In the Name of Love and Free Speech

The cover photo for Champion Communication, my writer’s page on Facebook, is a picture I took a few years ago of the Golden Gate Bridge from Crissy Field. I use the same image on my LinkedIn profile page. I chose the view from Crissy Field for these cover photos because it is an iconic image of San Francisco, where I live; a city known for its values and ideals of embracing diversity and inclusiveness.

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In Charlottesville, Virginia on Aug. 12, opposing groups clashed over the removal of a statue of Confederate General Robert E. Lee. A young woman, Heather Heyer, was killed, and a couple dozen counter-protesters were injured in hate crimes that are being described as acts of domestic terror. In the wake of this violence, right-wing groups espousing white nationalism are applying for permits to hold rallies in cities throughout the United States, on the basis of First Amendment rights protecting free speech.

As I write this, the National Park Service is considering whether to grant or deny a permit for an anti-government, right-wing group calling themselves Patriot Prayer to hold a rally at Crissy Field on Aug. 26. The group deliberately chose Crissy Field because it’s on national parkland, part of the Golden Gate National Recreational Area. Thus, the City and County of San Francisco has no authority to grant or deny the permit. This is a devious move on their part. They know that the National Park Service’s Park Police will not be able to enforce public safety at a rally that is bound to draw large numbers of counter-demonstrators. The group applying for the permit has attracted a militia group called Oath Keepers that is planning to join them at the rally.

Champion Communication is a name I adopted years ago while I was earning a living as a freelance journalist who also got regular gigs as a television production assistant for Thoroughbred racing’s most prestigious events. A champion is a winner, but champion can also mean a defender, a supporter, of a cause or an ideal. Communication is the act of conveying intended meanings from one person, group or entity to another through the use of mutually understood rules. The message can be expressed via verbal, nonverbal, written or visual format.

Here in the United States of America, free speech protected under the First Amendment of our Constitution is a basic cornerstone of communication. Yet, there are certain limitations to free speech that are designed to protect public safety. You cannot, for example, legally incite violence or a riot.

So how do I feel about this particular request for a permit to hold a “free speech” rally at Crissy Field?

My sense tells me this request for a permit is a calculated gambit to stir up shit, provoke trouble, and incite violence.

Public safety is a sound reason to deny the permit. I hope the National Park Service will not issue the permit on that basis.

I say this recognizing that it takes two to tango. If there were to be violence at a rally organized by a group like this, it would take an “other side” to be present that perhaps came looking for a fight. What contributes to the potential for direct engagement to turn ugly is that some people who oppose white nationalism and white supremacy are passionately against “normalizing” such a rally by letting it take place without a challenge. They will turn out to oppose the very presence of a group that requested such a permit before the dust had settled in the streets of Charlottesville. And make no mistake; though San Francisco embraces diversity and inclusiveness, the nearby environs in California are rapidly turning into a hotbed of white supremacy. Whatever claims are made to the contrary, at this point in time, this rally will serve as a lightning rod for groups that espouse racial hatred.

It is surreal, like watching as the date and location for a battle is scheduled.

But if this group is granted their permit, are there not better ways to oppose such speech than to go to the battlefield?

Lately, like many of us, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the scars this country bears from the enslavement of one race by another. I’ve thought a whole lot about the people I’ve known who shaped my thinking, and my own experiences that informed me.

My earliest memories include events and conversations connected to the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated when I was in second grade. My second grade teacher gave us 6- and 7-year-olds a homework assignment to write an essay about Dr. King. We then were asked to read our essays aloud to the class. We discussed Dr. King’s life and tragic death, race and racial relations and what the Civil Rights Movement was about. Yes, young children can handle that conversation, and even though I do not remember each word of it, I remember feeling awed by having witnessed a moment in history that was larger than my innocent awareness of the world could comprehend at the moment, and it made a lasting impression. A man had been murdered in cold blood, giving his life so that black people in America could sit on buses and at lunch counters, because there was segregation in America, and it was based on discrimination, and this was something that needed to be changed because our country was founded on principles of equality.

Another life experience which took years for me to study and grasp became the theme of my first novel (currently in the editing phase), about a teenage girl who goes to work in a racing stable during the late 1970s and finds herself smack in the middle of a grassroots union organizing campaign on the part of her co-workers. Little did I know that workers on the backstretch are not protected under the federal National Labor Relations Act when, in real life, I took their side in organizing for a backstretch workers’ union. When I chose Labor Studies as my major in college, I read in the labor law textbook that was assigned for one of my classes that the NLRA does not protect either domestic or agricultural workers, the latter category applying to the men and women who took care of racehorses. The textbook did not offer any explanation as to why not.

