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Here’s the Tricycle Collective project mentioned above.
SUBSCRIBE to my channel + blog for more updates!
Here’s the Tricycle Collective project mentioned above.
On my drive home from family dinner tonight I passed by my Papa Seymour’s grave. It took me two city blocks to muster up the courage to turn around and enter the cemetery, an uncomfortable place for living people like me. With a deep, long breath I pulled into the old Nusach H’Ari Cemetery in Ferndale, just north of 8 Mile Road at Woodward
“I live here,” said Paul, H’Ari’s caretaker. Ari in Hebrew means lion, and Paul’s thick mane flowed down all the edges of his kind face, mingling with the smoke of his lit cigarette.
“Do you ever get freaked out with all the people underground?”
“Oh, no. It’s the people above ground that freak me out.”
He led me through the narrow rows of gravestones, down dirt paths and here and there across a patch of well-kept grass. I thought about the few feet of dirt beneath me that separated life from death. Paul chatted as we walked, a strangely beautiful ramble of words and steps that soon landed us at D-050, Seymour Wedes.
As we stood together over my grandfather’s grave, I told him how masked robbers at his costume jewelry store had killed Seymour in 1970. Paul’s face betrayed little emotion, and I wondered how many widows and orphans and curious grandchildren he had led to the material remains of their departed loved ones. How many times had he opened his directory and turned a grave number into a human name, with all of its emotive baggage
I lingered a few minutes over the grave alone, touching the stone and running my hands across the flowers that someone had planted there. I felt a tug from the past pulling me down to the ground, as if the weight of my father’s pain suddenly fell upon my shoulders. Then history flooded in, not in pictures or sounds – I have yet to find those – but simply in raw feelings. How do you remember someone you’ve never met?
As I walked out, Paul rejoined me and pointed to a bird that lives in the crevice of his roof in the little stone building at the center of the cemetery. He told me how long the bird had been living there, and it occurred to me that it takes a certain kind of misanthropy to work the cemetery. And that the occupational hazard of such a job is a heavy dose of fatalism.
“Read Nostradamus. Everything that’s happening right now was predicted. Nostradamus. And George Orwell.”
As I packed up to leave, Paul turned to me and asked, “Hey, did they ever find the guy who killed your grandfather?”
He shook his head with evident disillusionment, replying: “The people outside those gates are cruel, man.”
I’m at 8 Mile Road and Wyoming Ave. This is the corner where my grandfather Seymour Wedes was killed on October 13, 1970. He was shot by robbers in his popular costume jewelry store ‘The Jewel Box’ at 20727 Wyoming Street. For the next month leading up to his anniversary (in Hebrew yahrzeit, יאָרצײַט) I’ll be exploring his life and death and writing about the experience on my blog.
I know there is something I’m meant to learn about my life from this man who I never met, not even in a picture. And hopefully the search for Seymour will also teach me many things about Detroit, my heritage and my future. I hope you’ll follow along on the journey.
“We can’t bombard the people with more fear. They are frightened. They are terrorized”
-Gael García Bernal, ‘No’
In the 2012 Chilean drama ‘No’ by Pablo Larraín, Gael García Bernal plays René Saavedra, a hip young ad man who is recruited to help a precariously-united left coalition topple the country’s 8-year dictator Augusto Pinochet in a nationwide plebiscite vote. The film is based, albeit loosely, on the true story of how a dictator fell from power democratically after miscalculating how powerful and united his opposition could become. Even in the last moments of the vote, when it has become clear that Pinochet will lose, his generals abandon him and his maniacal plans for a “self-coup” to incite violence and take back control of the country under pretext of a national emergency.
