Sep 262012
 

This is the second installment of a multi-part history of Sonoma County Conservation Action, a political organization I helped to form and lead. The first part is here.

Pitch and Launch

When I returned to San Francisco at the end of 1990, I called Bill Kortum and proposed that we launch what would turn out to be the first county-scale, locally-focused canvass organizing operation in the country. I was 29.

Bill was still interested in the idea. He convened a meeting of local activists at his home—as I recall, it was Bill, Dick Day, Len Swenson, Juliana Doms, and Bob Higham—and I presented my idea to them. While by no means convinced, they were intrigued. They, after all, hadn’t seen what a canvass could do, as Bill and I had. Still, they respected Bill tremendously. Maybe he and the kid were onto something.

Bill began raising seed money while I prepared to move back to Sonoma County. An initial board of directors was convened comprised of Bill, Dick, Juliana, Allen James of Windsor, and Joan Vilms of Santa Rosa. They approved the name I proposed for the organization: Sonoma County Conservation Action.

By April of 1991, I was again living in Santa Rosa, had found office space, had a logo designed, secured workers’ comp and liability insurance, and was busily creating the forms, operating procedures, employee manual, canvassing and training materials, and accounting and information management systems necessary to administer the new organization. Bill and Lucy Kortum donated a computer: a Macintosh 512k that had been upgraded to a Mac Plus; it was already a museum piece by that time. Les and Audrey Ayres donated the first canvass car: a  red 1974 Volvo station wagon. If there had been any doubt that this was a grassroots, bootstrap effort, the car and computer put that to rest.

Then it was just a matter of building a canvass crew. Which, for those who haven’t done it, is a near-Herculean task. Canvassing is stressful, poorly paid, and requires a person who is intelligent, articulate, personable, and able to let a great deal of rejection roll off her or his back. During my tenure, we had 32 canvass applicants for every one who successfully completed the three stages of application and training to become a Conservation Action staff member. That’s a lot of time and energy invested in interviewing and training people who end up falling short, but it’s how you build an effective organizing team.

On September 9, 1991, trainee Lew Brown by my side, I stepped up to a house on the corner of Starburst Ct. and Starr Road in Windsor, knocked, and recruited the first member of Conservation Action.

Walking down the driveway filling out my stats sheet, I remember thinking, that woman just wrote a $25 check to an organization that only exists on paper, with the promise of a newsletter, a report card on local officials, and election endorsements, none of which yet exist. All because she supports a vision of democracy, public participation, and loyalty to what makes this place so special.

…This can work.

Soon, Lew (who had prior canvassing experience) would successfully complete training to become my first field manager. The days were packed: Mornings, I interviewed applicants and scheduled training days; evenings, I took out new trainees to canvass. I kept up with accounting and data entry after our return to the office. We were on our way.

SCCA’s very first campaign opposed the proposed incorporation of Windsor, a suburban-density region of the county between Santa Rosa and Healdsburg. The development/Chamber of Commerce crowd were all for it, and with good reason: the transition terms the county was offering to the prospective new city were so meager—and the area’s tax base was so small—that if incorporated, the new city would have been the land use equivalent of a crack baby, dependent on constantly approving more development in order to generate permitting fees to pay its bills.

We campaigned hard with our little crew, built a Windsor membership of hundreds of households, and heard strong support for our slow growth message. But many voters felt that the county had betrayed and ignored them, and believed they would have a better chance with local control. We lost.