Not until after I graduated from college did I learn the story behind that exclusion. How, in order to get the 1935 law passed that would allow the majority of American workers to organize and bargain collectively with their employers, a compromise was made. A concession to Southern Congressmen who would not have voted for the NLRA if it had extended protection to their domestic servants and farmhands, the majority of whom were black. Decades later, this exclusion extended to me, as a backstretch worker.

As I write this on Aug. 19, one week after Heather Heyer was killed and a couple of dozen more injured on the streets of Charlottesville, a permitted rally in Boston by a right-wing group under the guise of free speech was cut short when a relatively small number was met by tens of thousands of counter-protestors in the streets of Boston. Reportedly there were only about 100 of the right-wing free speech demonstrators, outnumbered by 40,000 who marched against them. Nobody seems to have been reported injured, however there were a few minor skirmishes that suggest it could have turned bloody.

I believe there are better ways to bring change in America than shouting one’s lungs out one day in protest of people who hold different points of view than your own. If you don’t want to “normalize” such viewpoints when their rally takes place, rally somewhere else in San Francisco on Aug. 26. Make speeches, sing songs, and say prayers dedicated to truly seeking to achieve the ideals set forth in the Declaration of Independence and the American Constitution, and to the values of diversity and inclusiveness.

Better still, commit to taking on the work of enacting change one day at a time, one on one, in book discussions, in community organizing, in running for office in order to change laws, in any way that is peaceful and that makes sense.

I want Aug. 26 and 27 to come and go without violence and bloodshed on Crissy Field or anywhere else in San Francisco or the Bay Area, since this same right-wing group is scheduled to rally in Berkeley the very next day. The real work to be done to bring about change is more tedious than counter-demonstrating over a particular weekend, then thinking we’ve done enough. It’s a matter of influencing thought and attitudes to make a real difference. The moment is upon us to continue the conversation that started long ago.

 

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Nurturing a Neighborhood

It’s been a year and a half since my last blog post and that’s a really long time, I admit, but there’s been so much going on, so many distractions, it’s taken me awhile to reset. Since I posted last, I’ve gone on many a walk around my neighborhood. This is a part of San Francisco where everything is new. Since I posted last, I’ve seen the playground open. Earlier today I went by the playground and it was quite a lively scene at midday, midweek, noon on a Wednesday. See the pictures I took.

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Each time I walk along the promenade on the north side of the creek there are always more mommies or nannies with young children in strollers, and today the park on the south side of the creek was as full as ever with folks out enjoying the sunshine in so many ways. Out walking dogs, taking the kids for a stroll, or just lying in the grass reading. Urban parks are the community’s oasis, and that’s truer than ever where businesses are taking so long to move in and give those of us who live here places to go.

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It’s not fully built out yet. I passed by a construction site on my walk today. I’ve lived here since before most of these massive mid-rise and high-rise residential buildings sprung from the empty lots that were here. People who grew up elsewhere in San Francisco pass through and can’t believe how different it looks compared to how vacant all this land was just three or four years ago. Thousands of people live here now.

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Construction on that kindergarten through elementary school hasn’t started yet. That’s another year away, and then it will take three years for the school to be built. It’s going to be one of the last things to be built here. It was promised to the community in the master plan for redeveloping this part of the City, and now it’s up to the Board of Education to get moving on it, now that the voters approved the bond measure last November that earmarked money to build a school here, where so many young couples and families are moving in. I’m part of the steering committee that’s been advocating for the school to be built and in the past week or so, neighbors who are following this community effort have been asking what’s happening with that property? They see it’s now being used as a parking lot for construction workers. They are wondering when the school will be built.

Future School Site

Yes, there’s a lot going on. I’ll keep taking walks through the new neighborhood that’s no longer new to me but still very new in the sense that it’s growing, before my very eyes, and still has a few years to go before it’s completely built out.

This was previously Bettina’s Blog. It’s now The Creekside Communicator. I’ll try not to let another year and a half go by before the next time I post.

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Grab the Brass Ring!

