I’ll be spending the next two days at Tisch College’s annual Frontiers of Democracy conference. Over 150 scholars and practioners will come together for engaging conversations about strengthening our democracy.

“Short take” speakers will be live streamed at the link above, and you can follow the conversation on Twitter using #DemFront.

Here is the framing statement for this year’s conference:

Frontiers 2014: The State of the Civic Field

Civic work is proliferating: many different kinds of people, working in different contexts and issue areas, are expanding the ways in which citizens engage with government, community, and each other. It is increasingly clear that growing inequality, social and political fragmentation, and lack of democratic opportunities are undermining our efforts to address public priorities such as health, education, poverty, the environment, and government reform. The 2014 “Frontiers of Democracy” conference, in downtown Boston, for an invigorating, argumentative, civil discussion on the state and future of the civic field.

I’ve been asked to submit (one of many) summer reading recommendations to Tufts’ annual list of faculty/staff recommendations.

There are so many good books I could write about that it’s challenging to pick just one to recommend, but I’ve decided to go with Covering: The Hidden Assault on our Civil Rights by Kenji Yoshino. I read this book a few months ago and it has really stuck with me.

So, here is my official summer reading recommendation:

Non-fiction
Covering: The Hidden Assault on our Civil Rights by Kenji Yoshino. A powerful memoir and cutting analysis of civil rights law, Yoshino uses his personal story as a gay Asian American to illustrate the ways in which we are all forced to hide our true selves. Even in this age where civil rights has come so far, social pressure – reinforced by legal rulings – pushes conformity to a norm which isn’t authentic to anyone. Yoshino demonstrates how real psychological damage can result from “covering” your true self. While everyone suffers cover covering to some degree, Yoshino focuses on communities most broadly and deeply affected: racial minorities, women, and LGBT people. A poet turned constitutional scholar, Yoshino provides specific examples of case law that has reinforced covering – such as the upholding of company dress codes prohibiting corn rows or requiring make up for female employees. These rulings run contrary to a true embracing of civil rights – of accepting everyone for whomever they are. A quick, engaging and thought-provoking read.

The history of the Western world is one of imperialism, paternalism, and colonialism. There are long and terrible legacies left by outsiders who think they know best imposing their will upon those they see as in need of their divine intervention.

So it is with some relief that conventional wisdom, or at least progressive belief, shies away from this interventionist approach.

Communities know what’s best. Communities understand their own assets and needs. Communities have their own culture and an outsider with truly good intentions would not question those local norms and beliefs.

There are many great reasons for this line of thinking, and many dark histories that are cause to embrace this approach.

But, to take a somewhat provocative approach, we can still step back and ask if this is always true – do communities really know what’s best?

Consider for a moment this story from Paulo Freire, as told in “We Make the Road by Walking”

My respect for the soul of the culture does not prevent me from trying, with the people, to change some conditions that appear to me as obviously against the beauty of being human. …Let us take the second community in which men do nothing concerning home work. Women have to do everything at home and also in the field, and the men come back from the field just to eat, but the women have also been there working.

…Is it possible for me, concerning my vision of the world – because respect the cultural tradition of this community – is it possible to spend my life without ever touching this point? Without ever criticizing them just because I respect their traditional culture?

Freire goes on to make his opinion clear – it sight of such inequity, it is his moral obligation to say something.  He would not say it on the first day, but he would say it as soon as it felt appropriate.

“I have the duty to challenge that culture and those people,” he added.

Another example can be seen in the work of Walter Lippmann. Now, Lippmann is always getting a bad rap as being a cynical technocrat, but I interpret his approach as follows:

There are too many things going on for a single person to be an expert in them all, so we should encourage people to be engaged in the issues they care about but forgive them for taking a pass on the issues they don’t care about.

Not having an opinion on what should be done in the Middle East doesn’t make me a bad citizen. It just makes me an imperfect – aka real – person.

Now this is a really interesting approach, but the problem with it is that it ignores system power differentials.