Ironically, it turned out that though we couldn’t have known it, we were on the wrong side. The newly incorporated Town of Windsor sued the county over its transition terms, and they won, giving the new Town much more favorable conditions for getting up on its feet. By 1996, when SCCA-backed candidates took a majority on the Town Council, Windsor was on its way to becoming what is arguably the most forward-thinking, environmentally-oriented municipality in Sonoma County from a land use standpoint, with a revitalized “smart growth” downtown, a tightly drawn Urban Growth Boundary, and growth management and design ordinances to make growth orderly, more compact, reasonably paced, and attractive.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Despite falling short, we could see that our program had frightened and confused the political establishment in Windsor. The press rhetoric of the pro-incorporation campaign about Conservation Action’s canvassing grew increasingly hysterical as what they thought was a slam dunk became a competitive election. We even caught one candidate for the Town Council stealing anti-incorporation lawn signs and stashing them in the pro-incorporation office. We called the cops; she drove away before they could get there.

Those who were accustomed to calling the shots in local politics clearly did not understand the new phenomenon. They believed that if they smeared us in the press and ignored us politically, our public support would dwindle, and we would disappear.

Mobilizing the Grassroots Voice

Following the November 1991 special election in Windsor, Conservation Action launched its first letter-writing campaign, mobilizing hundreds of letters from Petaluma residents to the state Public Utilities Commission in opposition to their city’s plan to privatize its sewer system and wastewater treatment and eliminate public regulation of utility rates. Though Petaluma’s City Council, City Manager and prospective builders and managers of the proposed system had pulled out every political stop, the PUC agreed with the citizens expressing opposition, and denied Petaluma’s application to privatize.

Times were different then: Petaluma didn’t have a single City Council member who voted well on environmental issues, so what we knew about the buzz among political insiders came second-hand. But we understood it was growing. Who are these people, and what can we do about them?

But then, as it turned out, we seemed to go away. Things went back to business as usual for awhile.

Next: A Shocking Result

Sep 252012
 

The story of the birth and evolution of Sonoma County Conservation Action has been described briefly in a couple of books about the environmental movements of the San Francisco Bay Area: The Country in the City by Richard Walker, and Saving the Marin-Sonoma Coast by Martin Griffin, M.D.

Unfortunately, both of these works went to print without fact-checking their texts with those who were actually present at the events they describe, and as a result, they got substantial parts of the story wrong.

With the celebration of the 21st anniversary of the launch of the Conservation Action canvass, I’m thinking about those days again. As the initial proponent and overseer of the organization’s development for its first ten years, I may be the only person who remembers the organization’s early history in detail.

It’s a pretty good tale, if I do say so myself, and worth preserving. So here it is. We’re talking about a span of twenty-one years, all told, so this will come out in chunks. Enjoy.

________________________________________

A Sense of Place

After graduating from high school, I moved from Davis, a college town in California’s Central Valley, to Santa Rosa, located some 50 miles north of San Francisco. I was on my own when it came to paying for my higher education, and Santa Rosa Junior College was said to be the third-best such institution in the country: affordable, reputable, and with a high transfer rate to university. Off I went. It was 1979; I was 17.

Settling on Sonoma County for my first two years of college brought unexpected rewards. As those who come from across the world to visit will attest, the place is amazing…particularly if you have spent your childhood staring across table-flat sugar beet fields to the unattainable hills of the horizon.

Suddenly, I lived among epic landscapes of soft coastal mountains, gold in the summer and green in the winter, with oak, bay, madrone and manzanita in the ravines between them. Redwood forests that felt so ancient I expected dinosaurs to come crashing into their silence. A wild coastline of high bluffs and secluded coves that looks for all the world like Scotland. A (usually) mild, lazy river meandering to the sea, lined with green riparian forests. Temperate climate, neither too cold nor too warm. Great air and water quality (sadly, less so now than they were then). Some of the best wine, beer and food on Earth, period, full stop. And a population largely made up of tolerant, liberal-minded refugees from other places that have been ruined by urban sprawl.