The film is powerful in our age of hyper-mediated living when a 24/7 news cycle bombards us with complicated and often contradictory sensations of fear, resolution and uncertainty. Twitter, Facebook and other social networks aim to bypass official and corporate channels of communication, but in doing so overwhelm us with an echo chamber of un-curated rage and righteous indignation. Meanwhile, our truly public spaces – once the anchors of democracy and civic participation – are quietly privatized and turned to a faceless market accountable to no one. When we turn back to these places en masse, as we did during Occupy in 2011, we are greeted by an ever-more militarized police state hiding behind a façade of “counter-terrorism.” Strange times indeed!
The Politics of Fear
Activists have long understood that autocratic regimes are upheld more by fear than by love:
Upon this a question arises: whether it be better to be loved than feared or feared than loved? It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with… a prince ought to inspire fear in such a way that, if he does not win love, he avoids hatred.
The Politics of Fear is the staple of every cocksure dictator and crumbling empire. Grandiose displays of force and genocidal collective punishment are sure signs of a failing state, not a prosperous one. Fear immobilizes the people, turning their aspirations to apathy. The natural and prideful independence of people turns to dependence when people are shocked into fearing for their livelihoods and families. In today’s world, this fear is instilled by massive debt burdens, overbearing police forces and an imposed culture of misogyny and racism/classism under capitalism. Fear’s cousin guilt runs rampant: we are made to feel guilty for being too rich, too poor, too old, too young, too white, too black, too fat, too thin, too anything…
A Politics of Love
The alternative to a Politics of Fear is a Politics of Love. It is the Politics of humor and irreverence, of satire and mockery, of creative expression. This Politics embraces diversity of opinion and lifestyle while striving towards ideals of self-reliance, autonomy, dignity, tolerance and – of course! – love.
Rather than demand of each other or of the government, we command over ourselves.
Rather than conquer, we convince.
Rather than oppose or impose, we compose.
The Politics of Love does not mean we should never directly oppose unjust systems, but it acknowledges what Sun Tzu proclaimed thousands of years ago: you don’t attack your enemy at its strongest point but at its weakest. The weak point of a regime that has lost the consent to govern (the current U.S. Congress has a 7% approval rating, less consent than King George III had in the Colonies) is to be found in the way that everyday people relate to it, not just at the vanguard of a protest march. Knowing that people desire to live in dignity, if the current system can’t provide it: can we?
There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love. When we are afraid, we pull back from life. When we are in love, we open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement, and acceptance.
The City of Detroit is undergoing massive transformations today that can be likened to a failed state. A failed state, according to Fund for Peace, is characterized by:
If you’ve been watching the erosion of democracy in Detroit under the imposition of a state-appointed “Emergency Financial Manager”, you will have noticed all of these criteria present in Detroit:
How is this massive imposition of autocracy over democracy implemented and maintained? Entirely through the Politics of Fear. Long-time residents of Detroit, most of whom are Brown or Black, live in constant fear of eviction, water shutoff, electrical disconnection, police stop, parking ticket, outstanding warrant, debt collection, and myriad other disincentives to speak out about the abysmal state of democracy here.
Furthermore, sometimes good people seeking to counter this trend in fact perpetuate it by themselves operating under a Politics of Fear. Often they don’t intend to do so, but even veiled threats aimed at one’s enemies can backfire and instill fear amongst one’s allies. Succumbing to provocation by police and security guards can lead to violence that then justifies a harsher police response and more drastic measures. When seen through an already-biased media lens, these skirmishes can have the effect of suppressing grassroots opposition rather than catalyzing it. It is only through a Politics of Love that a real enduring alternative power structure can be built, because it is only through love that regular people can overcome the fear instilled deep in them by oppressive systems.
A campaign called #WageLove, inspired by the late, great Charity Hicks, is working to end the water shutoffs in Detroit through a beautiful mix of creative direct action, traditional street protest, and mutual aid. By balancing short-term opposition and long-term institution-building over a decentralized network of organizations, I believe Detroit can win this fight and end the shutoffs altogether while also charting a path forward for water sovereignty in Southeast Michigan and beyond. As Sun Tzu said, “Build your enemy a golden bridge to retreat across.” No one fights harder than he who is cornered to death, and a solution that doesn’t work for our enemies too – once we’ve got them where we want them – isn’t really a solution at all.
