While the issue just brought so jarringly to the table had definitely shifted the room’s energy that day, it wasn’t the first time the broad issue of power and equality had come up.  I had actually pulled my own “Standing Man” act the day before, though with much less fire and direct personal aim toward our figureheads and organizers.

It happened at the end of the day, when the coordinators made the wise move of inviting

Louise van Rhyn  (copyright April Doner, 2013)

anyone with a particular topic or “burning question” to rise and announce it, so that they and others who shared that interest could find each other over the next two days.  I had stood and delivered my three topics on my mind: storytelling, supporting and increasing community-building practitioners on the ground in neighborhoods, and–big scary one!–power and patriarchy within the movement.

This was the first time I’d given voice to my own power/patriarchy concern in any public way among community-building peers.  I sat back down—hot, electrified, happy, and half expecting something explosive to happen.  But, no walls collapsed… no one smacked me down… no particular hush or buzz filled the room.  Others stood and threw their own rich topics out into the room’s bright pond of open, focused faces until, at the facilitator’s word, we dispersed for the day.

And, nothing much else happened after that, apart from a few friends and two new women who came up to me to share gladness that I’d brought up this issue and their commitments to be a part of any discussion group that might form.

Back to Day 2.  My first impulse after Standing Man’s outburts was to rush to the “power center” of event speakers and coordinators and see what was happening. What was their reaction?

But, I had to pee.  Every conversation I had on the way to do that and back was one of processing what had just happened.  En route, I met a woman also keen to see the organizers—to propose that they alter the meeting structure in response to this call from the floor for a “bottom up” conversation rather than “top down” lectures by switching to Open Space for the rest of the day.  So, we went together to the huddle of organizers in the corner and posed this question.

With admirable wisdom and grace, organizers Louise Van Rhyn, Charles Holmes, Peter Block and a few others grappled with the situation, then decided to honor the voice of the room as well as the pre-exisitng plan by inviting folks to meet around whatever topic they chose—including the topic and presentation Walter Brueggenham had already prepared.

When this was announced, my friend (and hero) Caitlin Childs took the baton and spoke, offering to host the conversation on power, patriarchy and inequality that Standing Man had brought to the floor.

*  *  *

The group formed in minutes, and jumped into open dialogue. We began by unpacking our own reactions and reasons for accepting Caitlin’s invitation to this group.

• Most of us felt relief, support for, and strong resonance with what Standing-Man expressed.  We had also been increasingly frustrated with what seemed a starkly obvious contrast between the ideals being espoused and the set-up of the conference, which gave platform and symbolic power to “old white men” as main lecturers, save one woman (Angeles Arrien).  Some came because they hadn’t seen that dynamic, but care about equality so wanted to better understand this issue.

• The imbalance here is mirrored in our movement. Our figureheads are mostly old white men. Women, people of color, lower income and other marginalized characteristics enjoy positions of power, notoriety and influence significantly less than white men—despite the fact that they do work that’s just as important and have just as much to contribute.

• Alongside frustration at the power imbalance, we feel just as much love, respect and appreciation for these old white men and what they had to share. Many of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for their trailblazing efforts. “How much power do these guys have, how much are we giving to them?”, one person pointed out. “What are we waiting for? It’s helpful to have a common story that helps bring together [which they are providing.] They have a name that we trust. If I [hosted this conference,] most of th people in the room wouldn’t come.”

• That this dialogue is even happening is testament to the “establishment’s” dedication to equality, shared power and bottom-up. In most other gatherings, this topic would never have even made it to the floor, let alone led to a complete overhaul of the meeting plan which now found us here, having this conversation “in the light” of the larger group process, rather than in hushed corners and private rooms.

audience (copyright April Doner, 2013)

• Unlike other movements, the issue is barely ever on the table in these gatherings or in our organizations.

• This issue is incredibly thorny and personal!  We all want to better understand power and privilege in our own lives.  One man admitted his own privilege as one of those older white men who is the director of a state agency and his own admitted clueless-ness in handling that.  Another woman who was African American called out the fact that “this room is full of white privilege,” and her own frustration that so few people of color were present.

OK, so what?  What do we do?  Some vague answers came into focus as we talked:

• “So is it about understanding a common story?” said one man. “We could go around the room right now, all of us have an exile story—a story where we have been left out or felt left out for a variety of reasons, whether it’s color, religion, sexual orientation.  If we’re really going to make a difference in our world, I and admit I’m old,white, director of an organization and I sit in that privileged position, but I understand that I have a common story where we’re all been or felt left out.  That common piece can bring us together as well. My story of exile is different than yours but common story. We’ve both been left out on some level.”

• This is about “lifting up” the voices we are not hearing instead of “dragging down” these “old white men” who we all love, appreciate and admire. It’s the same with how we approach our own privilege.  One woman asked, “Is the point of the privilege discussion to strip away privilege from my own life so that I’m the least of these?”  To which folks replied: “You can’t give that privilege away, it is yours. It’s what you do with it.” “You becoming impoverished does not help people who are in poverty. It’s about being mindful that ‘I have this [power]‘ and ‘how am I being in this space?’”

• The key is to have the conversation.  The same woman who’d pointed out the room’s whiteness shared, “I think that there is a conflict inside of many of us around our own privilege and our own power, so it’s easy to resist that kind of conversation.  And we might want to talk about things we’re doing, but not addressing how we fit in that structure—so when that comes up, there’s automatic resistance…  So I think part of the conversation needs to be telling stories about our conflict, and our privilege… to have the conversation about race, class, what that means in the context of work and community.  And we can choose to show up or not show up and to be engaged.  For me, it’s more valuable for people to acknowledge where that conflict exists in them, so if we don’t allow that conflict to exist in the floor, and that violence takes shape in us.”

By the end, it felt like we got to a kind of answer. To begin with, it’s key is to have the conversation.  We need to tell the stories of exile, exclusion, and inequality and invite them from others.  And, we need to keep looking for and helping each other see ways we can restore balance in our own environments, whether that be by calling out imbalance where we see it or using our own privileges to correct them and “lift others up.”

“Cloud Concil,” April Doner

More than a real resolution, this conversation felt to me like a much-needed beginning... and a call to keep it going.  I felt relieved and gratified to have finally had this hushed conversation out in the open with a great group of people.  Yet, I still had that nagging question of–”so what do we do–here and now, and moving forward–to address the current, actual imbalances that brought us around that circle in the first place?”

Little did I know that, with all this rich learning and exchange, there were still more lessons to come…

*  *  *

Stay tuned for Part 3… and weigh in:

• What strikes you?
• How does this relate to your world, work, community?
  

But deeper than that, writing this particular blog terrifies me. 

Gender equality street art in Mumbai

The topic: power, patriarchy and inequality within the “unnamed” (and highly decentralized) movement of community-building/inclusion/local living/empowered citizenship.

It was under this fuzzy banner of “community-building” that me and a bunch of beautifully sincere, innovative, “un-credentialed” change-makers gathered at the Connecting 4 Community conference last week, and it was here that the topic of power and inequality burst onto the floor of collective conversation. It came with a clarity, focus and force I have not yet witnessed in my 6 years in this movement, and the ways I experienced and watched others experience this has given me invaluable new insights into the issue (as well as some nagging unanswered questions).

Connecting 4 Community conference

How do we practitioners of community building, with all our ideals of equality, empowerment and co-creation, replicate and reinforce structures of imbalanced power within our own movement? How are people in traditionally marginalized groups (women, people of color, people with lower incomes, etc.) left out, overlooked, or under-celebrated—and what can we do to change this?