When I arrived, the county’s electoral demographics had only recently shifted from a majority of rural and small-town conservatives. That transition was not in any way reflected in the county’s politics, which were dominated by developers, realtors and builders cashing in on the county’s sudden attractiveness to home buyers, and agricultural land owners selling lands on the urban fringe for conversion to sprawl subdivisions. While a substantial group of back-to-the-land counterculturalists had settled in the western part of the county in the early 1970s, it had failed to gain much traction over the county’s land use, transportation, and water policies. So while voices expressing environmental concern were heard, they were generally dismissed as fringe, minority positions, and ignored by policy makers, who continued to dance with them what brung ’em.

In 1979, Sonoma County was represented in Congress by a 9-term conservative Republican, and substantial majorities of both its Board of Supervisors and the city councils of its municipalities were owned lock, stock and barrel by the interests busily grinding Heaven on Earth into money. Polls showed that impacts of rapid growth were at the top of voter concerns, but their only sources of information about local candidates for office were the candidates’ own campaign literature and the local daily, the Santa Rosa Press Democrat…a substantial portion of the revenues of which derived from real estate advertising and other direct support from the interests running the show.

I became aware of all this, but didn’t engage with it much. I had always been interested in politics, but I was in college, waiting tables to survive and putting whatever extra time I had into speech and debate competition. I didn’t have time for activism.

I did have one bizarre engagement with the county’s politics during this time. My roommate and I were dragged by his father—a realtor with the infamous Soderling Brothers, who were subsequently convicted of a series of felonies—to an Election Night party celebrating voter approval of the Warm Springs Dam. This was before the wheels came off the bus in the federal savings and loan scandal, of course, in which Sonoma County developers, political figures and financial institutions were to play a prominent role (read this book, if you haven’t. It’s both fascinating and damning).

I’m quite sure I’m the only person ever to become a part of Sonoma County’s environmental movement who happened to find himself at that party. I remember then-Sheriff Roger McDermott bending my ear about something while, trying to pretend to pay attention, I looked around at the room full of drunken, exulting cow-town Good Ol’ Boys, thinking, these cannot possibly be the people directing the course of this county’s future.

 

Skills

I graduated from SRJC (::cough valedictory speaker cough::) and then commuted by bus to San Francisco State to complete my Bachelors Degree.  When I opted for graduate school in 1986, I finally pulled up stakes and moved to the City.

I needed a job while attending graduate school, so I looked in the nonprofit, public benefit sector. A friend pointed me at a building on Market Street filled with the offices of public-interest organizations; I started at the top floor and worked my way down, asking at each office if any of them had any jobs. On the fifth floor, I found the California League of Conservation Voters.

They had jobs. Canvassing jobs.

Over the next three years, I became first a trainee, and then a canvasser, a trainer, and a field manager for the League. Unlike many canvassing operations—yes, I’m looking at you, Greenpeace and PIRGs—the League’s field staff were viewed as organizers, not just fundraisers, and the organization invested the time, content and rigor in their training program to give staff what they needed to be effective. The League viewed recruiting membership and contributions as a means to the end of keeping the staff in the field, where we mobilized thousands of hand-written letters from voters to elected officials in targeted campaigns, distributed endorsements and campaigned for candidates and ballot measures the League supported, recruited volunteers, and disseminated an annual legislative report card on the California Assembly and State Senate. League canvassers understood that we were the face of the organization and would be back at the same doors again year after year; we needed to maintain a cordial, respectful and professional demeanor when interacting with the public. Pushy, foot-in-the-door types were not welcome.

I knocked on tens of thousands of doors for the League and worked on at least a couple of dozen campaigns, raising more than $100,000 in contributions averaging less than $30 per. I learned how to craft effective messages: how to talk with people about the League’s issues from many different standpoints, whether birds-and-bunnies environmentalism, fiscal conservatism, grassroots democracy, government accountability or resource efficiency. I traveled on cross-training trips to work on campaigns and help build canvass offices for other organizations in Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, the District of Columbia, Massachusetts, and the League’s own office in Southern California.