Occupy Love and Build Institutions
In the aftermath of the initial Occupy protests in 2011, a patchwork of emergent organizations were formed that sought to transform the grassroots energy of Occupy into more enduring social change. I have been fortunate to have participated in several of these organizations, including Occupy Sandy, the Paul Robeson Freedom School and now The After Party. Organizations, unlike movements, base themselves not merely in mobilizing people into the streets but organizing them in their neighborhoods for change. In an age of isolation and declining Labor, community organizing is more important than ever. What will tomorrow’s UAWs and AFSCMEs look like, and who will lead them? In an age of New Work / New Economy, where workforce size and profit are dissociated and profit margins eventually trend towards zero as production costs decrease, what does labor organizing look like? These are the questions we must ask of ourselves if we seek to build institutions that will lead to a more equitable and creative future for our kids.
The Packard Plant in Detroit may lay barren of its once 60,000 line workers, but a few miles away a community garden is growing local food, a 3-D printer can replicate entire machines, and a community-owed solar streetlight is going up to replace the one ripped out by the city and its monopoly utility company for non-payment. Change is inevitable, but not easy without forward-thinking institutions that make old systems irrelevant. Only armed with the Politics of Love, with all of its humor and joy and sadness and hope, can we build a world where fear and intimidation have no place.
En tren con destino errado se va más lento que andando a pie /
On a train headed the wrong way one moves more slowly than by foot
Below I explain why I temporarily shut down the Occupy Wall Street NYC twitter account, and how I will reopen it in the hands of responsible stewards.
On the night before September 17, 2011 I found myself in the Brooklyn Commons preparing for an action called Occupy Wall Street. I was armed with nothing more than a backpack, some camping gear, a megaphone and a Twitter account with 1,300 followers that had been handed to me by a comrade. She was tasked with delivering it to someone in New York City on behalf of Adbusters, the Canadian-based culture-jamming magazine that had created it. As it turns out, all of those other things I had with me have been lost to time or to Bloomberg’s Army except one: @OccupyWallStNYC. That Twitter account persists to today, with over 174,000 followers who have tuned into a movement that still remains alive and kicking nearly three years later.
I began to build a team of people that I thought had interesting lenses into the movement from within. For a while it was just one young woman and I. She had backpacked to Zuccotti Park all the way from Oregon, and she struck me as an inspiring and charismatic human being. We ran the account jointly, tweeting while marching through the streets of Manhattan or sprawled out on blankets in the occupied park. There were no rules then, other than the minimum amount of security culture necessary to protect the account. I named our little team the #TweetBoat, inspired by the #LulzBoat of Lulzsec, an offshoot of Anonymous.
So the two of us went along tweeting and documenting what we saw, experienced and took part in at OWS. Along the way, we befriended others and grew the team organically. Soon, weekly meetings began to take place – first onsite at the park and eventually at bars nearby on Thursday nights. I bought many rounds of drinks to entice folks out and thank them in some small way for their contributions to the boat. We built a solid team of 8 or 10 folks, and at that size the boat ran relatively smoothly. Meetings were sometimes contentious, but always empowering and respectful. Sometimes a celebrity would show up, or a random stranger would wander into the back of the bar and join us. We reveled in the comradery that entangled us together in those magical nights on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.
Consensus is a powerful too, but it is fragile. When stretched beyond the net of trust that our solidarity helped build, collective decision-making can become coercive and ultimately exclusionary: the allure of finding consensus, by pushing out dissenters, overtakes our collective desire to agree. Consensus is a tool that must be wielded carefully. And the culture that we built on the #TweetBoat allowed us to create a safe space for consensus decision-making that was inclusive of an ever-growing team.
