Locking Down Community

The day before the Boston Marathon bombing a friend suggested that I read Rebecca Solnit’s 2008 book, A Paradise Built in Hell. It turned out to be perfect timing, much in the way that my reading of Jared Diamond’s Collapse as Hurricane Katrina gathered strength provided a fascinating lens through which to observe the devastation wrought by the storm itself and the government’s flailing response.

Solnit’s main argument is that people tend to behave well in disasters while elites often panic as their usual control breaks down. She provides a devastating critique of how elites and their command-and-control structures are ill-suited for the chaos following disaster.

I recommend Solnit’s challenging but ultimately encouraging book to everyone. But if you want just a taste of her thinking, her essay “Unpacking for Disaster” underlines the ways in which letting fear drive our thoughts is counterproductive as we face the challenges and opportunities that come with disaster. Please at least read that.

Solnit’s claims are supported by current events including the grassroots recovery work of Occupy Sandy, which continues to this day. We can also see Solnit’s analysis supported by the mutual aid exhibited in West, Texas; in the wake of a truly devastating industrial accident the community of West is rebuilding while formal “relief” efforts are marginally helpful and sometimes disruptive.

Solnit also illustrates how media coverage tends to support the elite’s reading of the crisis, emphasizing awful details – real and rumored – that serve to stampede the public into accepting the suspension of its freedom – including the freedom to attempt its own solutions to whatever crisis it faces.

What Solnit calls “elite panic” – including sending in the troops to ostensibly protect a community from itself – has also been on display in the aftermath of the Boston Marathon bombing, coverage of which seems to have been distorted to favor technological or military solutions of the sort delivered by government.

In fact, community should actually get credit. Dzokhar Tsarnaev was discovered by a citizen who stepped out for a smoke only after the siege was lifted.

The coverage of Tsarnaev’s capture was plagued with many falsehoods of this sort. One narrative claimed that whiz-bang technology like newfangled thermal imaging system was what helped a helicopter “find” him.

And numerous articles suggested causation by saying the arrest “followed” the lockdown. I even saw one article claiming that the invasion of Watertown by a joint police/military force “led to” Tsarnaev’s capture (this article seems to have been withdrawn or edited – which is good – although the damage has been done as most people never notice quiet retractions of hysterical rumors).

Make no mistake – the government’s attempt to find Tsarnaev was an invasion using techniques practiced in Iraq and Afghanistan including military police pointing their guns at neighbors who dared to peer out at them. That the neighborhood was generally receptive to such an invasion does not alter its obviously warlike character.

Imagine another scenario: Instead of being immigrants of an obscure ethnicity with no connections to Watertown, what if the Tsarnaev brothers were part of a large marginalized community? And what if their flight had ended where they and their neighbors had already suffered years or generations of profiling, harassment and suspicion?

Things could have turned out quite differently with all those hair-triggers in Humvees. Watertown could have easily started looking like Fallujah or Kandahar with one overreaction sparking tit-for-tat responses. We got lucky this time.

Even so, we should expect this now-established precedent – previously displayed in New Orleans – to be repeated even in cases where the public has a less antagonistic relationship with the fugitive, such as following a civil disturbance.

Perhaps in the absence of the lockdown, the neighbor who discovered Tsarnaev might have gone to work and a Red Sox game and noticed Tsarnaev only after he died of blood loss. We can’t know that. What we do know is that the official response yielded its desired results neither in the declared search area nor outside of it, gave people misplaced fear (inside) or complacency (outside) and led the pursuers away from their target by making an official claim that he was in area X and not in area Y while making it extremely unlikely that anyone would discover him by chance in either zone.

Even so, the public seems to like the lockdown, with all the spectacle of an action movie. A Huffington Post/YouGov poll indicated that sixty percent of respondents said that the lockdown helped catch the suspect, while only 18 percent said that it made no difference and 4 percent said that it hurt efforts to catch the suspects.

Remember that the lockdown actually prevented Tsarnaev’s discovery and capture.

We must listen critically to government’s claims that the invasion of Watertown was a success – and that we therefore can’t trust our own judgment in an emergency.  The government’s judgment is what should be suspect: For starters the geography of the lockdown was nonsensical as downtown and even the far southeastern reaches of Boston were shut down while the relatively close-by suburbs were not (despite the fact that they were in the direction in which the brothers had been headed and in which Tsarnaeve could be expected to continue).

And as a threatening new strain of influenza kills one in five people it infects – despite all top-down efforts to contain it – we should ponder how governments might respond to an invisible and rapidly-spreading pandemic. Most likely we’ll see draconian crackdowns and geographic quarantines of exactly the sort that failed to catch a single badly-wounded teenager whose face was all over the internet and television. Do we really believe this approach will catch an unknown and growing number of infected people, including those without symptoms?

Granted, quarantine is a time-tested response that is effective in dealing with identified cases of illness as well as those believed to be infected due to specific exposures or circumstances. But if Hollywood is any guide – which Solnit points out it should not be – such quarantines will not be the communal suffering of the old-style sick ward. Instead, we are more likely to see a terrifying lockdown in which government enforcers (presumably wearing respirators and heavily-armed) will prevent us from caring for our neighbors whether they are ill, healthy or of unknown health status.

So what do we do about this? The government’s default reflex is clear enough and I doubt it can be stopped when the next disaster hits. A softer approach that resists sharp geographical lockdowns would heighten vigilance outside any official red zone without suspending the liberty and lives of those inside, but admittedly might not work.

And there’s the rub.