While at the League, I met Bill Kortum, a former Sonoma County Supervisor who had been one of the founding members of the CLCV board. He and I hit it off because of our shared affinity for Sonoma County, and during breaks in board meetings, we had a couple of conversations about how Sonoma County could really use a local-scale grassroots organizing program before what was great about the county went the way that what was great about the San Fernando Valley had gone.

 

The Idea

in 1989, my life happened to reach a juncture where there was a chance to make a big change: a relationship had ended, I was being forced to move from my apartment, and it was going to cost every dime of my savings to move into another place. So I jumped sideways instead: I put my possessions into storage in my brother’s garage, bought a one-way ticket to Amsterdam, shouldered a backpack and took off. I traveled throughout Europe and into North Africa for more than a year, settling in Barcelona during the school year to teach English.

As I began to consider returning to the U.S. in spring of 1990,  I thought about those conversations with Bill. I knew Sonoma County was where I wanted to live, and wanted it to retain the qualities I so loved about it. Those qualities had already been threatened just in the time since I’d first moved there, and something needed to be done, or there was certainly the possibility that Sonoma County would go the way of many other formerly wonderful places: The “Valley of Heart’s Desire”, for example, which we now call Silicon Valley, or that well-known land of bucolic orchards, Orange County.

It occurred to me that there couldn’t be many people out there who had both a passion for Sonoma County and the skill set I had developed while working with the League. If a program like the one Bill and I had discussed was going to happen, I was probably going to have to build it.

Next: Early Days

Sep 192012
 

My column in today’s North Bay Bohemian:

District elections will finally bring democracy to Santa Rosa

All you need to know about the opposition to Measure Q, which would enable each region of Santa Rosa to elect its own city council representative, is “Who?” “Where?” and “Why?”

Who is campaigning against Measure Q, or opposed putting it on the ballot? Here’s a sample: Herb Williams, campaign manager for dozens of developer-backed candidates; Janet Condron, former city councilwoman who earned failing grades on the Sonoma County Conservation Action environmental report card; Doug Bosco, former congressman and behind-the-scenes powerbroker.

Where do they live? In affluent areas of east Santa Rosa.

That’s no coincidence. Since Santa Rosa’s founding, councilmembers have come almost exclusively from wealthy eastside neighborhoods, their campaigns financed by business and development interests.

Why? Because the current system suits Santa Rosa’s power elite just fine. They have controlled a majority of the city council for all but two years in living memory. While advocates for neighborhoods, inclusion and quality of life fought unsuccessfully to be heard, these council majorities cheerfully rubber-stamped proposals ranging from expanding an asphalt plant in the middle of town to ridgetop McMansions in Skyhawk.

Right now, every Santa Rosa City Council election is a pitched battle between bags of business community cash on one side and outspent, grassroots campaigns for neighborhood and environmental advocates on the other. Those loyal to the wishes of ordinary voters are outgunned, and they usually lose.

If that’s democracy, it’s democracy Citizens United–style. The game is rigged to favor candidates funded by interests who hope to profit from city council decisions.

Giving each region of the city its own representative will give people-powered campaigns a fighting chance. City council members will be more accountable to voters, not special interests. And when a neighborhood has a concern, they’ll have an advocate at city hall.

Real democracy in Santa Rosa is long overdue. Vote yes on Measure Q.

Sep 182012
 

Yes, there will still be beer (and wine). Cleavage, too, I’m sure.

But that’s not what Much Ado About Sebastopol is about.

It’s about something far more cool. It’s time travel. For $12 a day, it’s a two-day vacation to 450 years ago. Pretty good bang for the buck, you ask me.

The third annual MAAS Renaissance Faire—now expanded to two days—is a charitable benefit for the Sebastopol Education Foundation, benefiting local schools. It takes place this weekend, September 22 and 23, at Ives Park in Sebastopol.