Things started to fall apart. The team grew bigger and bigger, but met less and less often. Gone were the inspiring Thursday night bar meetings, replaced with infrequent reunions of small groups of us. These reunions for me were often filled with awkward nostalgia and longing for a renewed sense of community. As meetings dwindled, more communication began to happen by email – a wholly inadequate forum for deep, consensus-based decision-making. The addition of the new tool web tool Loomio offered some promise, but nothing can replace real community building in person. The #TweetBoat had lost its verve.
In early 2014, a series of very toxic email threads began to shake the boat. A member who published some of its contents compromised our secured listserv, protected by the mutual agreement of all members not to share its contents publicly without consent. Newer members to the group found themselves wrapped in a dust storm of festering inter-personal conflicts. The tone of emails became accusatory and grandstanding became commonplace. I started to worry about the future of the boat.
Finally, things came to a head last week. A thread about “self-promotion” became just another shaming session. If we start from a place of assuming bad intentions – i.e. discouraging “self-promotion” over encouraging solid, relevant content – we will end up with rules that shame rather than empower. Group members took on the task of limiting others to “1 to 2 tweets per day” (or week) on a topic, a form of censorship that would never have been allowed in the earlier days of the boat. I had to say enough!
This party is over. Time to go home. Time to clean house for the next party. Time to sleep, to heal, and to reflect.
Many people will be angry. They have that right.
Many people will be saddened. I will be the first to admit my own sadness to see a beautiful collaboration turn into a toxic, unsafe space.
What is next?
The account is closed. No more tweets for now. I plan to read through each of the 47,806 sent tweets, of which about 80% I crafted. (The first year or so of tweets can be found here, and the rest will be published shortly for all to see.) As I read them, I’ll reflect on what happened and how the awakening that OWS was for so many of us has changed me. Perhaps you’ll read them, too.
Clearly the question of ownership of the account is a contentious one, and I don’t pretend to have all the answers. The success of the #TweetBoat was in creating shared ownership of this collective resource by many different people with often divergent perspectives on what Occupy is. Still, even collective resources like gardens need human stewardship. I don’t shy away from currently being the chief steward of this account, and my plan is to reinvigorate it again by putting it back in the hands of responsible stewards. Until that happens, it doesn’t have much use. What is a garden worth if all the gardeners are fighting instead of tending it?
One thing is for certain: the future of the #TweetBoat, like the future of this movement, depends upon embracing change. Movements move. So do people and so do groups. It was never my intention to hoard this resource to myself, which is why I built a solid team and that team deserves praise. I hope that many of them will participate in its next iteration: clear shared leadership, more in-your-face, ground-based tactical media and democratic decision-making.
This boat for a long time was moving in the wrong direction. This is the first step in turning it around.
I had an idea tonight:
— Justin Wedes (@justinwedes) August 5, 2014
I am not being facetious. I am dead serious about this one, people.
First, some context. In case you didn’t notice, Detroit has been in a NAFTA-induced downward spiral of “free market” hell for the last several decades. The population of this once-great metropolis has nose-dived from over 2 million to fewer than 700,000 as nearly everybody with money ran for the suburbs. Wealthy suburbanites still control much of the land, some of the water, and all of the professional sports teams. That doesn’t seem to keep them from Detroit-bashing, as exemplified by suburban Oakland County Executive L. Brooks Patterson this past January:
“I made a prediction a long time ago, and it’s come to pass. I said, ‘What we’re gonna do is turn Detroit into an Indian reservation, where we herd all the Indians into the city, build a fence around it, and then throw in the blankets and the corn.’ ”
So we come to learn that Detroit’s wealthiest man, Little Caesar’s owner Mike Ilitch, has decided to build a new hockey stadium – next to two other brand-new stadiums, one of which is also Ilitch’s. The price tag stands at $650 million, which of course will be paid for by Ilitch and his over $1.7 billion in total worth taxpayer funds redirected from school property taxes.