This is a topic that, up until now, I’ve only spoken about or heard discussed in side, shadow spaces–break-off walks with other women after lunch, where the men won’t hear… around kitchen tables with all-female colleagues, or–much more rarely–with male colleagues who have parallel concerns based on their own experiences of inequality based on race, class, or other areas.

Perhaps because this issue seems so under-explored or -exposed, writing this blog has become a gargantuan effort.  I feel compelled to tell “the whole story” of how this topic broke onto the scene at the Cincinnati conference and how I and others reacted to it, because it all felt important for drawing out both the questions and the lessons I’ve been left with and hopefully creating a space for useful dialogue from a diversity of voices and viewpoints.

I hope you’ll bear with me and share your honest thoughts along the way. (Editing suggestions are also very much welcomed!)  Also, you may want to check out my report on Day 1 of C4C for some context, if you haven’t already.

* * *

Writing this blog terrifies me for several reasons.  

First, the topic is terribly close to my heart and experience. I’ve grown up female in a world that lift mens’ capabilities, accomplishments and general right to powerful roles

copyright April Doner 2013

above those of women–every day, in hundreds of subtle but insidiously influential ways. I’ve worked through a lot of feelings and ways of positioning of myself toward the world since I realized this, and all-in-all, have come to a pretty good place. Still, there are still many buttons inside me–deep wounds, inherited insecurities, buckets of fear, and hot streams of anger I haven’t yet learned how to navigate with grace or desired impact.

Secondly, I’m terrified of the negative reactions this blog might provoke from the men in my field, many of whom I thank daily in my heart for what they have taught me, shown me, and given to me. Some of these men’s good graces–or lack thereof–have a real impact on my chances of making a living in my chosen field.

Thirdly, I’m terrified of being a hypocrite. By bringing up inequality, how will I expose my

“Power & Equality” by Shepard Fairey

own blind-spots, pretentiousness or abuses of the invisible privileges I enjoy as a white, able-bodied, straight American raised by two intellectuals of upper-middle-class means?

Finally, I’m afraid of mine being a voice of dissent, disruption or divisiveness within a community and movement that holds claim to one of the deepest caverns of my heart, and whose health and development I want nothing more than to protect, promote, and nurture with every word I speak and thing I do. I want to damage nothing and no one, and this topic seems to come with so much fire and danger.

In this world, the word “feminist”–which means believing that women should have equal treatment and opportunities as men in society–is still either a dirty or furtively-used word. Conversations about women’s equality in the actual world rarely happen, anywhere but between women, in hushed side-conversations or around kitchen tables. Efforts in its name rarely seem to happen without plenty of contentiousness and polarization. This also seems to be true about most other discussions that involve power imbalances in our world around such groupings as class, race, ability or sexual orientation.

So it seems pretty hard to bring this up and not cause some kind of dissonance… and I have no idea if I’ll manage to do anything but open a can of worms, which folks will either dig into or walk away from. My hope is that this can be part of a productive conversation that beats the odds.

* * *

Zoom to Cincinnati, day two of the conference.

Cincinnati Club ceiling. (copyright April Doner 2013)

Since the beginning of day one, I had sat together with 100+ other participants in the beautiful ballroom of the Cincinnati Club (an example of “architecture that humanizes,” in Peter Block’s words), taking in lecture-style talks from leaders in the world of community and social/economic/spiritual innovation (including Peter Block, Angeles Arrien and Walter Brueggeman).

The lectures were punctuated by to small 3-person groups in the tradition of Peter Block’s “A Small Group” in which we’d process and personalize the rich presentations, prompted by sufficiently “vague and uncomfortable” questions. After these break-outs, we’d be invited to share what struck us with the whole room.

Walter Brueggemann (copyright April Doner, 2013)

Besides prompting insights and a quality of exchange way beyond what normal gathering styles tend to offer, this format also offered the opportunity for us to practice the “neighborly protocols” of conversation that help promote community and authentic engagement in any environment (“Don’t be helpful; be curious.” “Sit only with people you know the least.” “Don’t wait to be chosen.”) I met amazing people and had a million rich “aha’s” of my own around the themes of story, authenticity, bottom-up change and disruption of the dominant narrative.

small group discussion (copyright April Doner, 2013)

About mid-morning on Day 2, Peter Block re-convened a break-out session with this usual full-room “stand and report” invitation. One brilliant insight followed another–until suddenly, everything changed. A man stood up and began to speak—at first waveringly then with increased passion and sharpness.

“I decided I didn’t have the guts to say what I was feeling,” he said, “but now I’ve been told I have to… I felt some anger in hearing talks about subversive interruption I found myself wanting during [Peter's] talk and Walter’s talk to stand up and interrupt.” He went on explain that he felt angry and frustrated with “having too many old white guys up there talking at me. There’s more than content to speaking. There’s taking up space and talking at us.”

The energy in the room, and in my mind and body, shifted palpably in that moment. Suddenly the figureheads in the room of anti-establishment were being framed as establishment—personaly, directly. Within me, a strange hot energy was rising as my own fires of dissent and frustration gained fuel from his words.  I knew my friends were feeling the same way.

New people stood up now. One woman in the back of the room and echoed Standing-Man’s frustration: “My experience of the last day and the last few days has been a royal experience and not the royal treatment… We haven’t heard any stories from the bottom up. We have heard how important it is to listen to the bottom up but haven’t heard stories.” She added, “I woke up this morning and did not feel anxious to come.”

She also a sentiment that echoed mine and probably others’: “You know I love you, have done great things, stories to be told. I always love you, even when I’m angry, especially when I’m angry.” She told of how Peter has spent generous time working with a young playwright in West Cincinnati and how much she admires and appreciates that. A couple of other folks spoke, then we went on break, abuzz.

art by Kara Walker

*  *  *

You can go on to read Part 2, or take a moment and share…

What strikes you about this, so far?  

What are your own experiences of power, patriarchy, equality–or the lack of it–in the world of community-building, or in other contexts?  

What are some useful ways you’ve seen it addressed or handled?

Other reading:

The same event from another point of view (by Megan Sheldon of Narrative Communications)

Last week, I drove with friends and colleagues from Indianapolis to Cincinnati to attend the three-day Connecting for Communities (“C4C”) conference, “a powerful gathering of master and apprentice change agents and social entrepreneurs across sectors and communities, from around the world.”

I came for many reasons and with many feelings.  I was excited to see “elders” and friends who have shaped my thinking and my growth throughout the years, including John McKnight, Peter Block and my friends Caitlin, Terri and Cheri, who do incredible work around inclusion and community organizing in Georgia. (See List of Speakers here)  I was eager to meet new folks in the field and hear their stories.

I came to see, as someone passionate about convening people myself, how these particular rockstars-in-the-field crafted our coming together. I also came to get a sense of what’s “new”–new learning, new challenges, new opportunities to shift the systems around us to more citizen-centered, bottom-up, effective ways of living and structuring our approaches to the problems we see around us. I came to be refreshed in a way that only these things can refresh me–finding solace, camaraderie, a community of my own among people who, unlike most of society, understand what I do without the need for a 1-hour explanation.

Finally, I came with a question and a doubt: going to yet another conference about “community-building,” was I going to learn the same old things? Was this going to be worth it?

On all fronts, I was not disappointed.

I’d be crazy to try and fit the whole of what moved, stretched or stung me into a single blog post, so this is an attempt to fly overhead at those big patterns and most striking moments of “ahA!” which have been resonating with me since I arrived back home Friday afternoon. I’ll do this in a series of blog entries, beginning with the two themes that framed and reverberated throughout the gathering.