 

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The carousel at Yerba Buena Gardens

Leaving downtown one exceptionally fine afternoon last week, I chose to walk home instead of take public transit. At 3rd and Howard, where the sidewalk remains closed due to one of San Francisco’s countless construction sites, I turned and headed over to 4th Street, and was about to turn onto 4th when I looked up to see the carousel at Yerba Buena Gardens.

There was no reason to hurry, so I lingered by the entrance, watching the children riding the ornate herd that galloped by in a grand, up and down rolling loop. The fairground sound of carousel music washed away the racket of rush hour outside.

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A row of four giraffes await their riders

This was the carousel where my future husband had taken me on a date the first year we dated. I reminisced fondly as I watched the hand-carved horses and camels, one with a monkey crouching on its rump, and the rams and giraffes circling in front of me. Then I recalled another carousel my mother used to take me to when I was a child.

I always chose a horse on the outside. I loved to reach way out on the wooden steed as we passed the dispenser that contained a hundred silver rings, and try to grab the brass ring. Sometimes I did catch it, and then I got to ride again for free.

I continued on my way by abandoning the sidewalk alongside 4th Street in favor of the footpath through Yerba Buena Gardens, which is really more a park than a garden. It was something I could do because I was on foot.

San Francisco is an increasingly congested city, its inhabitants stressing a little more each time they try to go somewhere.

What folly, to creep entangled in a snarl of other vehicles to each intersection, watching one change of the signal after another till you’re finally through, and then it’s a matter of yards to the next intersection. One BART conductor likes to announce over the public address system on his train leaving the Oakland station for San Francisco: Like a herd of turtles we race to the next stop. We are a herd of turtles in San Francisco nowadays. Why is the City not acknowledging that there are too many cars clogging up our streets?

People get around San Francisco in a number of ways. Many, like myself, opt to walk because we truly enjoy it. But there are also those who react with bewilderment when I tell them I prefer to walk to get places. Most of the time, I can get where I’m going faster on foot, I tell them. I find it to be less stressful than being on a bus or streetcar in this mess. And I get some exercise.

This is met with silent contemplation by some, who no doubt are replaying their most recent torturously slow ride in a car through San Francisco. Data from the San Francisco County Transportation Authority shows that traffic speeds on the City’s arterial roadways during peak travel periods are dropping precipitously. The latest staff memorandum tentatively suggests the slowdown is due to the ubiquitous construction sites that close traffic lanes (in addition to sidewalks), plus massive job growth, and a resulting influx of newcomers into the region. Though unacknowledged by the CTA in its biannual report, the tens of thousands of Uber and Lyft cars flooding our City streets, unchecked, are more likely the reason for the average traffic speed during the afternoon’s peak travel period slowing from 16 miles per hour in 2013, to 12.7 mph in 2015. That’s a 20 percent decrease in two years. The morning’s peak average traffic speed has also plummeted, by 14 percent, from 17.1 mph to 14.6 mph in the same two-year period.

(Data compiled from CTA biannual reports for the years 2007, 2009, 2011, 2013, and 2015 demonstrate this peak travel slowdown on arterial roadways dramatically in graph and table format. To view, click on this link:  Average Automobile Travel Speed, SF 2007-15 as revised.)

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Due to construction of the Central Subway, traffic from I-280 North was detoured from King St. onto a side street on two occasions in 2015. Here, a Lyft passenger tired of waiting for the traffic signal at 3rd St. to change gets out to walk.CIMG2723

The nearly stopped traffic hasn’t stopped people from getting into cars — if not their own, someone else’s. On the contrary, if anything, the increased amount of time it takes to get anywhere in all that traffic seems to have convinced folks that it is more necessary than ever to get in a car. It is as if they believe the distance between points A and B is further than it actually is. Time stuck in traffic has warped their sense of distance.

Talk about riding the merry-go-round!

Pausing to watch children on a carousel was not in my plans when I chose to walk home that afternoon instead of take public transit. I would never have gotten that reward of sunshine and the breeze on my face had I been in a car or a bus or streetcar, getting stuck at every intersection for several changes of the light.

I felt like I’d grabbed the brass ring.