Yes, you read that correctly. The City of Detroit intends to pay Mike Ilitch to build this stadium from money originally destined for schools. (Technically, the state is supposed to reimburse the City for all school funds expended on the stadium. This, of course, begs the question of why the state didn’t just pay for it in the first place…)
Doesn’t that foreclose on an entire generation of Detroit youth just to please a billionaire who doesn’t even need the money?
But won’t it create jobs?
Yes. But not for the youth whose schools are being closed: the Detroit City Council approved the massive $1 public land handover to Ilitch without even getting a commitment that 26% of the arena jobs would go to Detroiters.
Wait, why only 26%?
Ugh. Major #facepalm.
So we are left with what you might expect of a city under “emergency financial management” – read “dictatorship” – and a corrupt City Council that is completely complicit in the ransacking and looting of Detroit by the same Old Boy’s Club that’s been driving it into the ground for decades.
Which leads me back to my initial suggestion: if the city is going to keep foreclosing on kids’ futures just to make a buck for some rich suburban dude, I propose we get ready to hold high school math class in the high-end luxury boxes at Ilitch-Land Stadium next year.
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Video by Stephen McGee Films
It is time for we the people to stand with Detroit. The work has already started. Detroit is rebuilding community from the grassroots up, and a few dedicated but under-staffed community organizations are working feverishly to grow a more sustainable, equitable and innovative Detroit than the one you hear about in the mainstream media. They’re working for the most part under-the-radar and on local scale, building housing and worker cooperatives, urban farms, alternative recycling programs, public-private partnerships, and a million other amazing ideas that could only take root in a city as ingenuous and resilient as Detroit. These are Detroit’s Davids against Wall Street’s Goliaths, and they need our solidarity now.
Today, 60% of Detroit children live in poverty and the infant mortality rate has surpassed Mexico’s. The city, under unelected emergency financial management from the state governor’s office, recently announced a plan to shut off up to 150,000 residential and commercial water accounts – almost 40% of the city – for non-payment. In some neighborhoods, more streetlights are broken or off than on, and there are more than 80,000 abandoned buildings citywide.
Meanwhile, Detroit’s municipal government and economy are still reeling from decades of disinvestment, deindustrialization, white flight, capital flight, and – yes – corruption that have sent former mayors to jail. Simultaneously, City Hall is being crushed under the weight of an imposing and nationally-coordinated media and financial occupation by corporate America. Michigan’s Tea Party state governor, Rick Snyder, took control of Detroit and 6 other majority-black cities last year under a controversial “emergency manager” law. Shortly after Snyder appointed Kevin Orr to run the city, Orr hired his own former corporate bankruptcy law firm to initiate bankruptcy proceedings while also paving the way for land sell-offs to preferred companies and developers as well as privatization of public utilities and services like ambulances and the water department.
Detroit’s retired city employees and pensioners are likely to pay a high price for the bankruptcy, while banks that engaged in dubious municipal credit rate swaps reclaim the majority of their failed loans and extract usurious interest rates on existing bad debt.
I thought Detroit already got a bailout, in 2009?
Nope, the Big 3 auto companies – Ford, Chrysler, and General Motors – got bailed out under the Automotive Industry Finance Program. In return, their top executives sold their corporate jets, and then proceeded to slash health benefits, cut pensions and reduce payments to laid-off workers. The bailout wasn’t enough for Chrysler, which went bankrupt 3 months later. It received an additional $6 billion check straight from the desk of U.S. Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner, in exchange for vague promises to become “more competitive” and build electric cars. In March of 2009, Treasury approved an additional $5 billion in loans to auto suppliers.
One thing is clear from the auto bailouts: they didn’t do a damn thing to help 99% of Detroit residents. In 2012, two years after the bailout, Detroit still had three times the national poverty rate and half the median income. In fact, the median household income actually declined in the years after the auto bailout from $28,730 (2008) to $23,600 (2012), a full 18% drop. The auto bailout dollars didn’t enrich Detroit proper because for decades Detroit and the auto companies have been disjointed: very little of the wealth created by automobile sales actually stays in Detroit, but gets piped out to the wealthier suburbs or diffuses into the now-global network of financial centers and offshore tax havens.