If I “don’t care” about an issue in my community because I’ve been told over and over that my opinion doesn’t matter and I have no power to change an issue…that’s not a reason to encourage my self-selection out of the process. Maybe I really do care, I’ve just convinced myself I don’t.

What it really comes down to is treating communities and individuals with respect. Supporting them to be their best selves – and being open to their suggestions about how you can improve to be your best self as well.

Do communities always know best? Let’s be honest – no one ever knows best.

Yesterday would have been my father’s birthday. While I didn’t dress as a pirate this year, I did find myself thinking of the many phrases and life lessons he used to share.

I find myself frequently invoking these little sayings – never volunteer for anything; the first rule of show business – keep smiling; it’s better to be thirty minutes early than one minute late; and of course, that unspoken corollary – always carry a good book.

But there’s one phrase I found myself particularly gravitating towards this weekend: Incite to riot.

Like many of my father’s phrases, it needs, perhaps, a little explanation. With my now developed New England sensibilities, I imagine modern Victorians taken aback at the phrase – raising a hand to the forehead, or perhaps, the chest, and declaring in a proper droll just how unseemly it is to riot. Why on Earth would anyone encourage such behavior?

Perhaps it was because he was a 60s radical, because he’d seen first hand what it takes for the people to claim their rightful power.

Perhaps it was because he’d spent years studying U.S. labor history. Because he’d learned how armed U.S. forces were set against striking civilians. How those simply seeking a fair wage and safe working conditions were beaten, abused, and eventually blackballed when their strikes were broken.

Perhaps it was because a riot in Oakland was just another Saturday afternoon. I don’t know.

The problematic tenor of “incite to riot” comes from the invocation of violence, a notion that proper people could never support. Indeed, inciting to riot means encouraging people to demonstrate loudly, publicly, and, perhaps, violently.

And while, I suppose, I can’t pretend my father was above the use of violence, when people start rioting – it’s just as likely that they’re the ones who will be hurt.

It’s not the strikers or the protesters who throw smoke bombs and shoot rubber bullets. It’s the State. It’s the suppressors.

So, I suppose, incite to riot isn’t just a fun way to say resort to violence.

Incite to riot means fighting for what what you believe in, and encouraging others to do the same. It means yelling until your throat is raw, It means breathing through the tear gas, braving through the bullets. Standing until you can stand no more. It means never backing down from what you know is right. No matter what the cost.

Today I had the pleasure of sitting in on a session with Generation Citizens’ summer Community Change Fellows. This impressive group of 14-17 year-olds come from schools across Boston and Malden.

In addition to spending their summers interning at government and non-profit organizations, they spend one day a week together developing their skills for community engagement.

The topic today was leadership and consensus building. They discussed a range of leadership styles – careful, of course, not to consider any one style “right.” They talked about the strengths and weaknesses of each style – what will that person do well? Where will they need support.

I spoke briefly about my own background and experiences.

I’d been a little nervous going into it – I’m not convinced I have any particular wisdom to impart upon the world – but I was assured that teenagers would be impressed by whatever I had to say.

So, I talked about perspective taking. That is, how important it is to realize that people come from different perspectives, that their background and experiences can really drive not only what they think, but why they think that.

Too often, people assume that everyone’s coming from the same background. What seems obvious to me because of my background may be a point that would never cross someone else’s mind.

And while one can never really know what someone’s else’s life is like, there’s a lot to be said of simply acknowledging that difference. Of recognizing that what drives you isn’t necessarily what drives me.

That both perspectives are valid. It’s just that they’re…different.

There’s something funny about watching an adult interact with a child – especially when you can’t see the child.

Has that ever happened to you? You’re walking down the street or sitting on the bus, and suddenly you notice this full-grown person – dressed for work and otherwise serious – making weird expressions and periodically smiling.

What is that person doing? You find yourself thinking – or maybe that’s just me, being somewhat judgmental. And then, just as you start to wonder if they’re having some sort of episode, you realize that there’s a small child who’s joyfully mimicking their every action.

Suddenly it all makes sense. Now it’s a reasonable way to act.