As with terrorism, or earthquakes, or industrial explosions, we ultimately can’t guarantee anything will protect us from harm. Maybe we will fall down the stairs of our apocalyptic underground bunker.

What’s left is to mitigate that harm and accept risk as part of life.

We should not accept the foolish notion that allowing the forced shutdown of community, the economy and society as a whole will somehow save us from whatever we fear. Rather, we should honestly consider Solnit’s conclusions – based on the academic work of sociologists who study disaster for a living – and embrace each other even in the most difficult of times.

Especially in the most difficult of times.

What to Do

It looks like my “least likely” scenario from the previous post was right. There is now some evidence of Islamist motivation for the Boston Marathon bombing, which is deeply unfortunate (and a gross distortion of Islam). Boston is a police state, we’ve apparently got a really complicated new front in the “War on Terror” and there’s not much we can do about that. So what can we do? Keep reaching out to people around us, and especially Muslims.

I’m heading to my neighborhood mosque for prayers today, and here’s a little something I wrote a couple of years ago. It seems worth remembering on a day like today.

From 9/10/2010:

My own contribution to memorializing the victims of [9/11] has been to build connections to Muslims. I believe that by doing so, I lessen the chances that some hotheaded young ideologue is going to demonize me and other non-Muslims, and find recruits for some misguided attack. And I believe that if more people do as I have done, Islamic radicals will find their fuel source cut off. On the other hand, if we stand aloof while our own lunatic fringe burns qur’ans and attacks Mosques and people, we are just fanning the flames. We’ve got enough of a PR problem with our national predilection for invading Muslim countries, and we can’t afford to individually alienate our neighbors who practice Islam.

Two weeks ago, I was at a cafe near Dupont Circle [Washington D.C.] and i saw a couple who had clearly just been to some sort of religious observance. He wore a taqiyah (skullcap), which was a pretty good sign of practicing Islam. However, she was wearing what looked like a white hooded choir robe. Muslims don’t do choirs as far as i know, and since she had her hood down and hair exposed I decided to drop all my assumptions and just ask them what’s up. After all, this town has all sorts of people in it, and for all I knew they were practicing a faith I’d never encountered before.

So I just came out and asked if they’d just come from worship. They were a little startled and suspicious at first, but told me yes, they had just broken the fast at the Indonesian Embassy, where there are prayers and a meal each Friday and Saturday during Ramadan. I thanked them, said “salaam allaiukum,” (peace upon you) and turned back to my table since they appeared to be out together and I didn’t want to intrude more than necessary.

One of them caught that, and asked if I spoke Arabic. I told them no, but that I had picked up a few phrases from attending prayers over the years. That got them interested and once it became clear they were as curious about me as I was about them, I pulled up a chair and joined them for an hour or so. He is Sofiane and she is Episam. Both are from Tunisia and are here working as Arabic language instructors. They were pretty intrigued that a non-Muslim would develop a somewhat regular practice of joining Muslims for prayer, and I suppose some of my readers might also wonder. So here’s the story:

When the 9/11 attacks occurred, I was working at the Olympia Food Co-op. My coworker Karim was from Algeria and a practicing Muslim. He would use his breaks at work to go back into the break room and pray. Several members of his mosque shopped at the co-op regularly.

When the attacks happened, we had a personal connection to that community and several of us were concerned that there would be a misguided “retaliation” against them. After checking with Karim, a group of us went over for Friday prayers the first week after the attack. That way, we thought, if someone wanted to mess with them, they would have to get through us first. We had no illusions about actually defending the mosque, but hoped that the presence of a group of white people might give a would-be attacker second thoughts.

Karim had already told the leadership that we would be there, but it was decided that one of us should explain to the congregation what we were doing. For some reason I was selected, and found myself addressing about 100 very nervous men, mainly from southeast Asia. The community there is predominantly Cham, but it is also the most ethnically diverse group I’ve ever grown to love. Especially cool, the mosque sits on the center of a piece of collectively-owned land on which about 40 families have built homes. It’s beautiful model for a faith community.

The visit was a powerful experience, and we went back repeatedly during the frightening months that followed. We also served their community by helping with shopping. Because Muslim women are so easily recognizable, they felt like (and indeed

were) targets, so many were afraid to go out of their homes. Women from the co-op community would help out by running errands and breaking down their feeling of isolation.

Gradually things calmed down and our solidarity work ended. But I kept going. For several years, I would attend Friday prayers at least once a month. When Ramadan rolled around, I would join them for dinner every week or so.

I only actually fasted one day, which gave me an appreciation for how serious this religious practice is – especially since I did it during November, when the days were short and cool. I have tremendous awe for anyone who can go without food or water every day for a month in, say, Saudi Arabia. And as Ramadan becomes more of a summer experience each year, I can only imagine what it must be like in northern climates where the days can stretch for 15-16 hours. It certainly gives perspective to my childhood whining that we had to go sit in church for an hour (again? didn’t we just do that last week? when do I get a donut?).

However, while I have never become a Muslim (or even felt seriously called in that direction), Islamic prayer has become an important part of how I connect with God. I don’t understand the words, but I deeply understand what is happening: a group of people packed together and submitting to the Divine in a very powerful and physical way. I recommend that everyone try it at least once.

I do recognize many of the more common words, as well as the first sura, which forms the soundtrack to the movements. There’s nothing in there that I don’t agree with: “Allahu Akbar,” God is Great. Check. “Alhamdilullah,” thank God. check. They get bonus points for thanking God even when things go wrong. ”My daughter has appendicitis and I wrecked my car on the way to the hospital. Alhamdilullah.”