“Management” vs. Community, Local Living, and Mystery

Peter Block

Peter Block set the tone for the gathering with his opening words by laying out a distinction between the dominant culture and the “unnamed movement” of which we are a part. Of all the meetings going on that day in Cincinnati, and the world, Peter pointed out, most of them are about “making the world better through management”–ie. control, measurement, evidence, certainty. Underneath all of that is a belief in scarcity.

In contrast, what we are meeting about is a way of acting, living, and structuring things based upon a belief in abundance. Coming from all areas and sectors, we are each working to revitalize this over-commodified and over-managed. We’re doing this in our own corners of the world by experimenting with ways to reconnect people with each other, their neighborhoods and communities–and with the power of mystery and creativity in our lives and the world around us.

graphic recording by Avril Orloff, www.avrilorloff.com

“The world wants to certify, and is based on certainty,” Peter offered. “That’s the world we’re trained in. The problem is, that world is incapable of caring for the common good–caring about how to reduce suffering, about the commons, poverty, raising a child—which we’ve given away in the last couple hundred years.”

To many of our dismay, key presenter and leader of the asset-based movement John McKnight was unable to attend due to poor health. While I was saddened not to see him–my first “gatekeeper” and mentor in this field–the poetic, compelling message he sent to us on that first day almost made up for his absence. An excerpt:

Management has emerged as the method by which tool-ruled life is controlled. Managers create systems that are power pyramids designed for a few to control many. Competition insures that control. Competition is a word that means “for me to win, you must lose.” It demands radical individualism that prohibits personal collective relationships that could threaten the pyramid and its technology.

The enemy of the senseless life is the world of the personal.  It is the world where we see each other and the magnificent natural world around us. Instead of glass screens creating images that we consume.  It is the world where we can hear each other’s stories and songs. Instead of electrically marketed noise. (…) It is the touch of the baby’s hand, the feel of a hammer and saw in the basement workshop, the caress of love, the touch of care. Instead of feel of false power created by touching a steering wheel or a gun.

[read full message here]

graphic recording by Avril Orloff – www.aprilorloff.com

One of the key struggles we face, Peter added, is that within our movement and practice not to give in to the pressure to “reduce what we’re doing to a methodology that can be taught in an academic setting.” If we do that, we will ossify and lose the core spirit of the work. Peter referred to a an ongoing conversation he has with Harrison Owen, known for his “discovery” of Open Space technology, in which Peter–whose background is in Engineering–keeps bugging Harrison to acknowledge as a technique. During one such conversation, Harrison looked at Peter and said, “You’re sitting there. You think you’re a structure? You’re just an accidental combination of water and molecules.”

graphic recording by Avril Orloff, www.avrilorloff.com

Rather than a methodology, community-building along with all of its many tags and headings, “is both a movement and learning a language of communal possibility.” Toward that end, we can develop “an alternative set of protocols for welcoming people in from exile.” In addition to what was offered by the people who would be speaking during the conference and the protocols they offered, such as Peter with his A Small Group work, Harrison Owen with Open Space, each of us came with valuable protocols and practices to add to the pot. Our purpose was therefore to share with each other, “what’s working for you?” This gathering and this movement is an ongoing harnessing, and harvesting, of “the ignorant perfection of ordinary people.”

“Don’t Wait to be Chosen”  

Creative, personal, community, people-powered versus managed, commodified, certified individualism–this would become a resounding theme throughout our three days, and it resonated with me as much as each “uncredentialed” change agent in the room. When we split periodically into small groups of three in order to process and connect around each powerful topic introduced, our facilitators reminded us, “Don’t wait to be chosen.”

Most immediately, this meant of course not to wait for a person to choose us for our group, but the deeper meaning struck me hard…  Both this calling “not to wait” and the idea of ours as an “uncredentialed, unnamed”–but vitally necessary function–revealed to me that, deep inside, I’m still waiting to be chosen, named, legitimized from some outward source. Sometimes it’s larger society’s blessing I’m chasing–when I hesitate or squirm before the question, “What do you do?” Going deeper, I realized that day that I’m just as dependent upon the legitimization of those I look upon as mentors in my field… and what a stupid, stupid thing this is.

One of the greatest struggles I carried with me to Cincinnati is that of feeling blocked in my practices in community–that of both telling stories of bottom-up change and that of working to build relationships and discover assets, strengths and “abundance” within my own neighborhood. Since moving to Indianapolis, I’ve gotten what I sought: surrounded on all sides by some of the most amazing natural community-builders and innovators I’ve ever met (De’Amon Harges, Mike Mather and Anne Mitchell). While I found it such a blessing to be able to absorb their brilliance and try to mimic it first-hand, I also found myself stunted, held back, terrified in doing the work myself.

Just as I don’t need to wait for larger society to “bless” me with a widely recognized and celebrated title to do good, important work (and make a living doing so), I also don’t need to cower in the shadows of these “greats.” After all, what made them great was their courage to try things they didn’t know how to do and to follow the call in their hearts toward a possibility they knew existed but didn’t see around them–to follow gleaming threads into dark places, speak truth to power despite the quaking in their guts, and to push forward day after day to bring concepts into birth as real stories of concrete and undeniable world change.

The Power of Story

and Relationship with Self

One resounding theme of the conference was the immense power of story. to give life and power to the growing restlessness toward abundance-based thinking and doing that is surging from the ground level of our communities and countries.

Angeles Arrien
source: www.angelesarrien.com

Angeles Arrien, a cultural anthropologist  known for her work around the common stories that weave us together across cultures and centuries, joined us by phone that first day. She has noticed seven purposes of story: it “restores, regenerates, reveals, reconnects, reconvenes, re-conveys, remember.”

Angeles shared three stories that bring to life three predominating themes throughout the history of humanity and of story: the story of Self, Relationship, and Community. Each story she shared struck me deeply, but the first got me in the gut:

A Story about Self-Work:

There’s an old story from Judaic tradition of the wise man Zusya, who went to mountain too pray and asked for guidance for his community. He came down from the mountain after three days and three nights and he was terrified. The community saw him for first time, said “Zusya what did you find that you are afraid?”

 “I now know what the angels will ask me on the last day. …They will not ask me contributed. What they will ask me is—(and put your name before this question)–”the question they will ask me is, ‘Zusya, Zusya, why weren’t you Zusya?’

What is getting in the way of what I already am?

graphic recording by Avril Orloff – www.avrilorloff.com

In my small group following this rich session, I had the pleasure of sitting with two young women, Avi Kruley (Mount Madonna Institute,CA) and Rasmia Kirmani-Frye (Comunity Solutions, NY), and Rachel Clayton (Tamarack Institute).  Together, we unpacked our reactions to the story. Especially hard-hitting for us was the story of self–and, in addition, our shared story of this as often the hardest, most dysfunctional relationship in our lives.  We recognized the tendency across this and other “world-changing” fields for folks to burn out, often due to a lack of care for our own bodies, minds, or souls.  But how can we do anything good if that relationship is not healthy?

My small group – Rachel, Rasmia, and Avi

Perhaps the most healing part of this conversation was the last, when, at prompting from the facilitator, we spent time telling each other what we appreciated in one another. Sounds hoaky, right?  Well, despite how many times I’ve done this kind of thing, or had it done to me, it never ceases to be an extraordinarily powerful experience.  And, despite the fact that we’d only just met, each of us was able to pinpoint something of significant brilliance or value within the other, when asked.

