scheduled when “the people” can’t make it, and meetings not offered in the language of a neighborhood.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to a lot of great meetings as well – I love meetings, to be honest. But I’ve seen enough to be, at times at least, deeply skeptical of the ideal – of the “romantic notion” as I called it above.

Today, if you’ll allow, I’d like to explore that skeptism.

Is equality in dialogue possible?

In many ways, my skepticism comes down to that question. The classic example is the bombastic orator determined to make their point and dominate the meeting. This archetype can be troublesome, no doubt, but personally, this is not my top concern. I have confidence in a skilled facilitator’s ability to manage that.

More troublesome to me is the language barrier. I’ve been to meetings run in English and interpreted in Spanish and meetings run in Spanish and interpreted in English. For someone who is not bilingual, I can say clearly that the experience is not the same.

Facilitation can help with this – making sure the interpretation is simultaneous and there are sufficient pauses for those in the non-dominant language to jump in. But even with great facilitation, language barriers are likely to damper someone’s involvement. So at best, it seems like a matter of rotating a group’s dominant language. The alternate solution of keeping groups monolingual is clearly fraught with other challenges.

Multilingual meetings also require a different sense of time planning then most of us are used to – the reality is that having successful multilingual meetings slows conversation down. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing – in fact, I’d argue that most conversations would benefit from slowing down. So, language barriers are a challenge, but they too seem surmountable.

What worries me most is the baggage that participants come in with. Not only the meeting-dominator, who surely has something complex going on up there, but all the other participants, too.

The person who is tired from a long day or who is hungry from skipping lunch isn’t going to be able to participate fully. The person who’s loved one is in the hospital or who has a major deadline the next day isn’t going to be able to participate fully.

And the person who’s grown accustomed to being silent – who’s confident they have nothing to say, and that their presence is of little to no value – won’t be able to participate fully either.

And, this of course, is assuming those people show up in the first place.

A facilitator can help with some of this – making sure everyone has a chance to speak, engaging everyone in the conversation. But at the end of the day, it’s often not enough. The baggage you bring in with you is the biggest obstacle to your full participation and nobody else can change that for you.

So I worry about those folks, and sometimes I get skeptical.

But I’m not always skeptical. Today, for example, under my earlier note of:
Is equality in dialogue possible?

I added, after a moment’s pause:
Does it matter if it’s not?

Perhaps it’s just the worst form of government…except for all the others.

Perhaps because I’ve been thinking so much about the intersections of individuality, dialogue, and democracy this week, I was struck this morning by the Onion headline: Dad Delivers State Of The Union Rebuttal Directly Into Television Screen. As the article says:

Reiterating numerous themes from last year’s rebuttal while offering several searing critiques of tonight’s speech, area dad Bill Shaw delivered his official response to President Barack Obama’s State of the Union address tonight directly into the television screen…squaring his body toward the front of the family room and looking directly into the television set as he delivered his impassioned thoughts on the issues of immigration, health care, the middle class, China, that holier-than-thou look Obama always has on his face, and the Toyota Prius. 

Satire though this may be, I was struck by the simultaneous passion and disconnection the Onion effortlessly captures in this piece.

Conventional wisdom indicates that most Americans these days are apolitical. That they’re too wrapped up in their personal lives, too disillusioned, or – less charitably – too stupid to pay attention or care about politics.

But that’s not really true. Well, too disillusioned, maybe, but I’d argue most people care nonetheless.

I can so clearly imagine this man – perhaps it is me – watching the State of the Union, talking to his TV screen, and then…doing nothing.

If talk is cheap, then talk without an audience is definitely worth little.

I can’t help but wonder if this fictional “area man” shared shared his SOTU rebuttal with anyone else. Did he talk about it with his coworkers the next day? Discuss the issues with strangers at the bus stop? Raise his voice at a public meeting?

Probably not.

He may care passionately, but he only shares that passion in the privacy of his own home. Impassioned thoughts to an empty box.

If this sense of isolated enthusiasm is a phenomena broader than a fake man in a fake paper, it points to a bigger issue – a different issue – than simple disengagement.

As a society, we lack genuine public spaces to voice these personal rebuttals, to raise our questions and concerns, to challenge those in power, to ask hard questions and find collective solutions.

We have some forums, of course – brick and mortar, and digital – but those forums aren’t open to everybody.

Perhaps more importantly, not everyone is taught that they belong in those forums. Not everyone is taught that they should have a voice in public affairs. Not everyone is taught that their rebuttal should be heard beyond the hollow confines of their living room.