My favorite, though, is “inshallah,” God willing. It is sprinkled liberally through Muslim speech, basically any time one makes a statement about the future. For example ,”I’ll see you tomorrow, inshallah.” I’m sure many Muslims don’t always really seriously think about it. It rolls off the tongue like “OK?” But that’s the point: Allah is always coming up, even before dawn every day when they wake for prayers.

I digress.

Episam and Sofiane took a quick liking to me, and she declared them my “Muslim friends” and invited me to prayers. And so the next week, last Friday, I joined them.

It was a fascinating experience. Perhaps because it was not at an actual mosque and perhaps because Indonesian Islam is more mainstream and cosmopolitan, the standards were relaxed. Men and women mixed freely while we were eating (although women were in the back of the room for prayers). Many women had their hair exposed, and some had short sleeves and dresses cut just below the knee. An adolescent girl was wearing gym shorts. There were also people wearing more conservative dress, but the point is that things were much more varied. It was good to see this, as I have to admit that the separation of the sexes and uneven standards of modesty are a big part of why I have not become Muslim.

I also have to say a bit about the embassy itself. We entered through a modern annex (with metal detector, although when I went in a second time they had turned it off – more relaxed than I picture the U.S. Embassy in Jakarta), but the main building used to be the mansion of some robber baron. It had over-the-top woodwork, a giant organ, and gilt everywhere. But most amazing was the room in which we prayed: It was among the most fancy, and on the ceiling was a giant mural featuring topless white women and fully nekkid cherubs floating in the sky. Perhaps that was why Sofiane advised me that during prayers it is best to keep one’s eyes down.

This entry has gone on much longer than I pictured, but it felt important that I share my experiences. There is a lot of fear and misconception about Islam, as well as some things that are genuinely problematic according to my values (and probably yours). But Islam is not going anywhere, and we all need to understand it better, so we can discern what is fact and what is fiction.

To get some good insight into Islam, you can check out the Islamic Circle of North America or A Common Word Between Us and You. And for a totally fascinating and humanizing inside view, please check out 30mosques.com. This is the story of two Muslim men who spent Ramadan driving (while fasting!) to mosques in 30 states. There are lots of amazing pictures and stories.

I think it is also important that we all get to know the individual Muslims in our lives, even if it is just the Ethiopian shopkeeper down the street. So here are a few suggestions:

Greet Muslims, especially women. It wouldn’t be polite to stop and chat if they are of another gender, but I’m pretty sure you won’t get into trouble with a greeting. And if you are up for it, give them the full “salaam allaikum.” This also is a great way to greet immigrants who might not speak a native language that you would recognize. I recently  tried this with a couple of women in very conservative dress, and they just beamed, especially after they found out I wasn’t even Muslim myself. I can imagine that it must be tough going through life wondering who thinks you are a terrorist all the time.

If you are up for it, and ready to go in without trying to convert anyone, visit a mosque. The pope can do it, and so can you. Some mosques are more conservative than others. Some are more open than others. You can usually get a sense of that from the website. If it is called an “Islamic Center” or if it has a website in English, it is more likely to be a good beginner’s mosque, and nobody will be offended that you used their public information to get in touch. Sunset is the easiest time to figure out – other prayer times vary day to day depending on the amount of sunlight, and can be tricky to figure out (although many mosques post them on their websites). Friday at midday is usually the largest gathering.

Often they’ll invite you to sit in the back and watch, so you don’t have to do the prayers. If you want to join in, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to do a bit of research. It also wouldn’t hurt to show up early or call and speak to the imam.

Bonus tips: don’t walk in front of anyone who is praying. And be fairly clean when you go – especially your feet, which might wind up inches from someone’s face.

Don’t worry, they’re not going to convert you (I’m pretty sure only God can do that); that isn’t some mystical Muslimification spell that they’re chanting, it’s just worship and if you don’t say it and understand it, it can’t possibly do any harm to your current faith situation. If you ask, probably someone can give you a translation so you know what’s going on. I find it most valuable to just breathe and offer a nonverbal prayer of my own.

You might have someone give you a little pitch, and probably someone will offer to answer questions, but I’ve generally found that there is not much pressure to convert, even after years of attendance. Some might be pushy, given the wide range of cultures an languages you’ll encounter, but there are certainly no altar calls. People will be likely to ask why you are there. Be honest about that, and most will probably just give you a qur’an or a pamphlet and leave you alone.

I’ve probably attended 150 services at perhaps a dozen mosques, and the only time I ever saw anything that seemed radical was when some hiphop artists were selling CDs. Some of their lyrics had an anti-Israel message, but it was pretty tame stuff. I can’t rule out that you’ll run into some angry rhetoric (or even personal hostility from some individuals) but chances are that it will be a positive, if challenging, experience.

If you do check out a mosque, feel free to comment and share your stories here.

I hope this message has been useful. We all need to work to build peace with the Muslims among us. That will encourage the good parts of the faith, and won’t feed the darker side that is using that community’s  fear and isolation to recruit jihadis. Ultimately, we’re all just people and we need to find ways to live together.

Salaam allaikum.

Moment of Truth

This is the point at which we start to decide what sort of people we are going to be: Will the terrorists win? Will we live in a police state?

Or will we find a way to live together, to work out some modicum of civilized order using grassroots structures, bottom-up power and a realization that we are all going to have to settle for less and allow others to do things we don’t like?