The energy that I got from this exchange stays with me still today, almost deeper still than the fascinating concepts, stories and tools that were shared over those three days.  This reminded me that a) we are all hungry for this kind of appreciation, and that’s OK, and that b) people are willing and able to see and name each others’ gifts–it’s all about creating the space and the invitation to do so; c) beyond any fancy set of rules or tools, this simple (yet sometimes scary) practice of seeing and naming gifts out loud to one another is one essential practice that must never be left out, and which never, ever gets old.

*  *  *

These were the words, stories, feelings and thoughts that launched our first day. More challenges and spaces would come…  Among them, these were the questions that haunted, and haunt me, most, and which I’ll unpack in my next few blogs:

• How do we look out for the “top-down” and other destructive habits of power within this movement?  How do we address patriarchy as it appears among us as women, people of color, or other marginalized groups?

• How can stories be used as a tool for measurement?

• How can we tell these compelling stories more broadly, effectively and collaboratively to shift the dominant narrative?

Please tell me–what strikes you most from these thoughts, ideas and stories?  In your own relationships and practices of community, what’s working for you?

*  *  *

For Further Reading ~ here are some other great blogs on the gathering:

• Rachel Clayton ~  An Exodus and A New Economy
  
• Megan Sheldon ~  In A World Full of Wonder, Disruption, The Law of Two Feet

friends and changemakers talking at the Connecting for Community gathering

Just a few hours ago, I arrived home from the Connecting for Community gathering in Cincinnati. I’m still buzzing with gratitude for the richness of soul, experience, insight, passion, courage and both raw and polished talent I encountered in the last three jam-packed days. As I “return to earth,” my mind has tightly logged the need to do all kinds of things–to process all that I heard, felt, thought, discovered and decided, to write something up, to edit down the million photos I snapped and share what’s worth sharing, and–oh yes–to sleep!

But before all that, there’s a fresh story coming out of me that I need to tell.

A couple of hours ago, my friend and colleague Anne Mitchell dropped me at my front door today after our two hour, idea and story-packed drive back from Cincinnati. The day was lovely, cloudy but bathed in a perfect blend of temperature that made being outside both pleasant and right.

As I clambered up the walkway to my house and entered welcoming darkness of inside, I could feel my body sink downward with relief and my heart soften with the promise of a bed’s sweet support.

But something else tugged at me.

When I’d gotten out of the car and gathered my luggage, I noticed my cross-the-street neighbors were sitting outside. I have made a commitment to getting to know my neighbors on this block…  should I go back out, tired as I am and perfectly “deserving” of rest, and make an introduction?

This was a tugging I know well, and one which has grown stronger since I moved here: a battle between the part of me that deeply yearns to create connection, neighborliness, familiarity and friendship closest to home–in my neighborhood–and the part of me that is completely terrified to do just that. Time and again, the first part yields to the part that’s afraid of looking like that crazy white girl, making some blind blunder among people my upbringing and society tell me are different than me… and maybe, sometimes, it’s simply afraid of connection.

In that moment, some wisdom arose from the talented pianist and insightful international changemaker Michael Jones, who I’d had the chance to hear and speak with at the conference. He encouraged us to pull our art, our music, or whatever our craft may be, including practice in community–from the bottom part of our body… down, not up. This is what his music teacher taught him to do many years ago, and has become a core practice in his art of both music-making and helping others “lead artfully” in the world.

pianist and changemaker Michael Jones sharing his gift

Moving through the doorway, as I took pause inside and focused downward in myself, something interesting happened.

The fear faded. What remained was that great hunger–curious, adventurous, brave, and caring–in my feet. That hunger became my dominant emotion and thought, and I decided to go back outside. (Perhaps I also got some energy from the total immersion I’d just experienced in the three-day, globally diverse community of people in Cincinnati, whose feet are also hungry in this way.)

Earlier, when I was taking my stuff inside, the three men on the porch across the street had been talking to a young woman with bright red hair and a baby carriage. As I walked back out–still pretty terrified–they were still talking.

I awkwardly played with my phone as they talked, not finding the courage to break neighbor ice AND interrupt. Finally, after what felt like 10 minutes (but was probably only one), the young woman bid the men farewell and continued down sidewalk with her stroller. I swallowed, raised my head and walked toward the house.

“Hi!” I called, smiling and waving.

“Hi,” they answered, friendly enough.

“How ya doin?”

“Pretty good,” replied the man in the center, who was wearing a blue t-shirt. ”Yourself?”

“Good, thanks!” I called back. Then added, “Do you live here?” (A creepy question? I don’t know. It’s the first that comes to mind more often than not.)

“I do.”

“Well hi! I’m your neighbor. I just moved in across the street there.” I gestured behind me.

He stood up and walked toward me down his concrete walkway, smiling. ”Nice to meet you. My name’s Ray.”

I extended my hand across the hip-level black gate that encloses their yard, where it was wrapped into what I can only describe as a very “kind” handshake. “I live here with my wife Brenda,” he added.

Ray then called to his friends and introduced them–Chris and Anton. They also walked up from the porch, smiling, and shook my hand.

We reached that moment where we could have kept talking. But I let it go, and we bid each other a nice evening.

A part of me wished I’d held out a little to have a longer conversation. But, the moment had passed. What I took away was a beautiful “warm front” impression–the welcoming openness that greeted me when I had the courage to get over myself and make the first move.

*  *  *

Not fully satisfied, my feet took me down the street.

I passed a few younger teenage girls, who I sheepishly made face contact with. They half-returned my greeting. Then, and a few houses down, I noticed the young woman with red hair I’d seen earlier. She was at her door, getting ready to go inside.

Again, I took the risk and called out a greeting.

In a natural, gentle building back-and-forth, we got to know each other, and I had the great delight of discovering Laray. Warm, funny and perceptive, Laray shares my love for photography, people, and people of different races or cultures being together. Although she’s been here just a few months more than me, when she learned of my recent move, she said, “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

Laray and her son, Antoine

She continued, “It’s a good neighborhood. The people here look out for each other. My neighbors on either side here will call me if a cat so much as walks across my porch.” She laughed–”of course then I gotta tell ‘em, ‘Yeah I feed that cat!’ but that’s alright.”

After we’d chatted for awhile and she found out what I do, Laray confessed that when she first saw me, she was almost positive I was an artist. This made me feel happy and funny at the same time–happy that somehow one of my qualities is so evident, and that I’ve met someone who, like me, looks at people with curiosity–and funny in that I am apparently so obvious about something, without intending to be.

The next thing she said made me laugh, inside and out:

“I had wanted to call out to you–’Hey! Come here’ to see if you were [an artist], but then I stopped myself because sometimes people will think you’re crazy. So, I was glad when you called out to me first.”

Laray’s confession reinforced a belief that drives me: that people are yearning for connection. They, like me, are hungry to satisfy our curiosity about each other.

Sometimes we are very aware of that–like Laray, with whom, once that ice wall made of “the fear of being thought crazy/creepy” was chopped away, an easy flow of delightful common interests and qualities emerged. Other stories I hear prove to me that even those people who seem the most happy to remain isolated still deeply crave connection–whether it’s people labeled with disabilities who have almost no one but paid staff in their lives, “at-risk youth” who slough off well-meaning adult attention (or endless advice), or just those people who are, well, cranky and mean.

That hunger also lives between people who seem to have decided to hate or resist each other until the end of time–like the story another new friend at the conference today told me about two groups on opposite sides of the abortion issue who, upon discovering their underlying common concern for mothers and children, found a way to join forces toward this common goal, despite the–in reality–small percentage of things on which they disagreed.