Once upon a time in the misty past of the 1960s, the concept of a Renaissance Faire was born as an educational adventure: an immersion experience in Elizabethan England to bring the world and history of the time of Shakespeare (mostly a bit prior, actually) to life. The clothing, language, pastimes, culture, crafts, and intrigues of the day would be revealed in the re-creation of an English country fair, circa 1570-80. Rather than sitting at a comfortable remove from performers, patrons were surrounded by costumed actors being people of that time. It was colorful, loads of fun, and patrons came away knowing something of a time in history that laid the groundwork for much of our modern-day world.

And boy, was it successful.

So much so, in fact, that it became a very profitable idea, and—as will so often happen—those elements that appeared to be driving ticket sales began to take precedence over the initial purpose, which was to enable patrons to have fun while learning something. Those elements being, okay, let’s say it, tits and beer.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I like all three of those things.

However, when “Renfaires” became big-money, corporate-owned enterprises, those elements, um…came to the fore, and the amazing coolness of actually re-creating a voyage to another time got supplanted by crass, lowbrow entertainment. Pretty quickly, all sorts of stuff inappropriate to the period was allowed, patrons got the idea that the Faire was a costume party where you could wear anything, and goods for sale began featuring quite a lot of mass-produced crap. A long slide in all standards of quality had begun.

But then, into this howling wasteland of avarice, there strode a Man. And a Woman. With a Vision. (Probably several of both, I’m unclear on the specifics.)

Enter Rydell Downward, Claudia Laughter and an associated crowd of longtime Renaissance Faire performers who still carried the values of historicity, excellence in immersion theater, and overall Goodness and Virtue.

(Okay, Goodness, anyway. They’ll probably read this.)

Founders of the Guild of St. George, these folks take their costuming, history, and craft as performers seriously. And get this: for the first time, at Much Ado About Sebastopol, they can actually do a Renaissance Faire the way it should be done, because the whole thing is a charitable benefit for local schools.

They—okay, we; I’m one of ’em—don’t have a corporate profit motive breathing down our necks. And as a result, we’re doing a Renaissance Faire unlike any other, a lovely jewel of enjoyment and wonder, right here in Ives Park in Sebastopol.

Meet the villagers of the little town of Fenford, come to celebrate their harvest fair at Michaelmas! Encounter Will Shakespere, and ask him why he can’t settle on a spelling for his name. See how the folk of Fenford, high-born and low-, live their lives. Hear music of the period, interact with characters from history. See hilarious stage shows. Treat yourself and your kids to fun and educational demonstrations of craft and art. Shop fer stuff. Marvel at period clothing of every class. Ruffs! Partlets!

Ogle the Queen, and sing the timeless song:

Ogle our gracious Quene,
Ogle our towhead Quene,
Yep, that’s the Quene.
Let her reign glorious O’er Court uproarious,
Now sing in tones stentorious: Ogle the Quene!

Admission on Saturday 9/22 will also allow you to stay for a special performance and live auction from 6pm to 10pm at the main stage and Pip ‘n Vine Tavern, featuring Aries Fire Arts Collective.

Anyway, you get the idea. It’s too cool for school…though in actuality, it’s for the schools.

Ah, irony. What fools these mortals be.

UPDATE: Mr. Downward informs me that this event sprang from a Renaissance Faire-type event for 7th graders which has been organized for several years now by Sebastopol teacher Andrea Hagan, who began this activity to reinforce California curriculum standards for 7th grade history/social studies. She approached the aforementioned sticklers for quality, resulting in Much Ado About Sebastopol.

So let me extend some credit to Ms. Hagan, and thanks for the opportunity to do one of these things with the proper set of priorities. If you have kids, BTW, there is a program of fun and educational activities in which you and they can participate to get the most out of your day in the Village of Fenford.

I hope to see you there! I play Elizabethan madrigal composer Thomas Morley, a social climber from humble roots who wears an elegant–but hopelessly out of fashion–set of used clothing. I’ll be the guy in black and silver, with the counting staff.

At publication, the Dragon was LOOKING FORWARD TO IT