Settling is better than what we have in store if we keep on the path of Terror and Empire. So let’s just grit our teeth and get ready to work together in spite of our differences – or work around each other when our differences are too great for us to find a single solution.

The tension has been building for a long while. The blasts in Boston are ominous popping noises heard on a frozen lake. Patriots’ Day 2013 is going to be one of those dates we will look back on, like 9/11.

Let’s not fuck it up so badly this time.

People are freaking out about yesterday’s attack, which took place in the city where our last revolution started, on the day of its observance. This thing has symbolism galore, whether it is the dark fruit of a right-wing militia, a government conspiracy, a lone nut or – the least-likely scenario in my opinion – Islamists with a really keen sense of American culture, patriotism and mythology or some spectacular accidental timing.

There are a lot of people out there carrying a lot of fear, and this attack is well-designed to feed that fear. Let us not wallow in this toxic vacuum of speculation, misinformation and outright disinformation that is emanating from Boston like a foul plume of smoke. The exact identities of the perpetrators – as well as their punishments – don’t really matter to most of us. We can’t change any of it. The government will take care of that.

Our job is to do what we can to avoid further incidents. So whatever we might believe about or wish for those responsible, let us go about our business.

We should be vigilant, yes, but ultimately the danger comes not from the extraordinarily rare terrorist. Our real threat comes from the disintegration of community that has created landscapes of anonymous faces, deserted sidewalks and speeding automobiles. The collapse of community leaves us unable to tell what is really a threat.

The remedy to our fear cannot come from greater security; any serious contemplation of how to “secure” an urban marathon makes this clear.

Rather, we’ve got to rebuild the social infrastructure (as I noted in a previous post) and get to know what is really going on in our neighborhoods. By having a deeper knowledge of our neighbors, we’ll make it more likely that suspicion is based on something that is actually threatening instead of merely unusual. And we’ll make our lives better  in the extremely probable event that we’ll never personally cross paths with a terrorist.

It is time to stop screwing around. God knows I’m as guilty as anyone and I hereby confess and announce that it is time to stop waiting for an even more painful kick in the butt.

Social Infrastructure: A Remedy for Disastrous Times

Last week The New Yorker printed a fascinating article called “Adaptation,” which addresses “social infrastructure: the people, places and institutions that foster cohesion and support.” Author Eric Klinenberg reminds us that a comprehensive strategy of resilience in the face of disaster will involve more than changes and repairs to our physical infrastructure and reliance on outside help while that infrastructure is developed or restored.

As usual, a lot of the relief work after Superstorm Sandy has been done by large-scale professional organizations (including governments). Results are mixed. The salty language in this Gothamist article from the days after the storm may not be representative of the public’s general attitude toward professional outside help, but the frustration expressed still suggests the limits of top-down organizing.

Fortunately, another channel of assistance is growing through the grassroots. Bottom-up relief first made headlines after Hurricane Katrina with New Orleans’ Common Ground Relief, which is still in action 7 ½ years later. And as recovery from the latest mega-storm grinds on, Occupy Sandy has emerged as an inspiring model that shows that the mutual aid model tested during last year’s occupations is good for more than just enduring a winter in the public square.

Unfortunately, the official response is not only aloof to this grassroots self-help organizing; it is sometimes even hostile despite the benefits of bottom-up relief work.

There is a role for national, professional organizations in a sustainable response to disasters. However, we also must recognize that these organizations are not getting at the root of the problem. In fact, they may even be worsening our vulnerability to disasters through encouraging dependence on outside help and replacement of physical structures that will be destroyed again eventually.

In a world with fewer resources (most notably oil and clean water) and more disasters, we shall see that this disaster industry is built on a weak foundation of plentiful support from government and donors, which is badly undercut by the rising seas.  More disasters yield donor fatigue, and it seems that the pace of disaster is only going to increase: In the face of rising storms – both meteorological and economic – we must learn to depend on help given person to person, without as much emphasis on keeping track of everything through centralized systems.

And here’s where that article comes in: Klinenberg interviews Michael McDonald, who “has been coordinating relief efforts by volunteer groups, government agencies, corporate consultants, health workers, and residents in vulnerable areas” through something McDonald calls the New York Resilience System – one of the “ fragile, agile networks that make a difference in situations like these. It’s the horizontal relationships like the ones we’re building that create security on the ground, not the hierarchical institutions.”

Klinenberg declares that McDonald – who presumably should know what works and what doesn’t – is “convinced that civil society will determine which people and places will withstand the emerging threats from climate change.”

Klinenberg also observes some telling patterns that emerged in the killer heat wave that struck Chicago in 1995. The Chicago event was much deadlier than Sandy, with roughly 750 deaths concentrated mainly in poorer neighborhoods where many lived without air conditioning. In this quiet disaster, the presence of social infrastructure – “sidewalks, stores, restaurants and community organizations,” as he puts it – served to mitigate the danger as well as the ability to physically cool one’s home.

And the benefit is not just in lower death rates. Social infrastructure is making a difference in the rebuilding of places like the Rockaways. As recovery from the storm has ground on, Occupy Sandy has emerged as an inspiring model that shows that the mutual aid of last year’s occupations is good for more than just enduring a winter in the public square.

Grand proposals like flood gates to block the rising seas are both temporary and unlikely to come to fruition in a nation that can’t maintain its roadways. The same is probably true of even modest fixes like requiring or subsidizing air conditioners for dwellings. When we are unable to maintain even our basic infrastructure, do we really think that there will be the long-term political will to fund and construct new projects that ultimately provide only a false sense of security?