It also tells me that we don’t have to be heroes or accredited experts to shift the culture and reality in our neighborhoods, communities and world–from isolation, segregation, and feelings of scarcity to connectedness, inclusion and the joyful, active, concrete knowledge of the abundance that lies within these places (and ourselves).  We just need a moment of pause to let that healthy hunger for knowing emerge–and, maybe a little bit of courage, born from encouragement or inspiration from other “connectors,” to take even the tiniest step forward and act on it.

As we walked back toward my house, Laray looked down at the curb. From when I first moved in, despite my intention to look primarily for “what’s good” here, I couldn’t help but notice and inwardly fuss over the litter that peppers the curb and some lawns. I’ve struggled with how to react… having always felt compelled to pick up trash wherever I’m walking as a “good citizenship” and care for place. But, I’ve been hesitant to do it here, aware of how my doing so may come across as a gesture of judgment and superiority. I worried about becoming just like the “revitalization” efforts I see in neighborhoods like this one, which, despite the best intentions, come in from the outside hell-bent on “fixing,” “improving,” and “cleaning up”–without ever taking the time to look, listen or enter into enough of an authentic relationship with neighbors to discover what is already working, good, strong and right.

Still looking at the curb, Laray said something which jolted me from my place of worry and stasis: “This is one of the cleanest blocks in this neighborhood. That’s because there’s these older women you’ll see every Sunday who come and clean up the streets.”

Suddenly, the litter looked different.  Yes, it was still there… but behind it, I know knew, is a story of care, community and “cleaning up” that already exists. The question then became, for me the newbie, became not, “to clean or not to clean,” but “how might I support–or celebrate–the cleaning that’s already happening?”

The answer to that question, almost too easily, was given to me by Laray (and probably much better than what I would have dreamed up myself.)  Inspired, she said, “Oh! That would be a great subject for a photo shoot! We could come out here and take pictures of them doing that.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I said, inside and out. This felt right.

As we neared my house, I asked Laray to refresh me on the names of the neighbors I’d just met (who she’d been talking to.)  She did–Ray, Chris and Anton–and added with great sincerity, “Oh, man, those are some of the nicest people.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“They really help keep the neighborhood safe.”

She paused, then said, ”You know, people knowing each other and looking out for each other–that’s really what makes a place safe. People say, ‘Oh, they look out for each other on that street–we’d better not mess with them over there.”

I could not agree more.

Laray and I spent some more time together–we both had to go grocery shopping so she rode with me down to Safeway, during which time I got to enjoy the company of her one-year old and share the photo books of one of my favorite photographers. We exchanged phone numbers, talked about possibly hanging out tomorrow night, photo outings, and–the crowning delight–she offered to her make me some of her signature cabbage and neckbone one of these evenings.

*  *  *

What boggles my mind continuously about the practice of connecting is how quickly abundance can be revealed for what, in the end, is not much effort. My conversation time with Laray yielded so much payoff for my small effort of “push” against that fear that gripped me on my home’s threshold earlier that day.

Besides the many delightful commonalities (a love for photography, people, cross-cultural connection, and cooking), it revealed the gifts she uniquely has–the gift of mothering, caring deeply for elders.

Furthermore, it made visible an abundance within our neighbors and neighborhood that I and others would not normally have seen or, more often than not, assumed might be there.  Since many folks here earn below the median income and some of the homes are in disrepair, our neighborhood is the kind that the majority of this community sees, relates to, and talks about as a place of scarcity, danger, brokenness and need. Through talking with Laray, I quickly learned that, despite the outside world’s assumption, there is abundance here.

There is caring here–neighbors watch out for each other.

There is wisdom here–neighbors know that what makes a safe neighborhood is not more police, but protection freely given between neighbors to each other.

There is action here for the sake of the whole–the women who clean up the streets on Sundays.

And, there is the will to do more good–Laray’s idea to celebrate those women by taking photos of them together.

What else is there, waiting to be uncovered, utilized, celebrated? I’d bet my life that this is just the tip of the iceberg. With each new conversation, my feeling when I drive home into my neighborhood shifts from what I’ve been trained to feel (detachment, isolation, fear) to a welcomed new set of emotions–comfort, curiosity, appreciation, respect, and joy.

Oh, what great wonders a little “Hello?” can bring!

For more of Michael’s insight, check out his TEDx Burlington talk:

~  ~  ~  acknowledgements ~ ~ ~

I want to thank the many people I met over the last three days at Connecting for Community for their kindness, encouragement and daily courage to “walk the talk” in their lives. There are too many to name, but a few are…

~ Tim Vogt and Sarah Buffie of Starfire Council for pushing me to write with my authentic voice about the subjects that I’m most scared to tackle

~ Michael Jones, for reminding me to go down into myself for that wisdom and fount of creativity I keep looking for up top, in my head or from outsiders

~ Angeles Arrian, Peter Block, John McKnight, Edgar Cahn, Chris Gray and Harrison Owen for infusing me with your unrepentent, unyielding commitment to telling it like it is–widely, freely and with great poetic candor

~ the coordinators of the Connecting for Community gathering and all of those people who helped me get there and back, including Anne Mitchell

~ to DeAmon Harges, for reminding me every day of my potential with his generosity of gift-naming, commitment to practice, and home-space

Copyright April Doner 2013

Last Monday night, I had the experience of a lifetime–seeing my favorite living artist, the three-decade strong, genre-transcending, brilliant singer-songwriter Nick Cave perform live with The Bad Seeds at the Chicago Theatre.

Exceeding my hopes and fears, the experience left me buzzing, reinvigorated and deeply encouraged. It was also apparently exactly what I needed to get me blogging again.

This encounter, and this blog, have also led me deep into a subject I’ve grappled with for a long time, but never tried to put clearly into words in a public way: darkness. In art, music or daily life, how can it be valuable? How do we understand–or misunderstand–darkness, artists who express it, or people who identify with it in our culture?

Try as I might, I couldn’t squeeze this into one blog. So I’ve followed a friend’s advice and chopped it (carefully) into three mini-chapters. First, I’ll introduce Cave and explore this thing about darkness. Second, the concert itself including one big surprise. And third, a second surprise, “big take-away,” and some photos.

As you read through, I invite you to click on the song links and let the music play (each links to the actual song on YouTube).

Sound good? Here goes…

“Nick who?”  (An Introduction)

If you haven’t heard of Nick Cave, don’t worry. Most folks haven’t.

Originally from Australia, Cave made the global music scene back in the 80′s with his band The Birthday Party with  their striking blend of punk, gritty-wild carnivalesque sounds. He continued to evolve this sound with his next band, The Bad Seeds,’ with whom he went on to produced 15 albums–the last released in 2012. He’s also lead singer and songwriter in Grinderman, not to mention a published author, screenwriter, composer, and occasional actor.

Nick crept into my life four years ago when, on a whim, I revisited an old college crush’s recommendation. Back in college, it did nothing for me, but for some reason we clicked the second time around. The first song to hook me: “Where the Wild Roses Grow,” a dreamy duet with Kylie Minogue–one of a series of songs on the “Murder Ballads” album which tell a different story about–you guessed it–murder. For days, I played and sang it nonstop–at home, in the car, walking around the nonprofit office where I worked.