Normally, adults are so dour. Especially when commuting. They’re all business and serious and so carefully constructing a world in which they are the only inhabitant. Eye contact is frowned upon. Smiling is frowned upon. Acknowledging eachother’s existence is frown upon.

I cherish those moments when the walls come tumbling down.

I was once on a packed subway train (in Boston). Someone passed out in the middle of the car and within seconds the message was passed to the end of the car where someone could tell the driver to stop. In that moment, everyone responded as one. It was like a yelling game of telephone – the car was so full a frantic yell was the only way to get the message across. I never saw who passed out or who hit the button. But for that brief moment people interacted and did what they could to help.

And seeing an adult with a child – especially one they don’t know – is like that. For that brief little window, they come out of their box, smile and wave at the child who insists on saying “hi” to everybody, and before you know it, the adults are smiling at each other.

How precious, they say.

There’s a common complaint against Millenials – that they think of themselves as a “special snowflake.” That is, to say, they are entitled.

Now, first of all, anyone who is prepared to level charges against a whole generation of people is undoubtedly feeling entitled themselves.

Surely, some young people are lazy, entitled, or otherwise self-centered, but there is no indication that these traits are somehow limited to those under 30. Nor is it clear that the younger population possess an abnormally large share of people with these traits.

Let’s be honest. A lot of people are self-centered. It’s just that when you’re an adult, being self-centered somehow becomes your prerogative.

The term “special snowflake” is used because no two snowflakes are alike. Each is unique. Theoretically, it’s this quality of being unique which makes young people feel that they are special. That they deserve special treatment.

Again, it’s far from true that “all young people” feel any way – much less all feel special – but that’s the idea behind the phrase.

But that assumption misses the point. To say that “being special” is equivalent to “feeling entitled,” overlooks a deeper truth.

Every person is special. Every person is unique. Every person is different. Every person is a “special snowflake.”

Some would take this even further and argue that every life is special, every living being unique. No two trees grow the same.

But this specialness, this uniqueness, isn’t a reason to feel entitled. It isn’t a reason to feel above everybody else.

It’s a reason to commit to diverse communities. A reason to fight for justice and equality. A reason to hold every life sacred and to give every voice power.

Yes, you are a special snowflake. Just like every body else.

And it’s your duty to help all your neighbor snowflakes flourish. Because we are each different and we are each unique.

The loss of even one voice, even one, degrades the whole.

I began this blog a year ago today.

I had previously blogged periodically, but never consistently. Before that I kept a hard copy journal which I’d go through bursts of maintaining. But this is the first time I’ve consistently reflected every (work) day for a year.

I’ve written 229 posts. Well, 230 counting this one.

My most popular post got over 200 views. A fact which I wrote about here.

I still feel like a tool every time I see my big ol’ face up on Facebook. I still feel like nobody. But I still keep writing anyway.

I’m not sure what I was hoping for when I started this blog. A communications professional ought to have an online presence, of course, but more than that – this blog was one in a series of selfish changes. Dedicated time to self-improvement. That endless striving towards unobtainable perfection.

What I’ve learned is that too many people feel lost and confused. Overwhelmed by the tumult of life. Angry at too much injustice.

Too many people feel like they are nobody – that public problems are the burden of someone else, some expert who will inevitably screw it up worse while trying to make it better.

Too many people have been taught that their voice doesn’t matter. They may hold opinions if they feel so bold, but they cannot fathom that opinion could ever crystallize into change.

Children are meant to be seen, not heard.

Too many of us have been taught that we are children. That our lives and experience don’t matter. That we could never hope to have expertise. That we could never hope to have value.

But the truth is that even children ought to be heard.

All of us should clamor for recognition, but too many of us have stopped even trying to be heard. Too many of us have become invisible, even to ourselves.

When I began this blog, I didn’t know who I was. I’d spent too many years hiding myself – trying to fit in amongst the crowd. When I began this blog, I didn’t have my voice. I just had my anger and the sense that something was very, very, wrong in the world.

When I began this blog, I hoped to learn about myself, and to learn about the world. To share the hidden perspectives of all the Nobodies like me.