Once we come to terms with the lower economic growth rates that seem to be the new normal, it will be foolish to expect things to ever be as they were during our previous orgy of consumption.Even now, before we have reckoned with economic decline in the aftermath of the financial crisis, we find it challenging to easily agree upon what was once an obvious act of rebuilding (nearly 40 percent of the House of Representatives voted against the recent relief bill).

The bad news is that we can’t spend our way out of this mess. The good news is that we don’t really need to. We’ll be better served by nurturing relationships through the daily work of creating a better economy based on social infrastructure. We do need levees and earthquake-resistant buildings, but none of these are failsafe and when they fail we’ll need each other more than anything outside funding can promise in an era of reduced affluence and increasing disaster from climate change.

As Klinenberg concludes, “Whether they come from government or from civil society, the best techniques for safeguarding cities don’t just mitigate disaster damage; they also strengthen the networks that promote health and prosperity during ordinary times.”

New Currencies For a New Economy

Last spring, I completed the Master in Management – Co-operatives and Credit Unions graduate program; my final research was on governance of complementary currencies. I believe that this somewhat obscure topic (almost entirely absent in the academic literature) is actually a key question, as our dominant global economic system has largely lost its accountability to the public and is spinning out of control. If we are to find a way out of this mess, it needs to include additional means of exchange so that people will be able to trade even during the financial crises that are growing both more frequent and more severe.

Complementary currencies have always flourished during economic turbulence, when either inflation or deflation signals a disconnect between the supply of currency and the supply of things that people want to purchase with currency. Complementary currencies can include physical scrip or tokens, but more likely these days they are electronic exchanges that keep an account of each members’ trades and maintain records of each member’s balance – surplus or debt.

In my paper, I looked to the explosion of “self-help co-ops” in Depression-era California. I sought lessons for the modern time banking movement – specifically TimeBanks USA and hOurworld - organizations that are each currently undergoing a growth spurt. Both the historic and contemporary movements represent forms of barter-based “complementary” currency, which facilitate trade in cases where two parties do not both desire the same trade (e.g. I offer you a chicken in exchange for a ticket to the opera, but you don’t want a chicken).

The self-help co-ops numbered in the dozens, with concentrations in Southern California as well as the Bay Area. Essentially each exchange was a ledger of points that could be earned and spent. In  many cases the exchanges developed into highly specialized local economies that helped their members subsist during the early 1930s, after the crash but before the government-based New Deal could take hold.

I found that both movements lacked a clear system of governance, both on the exchange level and in how the exchanges worked together on everything from intercity trade of goods to political advocacy. In some ways their struggles resembled the current Euro crisis, albeit on a smaller scale.

Complementary currencies are popping up everywhere these days. This is to be expected, as the common term for a whole range of exchange media denotes that they complement official national (or supranational) currencies – as one rises the other falls. So as the Euro struggles with what may prove to be fatal design flaws (at the center of which lie deep disagreements about how to make decisions, manifesting in a growing number of court cases) it is only natural that individuals should be hedging their bets.

Although it isn’t possible to stockpile physical drachmas or pesetas in advance of their potential reintroduction, both Greeks and Spaniards have been organizing systems that will allow them keep trading with each other regardless of what happens in the official Euro-denominated economy.

The Washington Post and Common Dreams both published recent stories about how Spaniards are turning to other forms of exchange as the euro-based economy continues to sputter. Both stories feature a quote from complementary currency researcher Peter North suggesting greater potential: “Instead of just being a desperate way for people to survive a horrible economic crisis, this is part of the cooperatives, credit unions, community banks, organic farms and recovering factories — the alternate economy — that the Occupy movement is groping towards.”

This dynamic is currently most obvious in Europe, where technocrats make emergency decisions of increasingly grave importance, with an ever-decreasing amount of public input (which predictably leads to unrest and departure from the official economy). However, the same is effectively true in the United States, where the public is increasingly sidelined from vastly important decisions even as the decision-makers seem to be running out of solutions.

But just because a currency is an idealistic alternative to the dollar does not mean that it will function better than the dollar. As no less than Paul Krugman has written, even the simplest currency needs careful guidance for smooth function and even a humble baby-sitting co-op can provide guidance that “could save the world.” Krugman is pointing to the need to make key decisions to regulate the money supply. For complementary currencies to rise above the usual flux and become durable means of exchange like the WIR of Switzerland, my research indicates that solid governance is essential.

Governance addresses the Big Picture and includes questions like the following: Should the currency be used by businesses, consumers or both? What is the geographic scope of the circulation? Is the currency tied to a specific dollar amount or to an hour of labor regardless of prevailing market values? How does the currency interact with other complementary currencies, if at all?

Governance is distinct from management, which deals more in how experts make day-to-day decisions in managing the system. Management decisions would include approval of applications to participate, regular tallying of circulation to identify breakdowns in circulation, and short-term decisions to address problems as they develop. These sorts of decisions are better left to more authoritarian management systems, which are guided by the participatory governance decisions and accountable to those who use the currency via some form of election.

Complementary currencies have been shown to play a counter-cyclical role; when the national currency becomes scarce, people find other methods to fill the gaps until things improve. But what about the transition to something entirely new? At what point do these stop becoming “alternative” or “complementary” and become, simply, “currencies.” I argue that this can’t happen until they figure out how to make decisions for the long run.