From there, I meandered through the Bad Seeds discography, increasingly impressed with the breadth of styles, imagination, and both lyrical and musical artistry–until, one day, I realized he was my favorite living artist. (Nonliving: Fabrizio DeAndre)

As one reviewer writes, “No one paints a picture quite as vividly with lyrics as does Cave, and part of his appeal is built on pure storytelling.” Take these lines from “Hallelujah”:

           On the first day of May I took to the road
           I’d been staring out the window most of the morning
           I’d watched the rain claw at the glass
           And a vicious wind blew hard and fast
           I should have taken it as a warning

           I’d given my nurse the weekend off
           My meals were ill prepared
           My typewriter had turned mute as a tomb
           And my piano crouched in the corner of my room
           With all its teeth bared

[listen]

Perhaps, in part, it’s Cave’s storytelling style that locked me into him. I’ve always loved stories, from when my parents read to me as a kid–mostly mom whose soothing story voice would then travel to my brother’s room and reverberate  through the wall once I’d been safely tucked in.

As far as subject matter, Cave describes his focus as the three “biggies”: “Love, God, and Death,” adding, “You just kind of dress them up in different ways.”

Different ways, indeed. The stories and styles range from raucous, wild or shockingly dark tales of murder, revenge and disaster like “Stagger Lee,” “Henry Lee,” and “Tupelo” to the most enchanting love songs I’ve ever heard (“Lime Tree Arbor,” “Sweetheart Come,” “Love Letter”).

Then there are the ones that make you want to weep in a corner for a few good hours like “O’Children,” “Hallelujah,” or “As I Sat Sadly By Her Side”–and, of course “The Weeping Song” which couldn’t be more clear about its purpose: “This is a weeping song; a song in which to weep.”

In “God is in the House” and “The Mercy Seat,” Cave offers up thinly cloaked social commentary on bigotry, parochialism and the justice system. At other times, he bows reverently down to something greater, godlike (“There is a Kingdom.”)

Finally, there’s Cave’s way of bringing seeming opposite themes or feelings into one song as seamless and seductively palatable partners. For instance, love and hate (“Far From Me”), or sacred/religious and personal/profane love

            I don’t believe in an interventionist god
            but I know, darlin’, that you do
            but if I did I would kneel down and ask him
            not to intervene when it came to you

(“Into My Arms” < click to listen)

Yet beyond skill and style, there are deeper reasons why Cave has won the title of “my favorite living artist.”

Why Cave?

There is, of course, that inexplicable thing that we each have about something or someone who moves us which words can never capture, that “something” that rocks your soul, like a key sliding into a hole you didn’t know you had.  We each have our own, and I don’t expect everyone to feel that–just like I can’t expect anyone to feel the love I do for certain people.

Apart from that “something,” Cave is great in my eyes for several reasons.

First, he has always been one thing: completely and unapologetically himself.

I believe he comes from somewhere real. And, I believe that is why he’s able to move deftly from the brutal and harsh to the subtle, worshipful, or sweet.

This “trueness to oneself” as an artist, and in a larger sense as a human being, is something I attempt and often fail to achieve. Too often, I find myself giving in to preoccupation with current trends and fear over how others will receive me or my crafts, be it writing, art, photography, or community-building. Cave reminds me to let that junk go and concentrate on being myself.

Secondly, I admire and strive to equal Cave’s complete dedication to his craft.  This video is an excellent example, showing the studio recording of “The Sorrowful Wife.” At the end, he pulls away from the mic and asks the recorder, “How was it?” “98,” the voice replies. Nick responds, “98 out of 100? …Guess we’d better do another one.” Whether you like his style or not, it’s hard not to admire an artist who’s running strong with over 15 albums, two books, and other successful creative projects under his belt, and whose work has encompassed such a broad range of styles and periods without losing steam.

Embracing Darkness

The last thing about Nick Cave that’s won my love is perhaps the most personal: his enthusiastic inclusion of darkness in his work. As I mentioned, he allows plenty of it into his stories, music and voice–be it in the form of violence, madness, bitterness or sorrow. In some of the more violent songs like Stagger Lee, Curse of Millhaven, and The Lyre of Orpheus, Cave and the band seem to relish the sinister brutality as they bring it to life in word and sound.

I must confess, I relish these songs too–as well as the sad, solemn, mad, and bitter ones.

In the big picture, I think their “inclusion of darkness” demonstrates a willingness to engage fully in both the creative process and the experience of being human–a quality that’s necessary to create anything of impact or enduring value in the world.

First, I relish them because they make me feel at home. They give a strange kind of permission to be who I’ve always been but often felt I shouldn’t be.

Early memory: standing as a child before my Mother, crestfallen at her reaction to a drawing I just showed her. The drawing was one of those which had departed from my happier artistic themes of cats, mice and pretty ladies, diving into a realm I couldn’t explain, but simply came out of me.  ”Interesting,” she’d say. Her paused, hanging tone betrayed discomfort and disturbance. I’ve maintained my a penchant for the sinister, from good horror flicks to music like Marilyn  Manson or Nine Inch Nails. Many of my drawings still have a darkness to them, and provoke varied reactions from people who see them.

“Candle” (done in High School), Copyright April Doner 2013

I sometimes attribute this quality in me to repeated exposure at an early age to the 50′s era mathematician-musician Tom Lehrer, a favorite of my (also mathematician-musician) father. Lehrer’s catchier tunes include “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park,” and “Irish Ballad” (about a young girl who murders her family in a variety of creative ways–a song which, incidentally, bears a strong resemblance to the little girl in Cave’s Curse of Millhaven).

While I can joke about that, I suspect it’s not really something external that has made this a part of who I am or what attracts me.

Ironically, the “other side” of me is very “non-dark.” I’m a practising Buddhist. I believe in the innate goodness of all people and the potential for any situation to be turned into something positive. I believe in pointing my life and actions as much as possible in a direction that brings good, growth, thriving and healthy relationships into the world. I love people, dislike conflict in daily life, and most of all, hate hurting other people or feeling responsible for their pain.

“Mictlantecuhtli,” Copyright April Doner 2013

So, this part of me that resonates with and sometimes creates things that are brutal, harsh, sharp or sinister has always been a source of confusion for me and others. How can I be two such opposite things at the same time? Should I submerge that dark part, or try to wipe it out?

For this reason, encountering Nick Cave as an artist was like finding a best friend, or a perfect lover–or a safe space in which to sit, dream, create, and not feel alone.

Just like my Mom had trouble embracing or enjoying my weird or dark art, I think our larger culture over-simplifies, misunderstands and under-appreciates this kind of creativity. We also do this to people who love or produce it.

Cave is one who pushed through this barrier and came out on top. Who was he in high school? That quiet kid always scribbling in his notebook?  Or maybe the rough one with too much energy and a taste for the edge.

Today, how do we view those kids who dress in black, sport piercings, or otherwise show a penchant for the weird and the dark? At best, we react with tolerant discomfort. This discomfort is based on a belief that a taste for or incorporation of darkness signals imbalance, deviation or deficiency.

What if we were to see them differently–as individuals courageous enough to host harshness within them, or to even feel it in the first place?

Freedom

Nick Cave’s successful, undaunted walk between dark and light, which he twines together in narratives that reach around, under, behind and through our world’s more rigid moralistic beliefs, frees me to be all of who I am and to value it as necessary material for creating my own masterpieces.

He reminds me that, rather than “good” or “bad,” I am a force…  a force which, when focused like a laser on my goals and and when freed from worries about others’ judgement, can encompass, embrace, and celebrate with grace and impact the entire gamut of human experience with all its pocks and gashes as well as its most sublime states of bliss and beauty. And, like him, I can do this, consistently, over a lifetime, in a way that will resonate with others and bring something of value to the world.