A year has gone by and I still have much to learn. I am still striving towards unachievable perfection. I am still lost and confused, angry and overwhelmed.

But I have changed. I have found my voice.

Nearly two dozen scholars and practitioners will be gathered in my office for the next two weeks for the annual Summer Institute of Civic Studies. Last year, I participated in this two week seminar which reflects on questions of what we – as people within communities – should do to make our communities better.

The two weeks cover a range of theorists and topics as participants grapple over important and challenging questions. It is a thought provoking and energizing experience.

But not everybody can give two weeks of their time to a thousand pages of reading and hours of discussion. So, for those of you playing at home, here’s a suggested playlist for civic studies:

We Will All Go Together When We Go by Tom Lehrer
Elinor Ostrom – What seems to be in your immediate best interest may lead to collective doom.

Tom’s Diner by Suzanne Vega
Jürgen Habermas – Lifeworld. System. Public Sphere. They all intersect.

Superman’s Song by Crash Test Dummies
John Dewey – Making the world better is tough work, but it can be done.

Killing in the Name Of by Rage Against The Machine
Walter Lippmann – People in power can convince you to do terrible things without you even realizing you’re being manipulated.

Small Town by John Cougar Mellencamp
Robert Putnam - Life is great when you know all your neighbors.

We Built this City (On Rock and Roll) by Starship
Harry Boyte – Those in power can’t write us off, we built this city.

(Lord It’s Hard To Be Happy When You’re Not) Using the Metric System by Atom & His Package
Bent Flyvbjerg – Those in power shape reality by deciding how things should be measured.

The Power of Love by Huey Lewis & the News
Mahatma Gandhi – Love has real power, tougher than diamonds and stronger than steel.

Boys On The Docks by the Dropkick Murphys
Saul Alinsky – Though it starts with your fist it must end with your mind.

A Change Would Do You Good by Sheryl Crow or
We’re Not Going to Take It by Twisted Sister
Roberto Mangabeira Unger - Smash context, experiment radically

The Ballad of NATO by the Tossers
James Madison – A political diatribe gets your point across.

Handlebars by the Flobots
Edmund Burke – An individual with power is dangerous. An individual who believes he’s earned that power is even more dangerous.

Zombie by the Cranberries
Peter Singer – It may be easy to be silent in the face of human suffering, but it is morally wrong to do so.

Closer to Free by the BoDeans
Martha C. Nussbaum – Everybody wants to be closer to free.

You know, weather has a remarkable impact on civic engagement.

As much as everyone likes to complain about New England winters, there’s nothing quite as community building as a clumsy hand-wave while shoveling out the walk. And, sure, most of the winter is spent face down and head covered – making interaction with others near impossible. But nothing brings people together quite like those precious moments were you find yourself waiting for a delayed bus with a stranger, or pushing some random person’s car out of the snow.

There’s little opportunity for interaction, perhaps, but the winter brings people together.

The dog days of summer, on the other hand, have a uniquely soporific effect. When its 90 degrees and humid out, I can see everyone just fine. I just can’t muster the energy to interact. I just stare blindly at the world, numbly repeating why is it so hot? to myself. I pass construction workers and mail carriers, glad I don’t have to do their work in this heat. I should offer them some cold water, I think. But I don’t have any cold water. You know what I could really go for? I think. Cold water. I become self-absorbed.

Why is it so hot?

The best days for civil society, are of course those rare perfect-weather days. When the sun in shining but it’s not too hot. People come out in droves. Everyone’s in a good mood. What is this feeling? We wonder, amazed.

In the spring, it’s like we’re mole people who’ve never seen the sun. We’d forgotten it was possible to go outside without feeling like we might freeze to death.

The fall is like a great exhale after the stuffy days of summer. We can go outside without feeling like the Wicked Witch of the West – no more cries of I’m melting! I’m melting!

Perhaps the hardships of winter and summer build solidarity, but it is those rare days of perfect weather when communities truly come together. When we see each other, and greet each other, and celebrate together as one.

Those rare days when somehow it seems that all the troubles of the world have slipped away and there’s nothing left but to sit back and enjoy life.