Whatever the ultimate fate of the global economy, complementary currencies will play a key role in helping individuals and communities navigate the tremendous turbulence thrown off by the massive organizations that dominate mainstream economics. And they just might help us build a bridge to a new economy that is based on human needs instead of profits. But to do so, they’ll need good, solid, democratic governance to keep them connected to their purpose.

Post-Romney Organizing Bears Ironic Resemblance to Mormon Economic Model

Last week, I wrote about how Powell, Wyo. launched a community-ownership drive to replace the town’s department store after it was bought by Bain Capital and later closed.

Ironically, the organizing modeled by Powell is not much different than the efforts of the early Mormons of mid-19^th Century Utah, who faced hostile outsiders who marked up prices when the Mormons came in to trade. So the Latter-day Saints founded the Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution along generally cooperative lines. Community members were encouraged to buy stock in their local mercantile store, which brought local merchants together under one roof and provided a wide array of goods in what was known as “America’s first department store.”

Before long, there were around 150 stores organized more-or-less cooperatively, although it should be noted that sometimes wealthy members and the church had disproportionate control.

And as ZCMI grew into the major department store chain of Utah it also laid the groundwork for local stores and farms, as well as factories making boots and overalls. Some communities even set up their own currencies.

The Latter-day Saints built what Bloomberg Businessweek recently called the “Mormon Empire” on this base of cooperative economics, modeled after the shared wealth displayed in the Christian Book of Acts as well as their own scripture.

Unfortunately, the cooperative control didn’t last.

ZCMI was later sold off to Macy’s and Dillard’s, and the original store has been reduced to the decorative front of a new mall called City Creek Center. The many businesses spawned by ZCMI have mostly passed into history or lost their cooperative character.

The Deseret Management Corporation is one of many organizations that make up the Mormon Empire today. There is certainly room to criticize the decisions made recently – for example the nearly $2 billion spent on City Creek Center, a mall located across the street from the main Mormon temple in Salt Lake City. And we may not want to mimic the opaque and exclusive ways in which decisions are made by highly-paid executives.

However, the Mormons do still have their pooled prosperity. And this commonwealth is a useful model for how a faith community might seek to collectively build real prosperity in ways that avoid the concentration of wealth and power that manifests in individuals like Mitt Romney.

Romney apologists should note that the Mormon commonwealth was specifically created in response to an alarming concentration of wealth that was becoming apparent. In 1875 Brigham Young and the Council of the Twelve Apostles of the church issued a statement that is as challenging as it is relevant to our present day.

Here is an excerpt that shows how seriously the early LDS leadership took the threat of wealth concentration and the extent to which cooperation was viewed as an essential remedy to this evil:

One of the great evils with which our own nation is menaced at the present time is the wonderful growth of wealth in the hands of a comparatively few individuals….

Years ago it was perceived that we Latter-day Saints were open to the same dangers as those which beset the rest of the world. A condition of affairs existed among us which was favorable to the growth of riches in the hands of a few at the expense of many. A wealthy class was being rapidly formed in our midst whose interests in the course of time, were likely to be diverse from those of the rest of the community. The growth of such a class was dangerous to our union; and, of all people, we stand most in need of union and to have our interests identical. Then it was that the Saints were counseled to enter into co-operation…

The Latter-day Saints should understand that it is our duty to sustain co-operation and to do all in our power to make it a success. The local co-operative stores should have the cordial support of the Latter-day Saints. Does not all our history impress upon us the great truth that in union is strength? Without it, what power would the Latter-day Saints have? But it is not our doctrines alone that we should be united, but in practice and especially in our business affairs.

This was not fringe thinking. These words bore the signatures of the church’s entire core leadership. The current leadership ought to be reflecting upon their predecessors’ wisdom, which is rooted in core LDS scripture.

Here’s one example, showing what the Book of Mormon has to say about Romney’s wealth amidst poverty.

And the people began to be distinguished by ranks, according to their riches and their chances for learning; yea, some were ignorant because of their poverty, and others did receive great learning because of their riches…

Now the cause of this iniquity of the people was this—Satan had great power, unto the stirring up of the people to do all manner of iniquity, and to the puffing them up with pride, tempting them to seek for power, and authority, and riches, and the vain things of the world.

Romney’s personal wealth is in conflict with Mormon scripture, history and practice – notwithstanding the pervasive nature of his sort of sin, which seems to be as commonplace among Mormons as it is among Christians.

So non-Mormons should not fear Romney’s Mormon economics. Instead, we should hope they become more reflective of traditional Mormon values of community wealth building.

And we should recognize that Latter Day Saints are a diverse bunch, including anarchists and feminists as well as polygamists and capitalists. I have recently discovered a vein of radical (dare I say fundamentalist?) Mormon thought, from Latter-day Saints who see that Romney represents the worst of their community.

One of these bloggers mentions a Mormon theological concept called the “pride cycle,” which seems to be in play in the modern LDS community: Blessings and prosperity lead to pride and sin, which lead to chastening, which leads to humility and repentance.

It seems that Romney is leading Mormons through another round of the pride cycle, and there’s no reason to expect the results to be any less disastrous than they were in previous rounds.

Even without accepting Mormon theology, the harm of wealth concentration is becoming obvious to all from the experiences of communities like Powell, Wyo.

It is up to Mormons to hold Romney accountable and help him repent within their theological framework. But the rest of us should learn from the Mormon experience, which teaches the value of collective organizing as well as the need to guard the collective prosperity from internal and external threats.

After Bain Capital Buyout and Closure, Wyoming Town Got Organized

Vanity Fair recently published an article about Mitt Romney’s wealth. Like many recent articles and ads, it viewed the activities of Romney’s private equity firm, Bain Capital LLC through a political lens.