“Mamma Catania” (Mother’s Day gift, 2003), Copyright April Doner 2013

By not averting myself from what’s dark in and around me but, rather, going where it pulls me–while rooted in a solid sense of self-worth and relation to the world–I can give voice to that in a way that is important, needed, and good. I can open to and allow something to flow through me that is not picture perfect and will probably be misunderstood by tons of people. I’ll be saying “yes” in the presence of pain, sorrow, harshness or mystery.

If that’s not what art is for, I don’t know what it is.

Self portrait, 2006

So–in summary, here’s what I get from Cave:  Honor that which is within you, however weird and without welcome it might seem out in the world. Give it life–a story, a sound, a color or a movement. It has a reason for being there.

When you give it life, you are affirming the vastness of your own life and creative capacity. Furthermore, by acknowledging and giving  expression to this strange, hard thing, you and your creation might end up being the key to that unlocks someone else’s frozen, isolated realness… just as  Nick Cave and his bold, sometimes brutal repertoire have for me.

~ O ~

If you haven’t yet, I invite you, to check out some of the songs linked above and hear the music for yourself. Then, please share your thoughts. I especially want to know…

What do you think of Nick Cave?

What’s your relationship to darkness or “dark” artists?

Does this “inclusion of darkness” make any sense to you? Can it create anything of positive value in the world–or is this just some bunk I’m cooking up to justify a bad addiction to the dark side?

“Il dolore” (“Pain”), April Doner 2013

Here is the .pdf summary of the material that was shared, including a first-ever compilation* of photos I took on visits to one of my favorite hubs of social-political-economic-spiritual innovation and neighborhood connecting, Broadway United Methodist Church:

DOWNLOAD / VIEW WORKSHOP MATERIALS

*To see my presentation on Broadway United Methodist Church in its original visual format (which I recommend!), click here.  Here are some of my favorites:

People loved learning about the power of citizens, building connection in neighborhoods, and focusing on gifts instead of needs.  A couple of quotes from participants that make me very happy:

“Thank you so much for an awe inspiring workshop last week. I am more committed than ever to work harder at what I do and to continue to assist our residents in finding those assets in the community. They are the catalyst in making changes in their community.”
~ Janine Harris, Communities for a Lifetime, Department of Elder Affairs
Tallahassee, FL

“I had a great time, met wonderful people and learned a lot. I can’t wait to get more involved in my community and apply what I learned. ♥”
~ Roxy Azuaje, Photographer, Student
Miami

I feel so fortunate to do the work I do. Thank you to all the partners, friends and families who helped make this event and my journey thus far possible!!!

Last week, a small group of neighbors in the Village of the Arts invited the wider community to join their conversation about how to improve their community.  Here is the story of that gathering.

This was the invitation.

Abundance!  Neighbors brought home-made sweets and snacks as well as food purchased from local stores and restaurants.  Amara prepared her backyard beautifully, with lights strung around a central patio and chairs set up in a circle underneath.

After mingling, we began the meeting.  Amara welcomed everyone and introduced those present who have been involved in this project up until now–Anna D’Aste, herself, Valerie Rose, Hector Ferran, and April Doner.*

ANNA’S  STORY  &  THE VILLAGE CONNECTORS PROJECT

Anna D’Aste, a talented neighbor who makes and teaches ceramic art on 12th St, opened with her story.

Anna was part of the original group of artists who moved into the neighborhood 13 years ago to start the “Village of the Arts.” When she moved in, she dreamed of living in a real community–where people know and care about each other and do things together.  She hoped to have strong relationships not just with other Village Artists but with other neighbors as well.

Since then, Anna had seen a lot of great connection and activities happen among the artists in the Village, but not as much as she’d hoped between artists and the rest of the neighborhood.  She was almost ready to give up on her dream for the Village when April came by her home a few months ago and told her about an effort to connect the community in just the way she had always envisioned.  Anna began meeting with a group of other neighbors who shared her dream for the Village and, in their own way, had all been making efforts as “Connectors” in the neighborhood.

April told the group about a way of seeing and acting in community called Asset-Based Community Development, (ABCD for short).  Instead of focusing on problems in neighborhoods and people in them,  ABCD asks, “What are the gifts?”  It focuses on connecting people in community around their talents, what they care about, and what they are doing or want to do to make their neighborhood better.

Anna and the group have been brainstorming and experimenting with ways to “grow what we already have.” Their first step has been to start finding out about and celebrating the gifts of their neighbors, especially neighbors who they don’t already know and who might not think of themselves as even part of the “Village of the Arts.”

Anna was also inspired by a trip she took with April and Amara in October to Indianapolis to visit groups who are building community in creative ways.

One thing that stood out for Anna was seeing the “Fishes and Loaves Room” at Broadway United Methodist Church.  Named for the story of Jesus making a big feast out of very few fish and loaves of bread, the room has paper on the walls showing sticky-notes that list neighbors’ talents, passions, dreams and projects. It has people grouped around those gifts–like “Sports,” “Gardening,” or “Education.” The room is one way that they have found to connect and celebrate neighbors’ gifts and talents in ways that build community and economy.

When she came back, Anna shared this with the group and created a “The Village Community Resource Board.” She hopes to keep working with neighbors to grow this board, so the Village can grow more connected around what people love to do and care about doing.  She invites everyone present to get involved in this “connecting” effort by going to talk with their neighbors and contributing to the Resource Board.

April shared useful tool for getting started, an “Asset Inventory” with questions that she uses when talking with people in the Village. You can view or download it here.

Neighbors shared their ideas, questions and concerns:

• Dona Gould shared that she had always wanted to know the skills of her neighbors too, so she could go to someone in her neighborhood for services like Mechanic, Notary or Seamstress.

• How does this impact crime in the area?  The more we connect across gaps with our neighbors, look out for each other, and even learn more about and find positive ways to include people who might seem to be part of the problem, the safer our community will become. “Strength in numbers”!

• How do we cross over language barriers? How do we connect with the Spanish-speaking neighbors?  Tara offered a solution from her block: many Latino people live in her part of the Village.  She’s discovered that one of her neighbors speaks both English and Spanish, and now goes to Naida for translation to find out what’s going on or to communicate with her neighbors who speak only Spanish.

• How does this relate to the Artist’s Guild?  This effort is focusing on the rest of the community as well as the artistic/business side of the Village. Our hope is to complement and support what the Guild is doing as part of the community.

VILLAGE VISIONING WORKSHOP

Next, Hector Ferran introduced a series of workshops that will begin in January designed to put residents and Village businesses in the center of deciding what the future of the Village looks like.  The Connector’s group has been planning it together with Dr. David Brain and April Doner.

The first workshop will be held on Monday, January 14, from 6:30-9:30 at the Salvation Army.  This is an opportunity for many different neighbors to come together and find a common vision, for finding creative ways to implement goals through partnerships both inside and outside the Village, and to take the vision from ideas to actual changes.

This will be a series of workshops supported by USF’s Architecture School.  Both April’s work and the Visioning Workshop are being supported through Realize Bradenton and local partners such as the Downtown Development Agency and the 13th St. CRA.  The City, DDA and other organizations who want to support the Village’s success are interested in working with a neighbors who represent the diversity of the whole neighborhood.

WE NEED YOUR HELP TO MAKE THIS SUCCESSFUL.

Here are ways you can support:

#1.  Attend.  Your ideas and assets are important.

#2.  Bring your neighbors!  The more diverse viewpoints and skills in the room, the better the vision and our chances of making it real. You can use this as an opportunity to go meet neighbors and learn about their gifts!

#3.  Help out at the Workshop with….