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The Feng Shui of a Displaced Artwork by a Displaced Artist Serendipitously Finding Its Right Home

Silver Dollar Eucalyptus by Flora Davis

 

The search for the perfect piece of art to cover the most visible wall space in my home – across from the dining table, at the end nearest to the kitchen as you come into our living room — ended serendipitously, as I knew it would, after my husband and I had been living in our new place and searching for the perfect piece for that spot for nearly five years. The builder who designed our unit decided for some unfathomable reason to put the circuit breaker box smack dab in a spot that can only be described as prime real estate for a china cabinet, off-center in the lower left of the dominant wall in the main living area. Supposedly, a building code requires circuit breaker boxes must be located anywhere but in a closet, and while I am certain the natural placement for an almost-certain-to-be-needed-only-once-in-20-years compartment of electrical switches would have been the hallway, the builder had other ideas and presented a decorating challenge.

I’d have preferred a buffet table with a hutch to store and display heirloom serving pieces right there, but the possibility of needing to open the circuit breaker box in a distant future prevents placement of anything like a hutch, since heavy furniture blocking the box would be difficult to move.

The right piece of art, which we could easily remove from its hooks, was what we needed to conceal what I consider to be a design blemish in our beautiful home.

Adding to the challenge, my husband and I were bent on finding something that would complement and tie together the other elements in the room. The right color palette and theme we had cultivated of California flora, ferns and redwoods, desert wildflowers and bamboo leaves and the landscape on the opposite wall of rocks and plants along a little stream in Joshua tree country down south.

The silver-dollar eucalyptus branch painting that arrived in my home last Sunday was all that my husband and I had wanted. The autumnal greens, gold and reds coordinate with the recliner, lamp, rug, and the seat cushions around the dining table. The expressionist study perfectly fits the room‘s leaf motif.

My husband had known the artist’s husband for years through work in the cab industry; well enough that I’d met the man on more than one occasion. Still, it came as a surprise one day last week when this friend asked if we’d be interested in acquiring an original artwork painted by his wife, Flora.

Charles and I still didn’t realize this was the piece we’d searched for these past few years, not even when Flora informed us that the acrylic on canvass, which we’d seen only a digital image of via email, measured 3½ by 5 feet. We were thinking it would go on the center of that wall. We hadn’t envisioned placing it off-center so that it would cover the intrusively placed circuit breaker box with its rectangular metal face.

Moments after arriving in our living room, Flora sized up the placement of the eyesore and offered her feng shui wisdom. We couldn’t believe we hadn’t thought of it ourselves. Here was the very solution we had sought. The recliner, lamp, rug, dining table with its leafy green tablecloth and the chairs with their arboreal seat cushions, the other framed pictures already hanging in the room, all seemed to whisper in agreement.

It isn’t every day that an artist comes over to deliver an original painting they are giving away, so I’d gone to Trader Joe’s the previous Friday and selected a festive spread of cheeses and crackers. I sliced an apple and a pear to place around the cheeses and scattered mixed nuts all over the tray. To boost the color palette and add crisp to the gooey softness of the runny cheeses, I put baby carrots, radishes, and sliced green and red bell peppers on a separate platter with homemade sour cream-Greek yogurt-onion dip served in a white French onion soup bowl. I set out four of the stunning red dessert plates with pretty pink and blue flowers that I’d inherited from my grandmother. We drank Pellegrino.

We sat down after hanging it to admire Flora’s work and its effect upon the room, and of course Charles and I asked how such a lovely painting came to be given to us.

The silver-dollar eucalyptus branch was one of her earlier works which had never sold, and which she had kept in inventory for more than 20 years.

She could no longer keep it in inventory.

She and 42 other longtime artists were being priced out of the studio where they had created for decades. The deadline was November 30.

Flora, a 26-year tenant of the SoMa Artists Studios, has found a new studio in the Mission District that she can afford, but it is a smaller space, and to move into it, she was giving up some of her inventory.

Of the 43 artists who had cohabitated and created in the SoMa Artists Studio, only 6 have found new studios.

Rising rents are hurting many people in San Francisco these days. It isn’t only people affected by the rental housing market’s stratospheric rents; businesses and nonprofits also are being priced out. Many more have been evicted, or are facing an eviction. Some have been evicted multiple times. Like a scourge, creative types of all varieties are being driven out of the City by the affordability crisis.

Everybody agrees it’s a crisis. Displacement has become a word you hear every day in San Francisco.

Flora told us while we tasted the cheeses that she has become active in the movement to preserve the local artists’ community through the Cultural Action Network. CAN is a group of artists and activists taking actions to protect artists and preserve diverse cultural organizations and spaces in San Francisco through public awareness campaigns and actions, community organizing, and legislative solution.