Buried in the piece was a list of “formerly healthy” companies that Bain bought and bankrupted. These firms were mentioned in an offhand way, without elaboration, as though the author and editors didn’t really expect the reader to know of or care about the once proud enterprises – much less the struggles of the people whose lives were impacted by the store closures and layoffs that followed in Bain’s wake.

But one of these companies caught my eye: Stage Stores. I had heard this name before.

It turns out that Bain’s many investments during Romney’s tenure included a pair of Texas department store chains, which it bought in 1988. These were merged with several other small chains over the next decade and cobbled together into Stage Stores, Inc., which focused on providing clothing and household goods for smaller towns in the central and southeastern United States.

Bain sold most of its shares in 1997. Stage started closing stores in 1999 and declared bankruptcy the following year.

The Stage Store in Powell, Wyo. was among the first to go. Small and geographically isolated towns are often not conducive markets for the “efficiencies” needed to drive the profits of outside investors.

Stage restructured after bankruptcy, and has since resumed its expansion. And today Powell has a thriving department store that is the anchor for a vigorous downtown where people sometimes have trouble finding parking.

That doesn’t sound so bad. So what happened?

Powell is now somewhat famous as the birthplace of the Merc. When Stage Stores pulled out, the residents of Powell recognized that the future of their town was on the line. They would have to travel now to buy a shirt. No doubt people would combine their out-of-town clothes-shopping errands with stocking up on groceries, having lunch and possibly seeing medical specialists. Each of these efficiencies would further undermine the local economy until the grocers, restaurants and doctors closed. Powell’s days as a living town would be numbered.

So people got organized. They created a community-owned company that was structured in a way that prevented a repeat of the Stage cycle of capture and closure: Prospective local investors could only purchase a limited number of shares, preventing outside interests from taking control and once again sacrificing the operation on the altar of efficiency.

Powell has become an inspiration for other communities, some of which have opened their own mercantile stores and sometimes even joined Powell in bulk purchasing to get better prices – for example by pooling orders for suits to meet a suit manufacturer’s minimum order.

This mutual aid and cooperation is helping restore the local economy and prevent the concentration and extraction of wealth like that which occurred after Bain came to town. People of Powell shop enthusiastically at the Merc now, and when they do, profits mostly stay in the community. And tour buses bring delegations from around the country, seeking to understand what’s happened in this town.

Is the Powell revival a vindication of Romney’s capitalist tough love, which requires dispassionate outsiders to make the hard choices needed to save a struggling company from collapse or sometimes pull the plug to make room for another competitor? Or does this affirm the Obama campaign’s implication that we must fear the disastrous national downsizing that would come with a Romney presidency and hope the government will protect us from the worst abuses of capitalism?

Powell is certainly not the kind of success story that Romney would recognize. Stage Stores may indeed be more profitable now than its components were in 1988, but that comes at great cost to many communities like Powell that were already struggling in a challenging economy. In the absence of vigorous growth “efficiency” is a euphemism for job losses. So while Stage Stores is a success within the capitalist paradigm, it also shows how that paradigm is at odds with the needs of communities.

The Powell story also undermines a key part of the Obama narrative (which is really not more explicit than “Bain is bad!” but may still be read between the lines): The Democrats would have us believe we are helpless in the face of the capitalist juggernaut, and must depend on their party to protect us, even though it has repeatedly shown itself to be deeply dependent on the very financial forces destroying our economy through consolidation and destruction of local control.

Yes, it is bad news when private equity comes to town. But we must not despair when it does, and we should not wait for government to solve our problems. Instead, we should use the threat of predatory profiteering as a wake-up call, and begin to reorganize our communities in more resilient ways, returning the power and profits to the local arena.

Economic Dysfunction is the Root Tragedy

Note: I originally submitted this piece on the disproportionate coverage given to the Aurora rampage before the equally-tragic Oak Creek rampage. There, shooter Wade Page provided an illustration of the toxic extreme of white supremacist ideology, whose connection to the economic fears of white people should not be ignored. I am starting to load a moving truck for my long-awaited move back to  California so not able to edit this, but suffice to say that subsequent events (as noted in The New Yorker) strongly support my claims below. I’ll be driving west for the next week but will try to update it.

Last month’s massacre in Aurora, Colo. has been followed by a frenzy of attention that is still generating headlines: We read of presidential hospital visits and debate what policy changes might have prevented the tragedy. We see profiles of the lives changed and ended by the violence, alongside investigations of the perpetrator James Holmes’ online dating habits and family ties. We know that he had recently dropped out of a graduate program in neuroscience. We wonder who is to blame that Holmes fell through the cracks after his psychiatrist apparently tried to sound the alarm.

We focus on this one tragedy while largely ignoring others – as well as the general tragedy of social disintegration that fed the carnage.

We hear much less from Tuscaloosa, Ala., where 17 people were wounded, three critically, just two nights before Holmes’ rampage. There, Nathan Van Wilkins shot up the Copper Top nightclub. Wilkins, who is white, reportedly asked for an African American man with whom he had a dispute, uttered a racial epithet and then opened fire with an assault weapon.

The disparity in public discourse between Tuscaloosa and Aurora raises disturbing questions, including:

Are we less concerned when race is part of the criminal’s motive?

Are people who choose to spend an evening out at a bar less deserving of safety than those who choose to attend a movie?

Are we so jaded that a non-fatality shooting rampage doesn’t register?