And Americans as a whole didn’t benefit from the auto bailouts either, in tandem with how they haven’t benefitted from the Wall Street bailouts. 5 years later, the government has spent $80 billion propping up the car companies, but recovered only $54.6 billion of it by October, 2013. That leaves taxpayers on the hook for nearly $25 billion. And the electric cars promised? Chrysler built them, and then Chrysler’s CEO told customers not to buy them because they weren’t profitable. Bailing out the auto companies to save Detroit turned out to be like paying the fox to guard the henhouse, and working Americans are the hens.
In an ideal world
In a world of less dysfunctional politics, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. A functional and compassionate government would have come to the aid of a once-great American city now teetering on the brink of financial collapse and experiencing a full-blown humanitarian disaster.
If the disaster that has befallen Detroit and countless other rustbelt cities had occurred overnight like a hurricane or a tornado, FEMA – the real domestic “emergency managers” – and Red Cross volunteers would be on every corner distributing emergency aid. An army of social workers would descend on the neighborhoods to provided vital services. A New Deal-style emergency jobs program would put thousands of Detroiters to work repairing or demolishing blighted buildings and infrastructure
If the disaster of Detroit had happened in Ukraine, or Israel, or Afghanistan, or Egypt, or any of the dozens of countries around the world where the U.S. government spends over $37 billion annually on foreign aid, U.S. peacekeeping forces would be working side-by-side with local leaders to build schools and hospitals. U.N. Human Rights Observers would be on the ground to ensure the human right of access to clean drinking water. President Obama would stand proudly with Detroit Mayor Mike Duggan posing for pictures in front of the Spirit of Detroit sculpture announcing a peace treaty to ensure an end to the violent water shutoffs and evictions.
The Cavalry Isn’t Coming – So We Must
In reality, none of this is going to happen if it doesn’t suit the interests of the large banks and corporations that showed us clearly in 2008 how they have our elected government fully co-opted to serve their bottom lines. To corporate America, Detroit is just a bunch of deadbeat debtors who haven’t paid their bills, not a humanitarian disaster zone. To them, a bailout for Detroit is a bailout of their own coffers; payback on their own soured gambles.
For the rest of us, though, it’s time to help Detroit. If you care about second chances, about life after poverty and unemployment, you are needed in Detroit to build the better world we talked about in 1,000 parks across this country in the fall of 2011.
You ready to start bailing out Detroit the right way? It starts with water, the basic element of life. Join the Detroit Water Brigade and help us start getting water and vital information to Detroiters in need. If we can, we’ll raise the money to buy off the $150 debts of Detroit families to keep the city from shutting off their water – Strike Debt style. If we raise enough money, maybe we can even buy this debt in bulk and bring hope and second chances to some of America’s most-neglected citizens. Once we get going, who knows where we’ll stop? Rebuild the water and energy systems with renewable technologies and designate them a public commons for all. End all evictions. Turn abandoned lots into urban farms. Rebuild schools. End payday lending and expand crowd funding of local small and cooperative businesses. The sky is the limit.
The bailout isn’t coming from above, people. Let’s do this ourselves.
The waves of the Detroit River lap up onto the wall of the riverwalk downtown, and young children play in the fountains that shoot up through the concrete in the park below the towering Renaissance Center. It is Saturday in Motown, and the sun is shining warm rays down on working-class folk enjoying a day of rest.
Just a few miles away, on the east side across the highway, Jean stands on her porch and worries about the pregnant mom whose water was shut off Thursday morning by Homrich contractors working for the City of Detroit under emergency financial management. They came that morning in a red pickup truck with a homemade decal on the side. In an arc around a circle it read “DETROIT WATER COLLECTION PROJECT”- quite official-looking – and inside the circle it read “WATER ****** HOMRICH”, the asterisks representing a scribbled out word SHUTOFF that was removed after community protests about shaming neighborhood residents.