• Set-up and Registration
• Facilitating small group conversations  (No experience necessary!  Come to the Facilitators Training on Tuesday, Dec. 11, 6:30-8:30 pm at Southern Commerce Bank)
• Serving Food
• Translation
• Volunteer Coordination
• Clean-up

Reply to this post below if you want to help!

Workshop Flyer

LET’S TRY IT:   LEARNING CONVERSATION

Finally, we did a “Learning Conversation” exercise.  Everyone chose a partner and interviewed them for 5 minutes and asked 3 questions:

What are your gifts?  (talent, skills) 

What do you care about deeply?

What are you doing in the community? What do you want to do?

We wrote what we learned on a sticky-note and, after sharing with the group what we learned about our partner, added it to the Resource Board.

Some discoveries:

Carl: Communicator, Botanist, Foodie

• I had the pleasure of interviewing Carl.  Carl is a talented communicator, skilled in PR, who runs the Arts Council in the Village.  He cares deeply about education.  Many people at the gathering already knew all of this about Carl.  However, nobody knew about his secret skill:  Botany!  Carl has two degrees in Botany and has taught many Yankees “how we do it down here,” since many Northerners don’t know how or what to grow in their yards when they move down here. He’s also a foodie and loves to travel the world.
• Celeste reported that Tara is a great baker who runs Sweets Bakehouse on 12th St. She’s also a great listener (which Tara didn’t tell her, but Celeste observed on her own)
• Tara told us that Celeste is a gifted RN who cares about helping people and is currently looking for work helping someone in their home. Celeste is also a long-time resident who has seen the neighborhood go through many changes. Her mother actually lived in the Village!
• Marina is an artist who cares deeply about youth.  She is interested in getting students involved in neighborhood improvement projects. She speaks both English and Spanish, and is willing to translate the Visioning Workshop flyer into Spanish!
• Joan is also bilingual in French and Spanish

TELEPHONE-POLE ART PROJECT

Finally, Valerie shared that she is doing a fun project with kids in the Village. She teaches art at Ballard Elementary and has been wrapping telephone poles with weavings and pictures.  She wants to celebrate members of the community and beautify the neighborhood with this project, and invites neighbors to take part in two ways:  

1. Come wrap posts with them  
2. Drop off colored plastic bags at her home:  1119 12th St. 

JoEllen shares Joan’s gifts

Anna shares Slade’s gifts

WANT TO GET INVOLVED?  

1. Help out with the Visioning Workshop!  Reply below with your contact info and how you’d like to help.
2. Help uncover the gifts in this neighborhood!  Learn your neighbors gifts. You can start now by holding learning conversations with your neighbors. Start with someone you already know. Use this document to get started.  Report back by “Replying” below so you can come add to the Resource Board and let others know about the talents you discovered.
3. Join us on Facebook at the Village Connector’s Group.

Have other questions or ideas?  Post below or on Facebook and we will respond.

 THANK YOU! 

* Other neighbors involved in this effort:  Kim Hoffman, Donna Slawsky, Courtney Henderson, Karen Kloski, Bonnie Oakey Ferran

~ Notes by April Doner

To my surprise, there was a message there from a name I didn’t recognize but it was addressed to me.  The message speaks volumes to me of how those little ways in which one person can create change around them through seemingly insignificant acts of celebrating the gifts in others and in community around them.  Here is the message:

*  *  *

Hi April

Hope all is well, I will be extremely surprised if you remember who I am. 
Well I am C_____. We met briefly fo about a day in FL (about 3 years ago). 
You, I and R___ walked around in Orlando looking and admiring the black swan’s.

Anyway, just getting in touch and saying Hi, I am in Boston, MA.
I am writing to you for your compliment on your facebook page about me,
(you wrote, “great conversationalist”). It was my best compliment i ever got.
I have secretly desired for someone to say (for all my adult life) and you said it. 
Many have called me dogmatic, and many more have called me Mr.Theory.
Few have said I am manipulative.

It only you that have noticed, that, I just want to have a conversation and nothing more. 
Thanks a million again.

Truly
C______

*  *  *

I do remember that day walking around with C____.  And I recognize how easy it would be for friends of C____ to never tell him that his great drive to hold dialogue was a gift. They may not have seen it as such, or they may appreciate it in some way, but aren’t accustomed to saying things about him or their other friends through the lens of “a gift.”

This touches me. First, because C___ thought to reach out to me after 3 years.  Second, he was telling me the power my words had to affect his life, yet what I said about C___–ie., naming his gift of conversation–was not anything particularly original on my part… I didn’t impart wisdom or sage advice from on high.  Rather, I just named what I saw.

But, it was something that I know is different from how we usually interact in community.  I know that me taking a moment to name C___’s strength as such came from a way of seeing and speaking about people that I have learned through my involvement in the world of asset-based community building.

This is a method of community building–and an overall view of society–that advocates viewing people and communities first for their gifts–that is, what they’re good at… what makes them special? I inherited a sharply critical ability from my mom and grandmother, and learning this method has helped me learn to interact with others in an infinitely more satisfying and productive way–not just professionally but constantly throughout my daily life.

Some people may say this is Pollyanna thinking–just focusing on the “good” can get us in trouble, right?  In the ABCD world we talk about half-full, half-empty glass. What is it–half full or half empty?

The answer: BOTH… but, you can only do something with the full half!!

In communities that are healthy and working toward their desired future, people know that it’s not useful to focus on “needs” and “deficiencies.”

Of course, it doesn’t mean you don’t exercise wisdom in how you interact with people just because you’re focusing on the full half.  You’re just opening your eyes to something valuable and worth liking and celebrating rather than getting caught up in critical dismissal of someone and losing out on whatever gift/skill/talent they might enrich your life with. That’s not Pollyanna–that’s practical!

When you shift your focus to gifts, you find things that not only are useful in community–who couldn’t use a great conversationalist?–but ways for people to feel cared for, valued, needed and good in community.  And, when you name or celebrate what’s good in someone, that thing tends to grow stronger.  As my friend Deamon always says, “When you celebrate people, they do it more.”

No matter how many times it happens, I am always surprised by the power of seeing and naming gifts. I’m grateful to C____ for writing me after all this time to let me know about the impact my words had on his life.

What about you…  What have you experienced like this?  Have you ever tried “naming gifts” in others and seeing what happened?

~ April

HoodRoving News: I am not alone!

I value citizenship—the ability we each have to make a difference through our actions around something we care about, in the company of others.

Yet, from over at least a decade of witnessing people trying to make the world a better place in one form or another, I find the thing that seems to plague most “do-ers” is that ugly phenomenon called “burnout”: A person who’s passionate about something takes on more and more responsibility, becoming isolated in and consumed by that responsibility. Eventually, they give up, heartbroken and alone in a new form—mourning the quit venture. I also know people who have witnessed burn-out in others and choose not to pursue an inspiration for the sake of their own protection or sanity.

Perhaps the best inoculation against burn-out is to find good friends who share your passion and will walk with you down the path of action. This is a story of how I found friends to walk beside along a path of “reweaving” the fabric of our neighborhood, Gillespie Park. It’s also the story of how great ideas can incubate for what seems like ages, only to spring into action when the conditions are right. Finally, it’s a story about connection and neighbors discovering abundance in the place where they live.

*  *  *

It all began with an email from Allison Pinto of the local civic engagement organization SCOPE. Allison coordinates SCOPE’s Neighborhoods Initiative, which has produced some exciting innovations in the last several years. In her email, Allison invited me to host a table representing Gillespie Park at their upcoming “Neighborhood Expo” on September 13.

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