It was serendipity, meeting Flora under such circumstances. Earlier that month, San Francisco’s municipal election saw several measures placed on the ballot by citizens fighting back against the rising rents and corporate takeover of our government at every level, but nowhere more greedily than the local level.

Our guests, the artist and her cab-driving husband, were thankful to hear that our household too had campaigned for the same values – preserving homes and businesses for working families and creative types — in the months leading to the election. Our candidate had won, unseating an opponent who’d been appointed by the Mayor early in the year, and against the odds of big-money interests who invested heavily in an aggressive character assassination campaign against a progressive running entirely on the Affordable City platform.

On the other hand, the two most hard-fought ballot measures – Prop F and Prop I — had lost. Astronomical sums had been lobbed against them by corporate opponents. Voter turnout had been low.

But much good has come out of the recent election’s campaigns, and for that matter, there is good coming out of the pain of the widespread evictions and displacements. Across the City, communities have been united. A progressive movement has been reignited. We see only the start of the next round before us.

In the fading light of a November Sunday, after a walk around the nearby creek that was followed by pumpkin pie topped by freshly whipped cream and a piping hot pot of spicy chai tea, Flora looked at her silver-dollar eucalyptus branch hanging on our living room wall before turning to go, and said she was pleased with how this had turned out. There was something very feng shui in how her early expressionist artwork, which she’d kept in inventory in her studio for more than 20 years, had finally found its right home.

For more on the story, see http://abc7news.com/1096934/

For more on Cultural Action Network, visit http://www.culturalactionnetwork.org

SBD6 Dem Club Takes a Leadership Role in the Effort to Preserve the City’s Existing Affordable Rental Stock

Busy with so many things these days. This blog post tells the story of Wednesday, Sept. 1, at high noon.

A public rally along San Francisco's Embarcadero on a sunny September day turns peaceful -- but will the good folks of South Beach Marina Apartments get to stay in their homes?
A public rally along San Francisco’s Embarcadero on a sunny September day turns peaceful — but will the good people of South Beach Marina Apartments get to stay in their homes?

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Listen to the Mockingbird

TKAMI’d just re-read To Kill a Mockingbird for a January 2015 book discussion when the news broke, two weeks later, that Harper Lee would publish a long-awaited second novel.

An astonishing development and the timing was a true coincidence, for To Kill a Mockingbird and the group’s animated discussion of it were still fresh in my mind.

After delving into Lee’s narrative of Depression-era, small town Maycomb, Alabama from the point-of-view of young Scout Finch, the nine of us around the long wooden table in the boardroom where the book group meets inevitably got around to discussing Harper Lee. Or to be more precise, we discussed the Harper Lee mystique. Essentially, we pondered why Lee never wrote another book. She’d achieved the greatest heights of literary accomplishment with her debut novel, and any new work would be measured against it. It must have seemed a formidable task.

Or perhaps she didn’t have anything else to say.

Everyone who has read and loved To Kill a Mockingbird has looked up from it in dazed admiration and asked, “This is a first novel? This is an only novel?”

Now, 55 years since Lee published her masterpiece which won the Pulitzer Prize and the hearts of millions of readers, it turns out that a first draft had survived in a safe place near Lee’s home. Assumed irretrievably lost, it was found in late 2014.

Go Set a Watchman will be published in July as a sequel, though it was completed a few years ahead of Mockingbird. Apparently, the story is distinct enough from Mockingbird that it stands alone as a separate account. How it will stack up against Mockingbird in terms of the author’s writing prowess is anybody’s guess. Lee rewrote her first draft at the request of an editor who liked the childhood flashbacks of an adult Scout returning to her hometown 20 years after the trial of Tom Robinson, and asked the first-time novelist to present the story in the point-of-view of the child Scout.

There might have been additional reasons the editor asked the aspiring author to rewrite the manuscript. Reportedly patchy and awkwardly structured, the process of revising it eventually took three drafts and two and a half years.

The true value of Go Set a Watchman might ultimately be to writers and editors who read it together with Mockingbird as a study in revision. It’s with that expectation that I will read Go Set a Watchman.

If it should turn out to be a treasured book in its own right, a long-awaited second novel worthy of its author’s duly lauded debut, then that will just be gravy.

“From now on it’ll be everybody less one–” Atticus teaches his young daughter Scout to do what’s right even if it means not following the crowd.