Jean came yesterday to the weekly, growing Freedom Fridays rallies at the Detroit Water and Sewerage Dept (DWSD) to voice her outrage at seeing a pregnant mother and young children denied the basic
human right to water in a city surrounded by the largest group of freshwater lakes on Earth, containing 21% of the world’s surface fresh water. Her voice faltered as she worked to hold back tears on the megaphone. Her tone was one part desperation and one part pure rage, a rage that is simmering with the summer heat and the threat of over 100,000 family water shutoffs in the hot months ahead.
The media has been nearly silent on the issue of water shutoffs since Detroit’s emergency management began to ramp them up last month. With so much negative news about bankruptcy and blight already, could it be that the country has become desensitized to Detroit’s suffering? Or is it just increasingly difficult to cut through the corporate spin machine that seems to dictate so much of what we hear and see these days on the TV and in newspapers, as Conan O’Brien famously demonstrated when he showed how local news stations were just lazily parroting national corporate press releases. Whatever the reason, you won’t be reading about this humanitarian crisis in USA Today – yet.
Yet. Because we’re going to ramp up the pressure and make this issue un-unreportable.
Yet. Because everyone in the country – in the world? – deserves to know that in the richest country on Earth poor people are having their water shutoff because they can’t pay.
Yet. Because if the water shutoffs don’t stop, an army of peaceful resistance will stop them.
This is a call to action to become part of that resistance.
Visit the Detroit Water Brigade and enlist to help deliver resources and support to those most in need.
Water is a human right.
Everything moves a little more slowly here.
I called the Masonic Temple today, a majestic theatre I recall visiting with my parents as a child. I was inquiring about renting the place for a benefit concert to support the thousands of families whose water is threatened with shutoff every week here for non-payment.
“We are a non-profit,” I gently let drop as she reached for the rate sheet.
“Honey, in Detroit, everyone’s a non-profit,” she responded.
In a sense, she’s right. Who living and working in the city today is turning a profit? I’m not denigrating proud local small businesses that are fighting to make it work past the foundation grants and start-up funding and the helpful checks from loved ones. Nor am I dissing the wide web of non-profits that exist to fill the gaping holes in America’s Swiss cheese safety net – though some of them frankly perpetuate rather than curb the inequities. Finally, I am not ignorant of the behemoth corporations who exist in Detroit in name only but whose profits seep out through the tentacles of global finance to New York, Chicago, London, and then Bermuda, Caymans…
No, Detroit is – for the time-being – beautifully unprofitable for most of us. Maybe profit isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe profitability shouldn’t be the final metric of Detroit’s success in the first place.
The fiscal unprofitability of Detroit slows down time here. Demolition projects crawl along at a snail’s pace. Renovations are over-budget and over deadline. Businesses return your calls and emails a few days later. Life moves at a more human than machine pace here.
When I speak to my social entrepreneurial friends here, they talk of targeting neighborhoods that are teetering on the brink of collapse for land bank intervention or community service. In reality, I think we’re all teetering on brinks all the time, but the ones that move us to action are those that make us feel we can have a positive impact. The pride of low-income Detroit residents collides with the excitement and ambition of young urban activists and change-makers, and creates uncomfortable cultural eddies and waves that we must maneuver honestly and thoughtfully. That takes time, and not the kind that Emergency Managers and “grand bargains” offer in their bankruptcy timelines.
The first widespread viral tactic of popular revolution was the barricade in France, and it spread so quickly because it slowed business as usual in the cities to a standstill so the everyday people could organize themselves. Perhaps we need a 21st century tactic like the barricade – be it digital or analog, but always non-violent – to slow down the hectic hum of gentrification and privatization and build out plans to make Detroit more equitable, sustainable, creative, diverse and just plain fun.
To rise up, we just need to slow down.
Photo: Valerie Jean