And if body count is the metric of newsworthiness, why aren’t we talking about an even deadlier tragedy that occurred three days after the Aurora tragedy?

That Sunday evening near Goliad, Texas, a truck carrying 23 people crashed, killing 15. That is three people more than died in Aurora.

The driver – who also died – was Ricardo Mendoza-Pineda, a 22-year-old Mexican national who was perhaps as vulnerable as his passengers. If he had refused his dangerous assignment to transport this cargo, another driver surely would have been found.

Some may argue that unintentional deaths in the pursuit of profit are less tragic than murders. But dead is dead, and regardless of intent an event of comparable human impact to Aurora has been largely ignored.

Was it that the victims were illegal immigrants from Latin America, caught up in a human trafficking operation to supply cheap labor?

Is it because most of us believe we are much more likely to find ourselves in a movie theater than hurtling down the road in a strange country, in an overloaded pickup truck, stripped of our passports?

Is it because we sense our complicity in patronizing businesses that exploit people trapped in a broken immigration system?

If it were not for smuggling operations that supply desperate and powerless cheap labor, our food would be more expensive. The smugglers had a financial interest in packing as many people as possible into the truck, and the results were neither unpredictable nor unprecedented; in April a minivan driven by a 15-year-old crashed, killing nine of nearly 20 being smuggled to work.

We may be tempted to focus our anguish on the tragedy that seems most exceptional, but Aurora did not happen in a vacuum. Yes, we have more guns – and more dangerous ones – than most nations. Yes, we have a problem with people – mostly men – acting violently in ways that might have been prevented with a better mental health care system.

As more are thrown out of work without community ties to offer support and notice when professional help is needed, we should expect further tragedies. Holmes left his family in San Diego for school in Colorado, where he was unable to find friends who might have noticed his troubles (and his growing arsenal). Wilkins had lost his workplace – which he also targeted with arson on the night of his rampage – and sought community in a motorcycle gang.

Mendoza-Pineda’s circumstances are less clear, but it seems he had more in common with his passengers than whoever ordered them all into the vehicle he drove.

And we all have more in common with these men than we realize. Many of us have left our homes in search of work, competing against other people we neither know nor care about.

It is not just the loss of life that breaks our hearts. We also mourn the collapse of community that cheapens human life to the point that these atrocities can take place.

Whether deaths come at the hands of men crazed by professional failure or profiteers seeking to capitalize on the nation’s appetite for cheap produce and construction help, the growing alienation brought by a competitive and isolating economy makes it easier to harm our brothers and sisters, regardless of our intentions.

That’s the real tragedy.

Appalachia and the Basques

During a recent trip to Wise County, Virginia, located in the southwestern part of the state, I was moved by the deep injustice faced by people who live there. The mountains are being stripped away, one by one, through an awful-looking and destructive process called mountaintop removal, which has already claimed a quarter of the mountains in the county. I wrote a bit about the process and my impressions in my previous post.

As a guest of Southern Appalachian Mountain Stewards, I got an introduction to the problems of mountaintop removal mining, as well as the economic struggles of their county – which are, to some extent, a reflection of broader problems in Appalachia as a region.

SAMS is up against a much more powerful opponent that controls the narrative, to the point that the coal companies can dramatically reduce employment by shifting to less labor-intensive mining methods while blaming Obama, the EPA and “tree huggers” for the resulting economic decline.

But even if there are contestable details about the economic impact, I don’t think there can be any debate that decision-making has been removed from the community. Yes, SAMS is able to occasionally stop or slow particularly offensive projects like the plan to remove Ison Rock Ridge, which looms over the town of Appalachia and has the potential to recreate an earlier tragedy in which a toddler was killed in his bed by a stray boulder knocked loose by blasting. Ison Rock Ridge was a defensive victory and there is certainly no effort made by those with power to sit down with the community and plan the best way to make use of the resources found in the surrounding mountains.

The extent to which decision-making has been removed from the local arena presents a challenging situation in which any economic solutions offered must work around the coal mines, however badly they might impact the community, while addressing the disempowerment that has allowed the coal mines to become such a destructive force.

The disempowerment of Appalachia takes two main forms: Most obviously, what used to be local mining companies have merged into much larger corporations that make decisions elsewhere. Any profits made go to investors who rarely face personal impacts from the decisions made on their behalf, and who rarely spend those profits in what is left of the local economy.

But more significantly, Appalachia is a marginal place. With the exception of West Virginia, this region exists on the margins of several states. Virginia, for example, has population and power centers near the coast and Washington, D.C. The land away from the coast is of secondary importance to the state, and Wise County – an hour from the Interstate – is an especially low priority. Just over a ridge from Wise County lies Kentucky, which is economically oriented toward its northwestern border including Louisville and the Cincinnati suburbs.

Appalachia’s geography resembles another mountainous border region between Spain and France: The Basques are a distinct cultural group with a language unrelated to their neighbors, and they experienced serious political and economic oppression during the 20^th Century. Sixty years ago the Basque economy was a wreck, dominated by outsiders. The Basques were discouraged and divided, with a significant number taking up arms in a guerilla war that only recently ended. As is the case in modern Appalachia, people were divided about how to respond and many were resigned to taking what they could get from their conquerors.

However, today the Spanish portion of the Basque region has significant autonomy, and an unemployment rate that is the lowest of any region in Spain. I haven’t been able to find the raw statistics, but the rates appear to be as low as 7.4% (as of this past spring) – that is one-third the national average!

Some of this success can be attributed to the Basques’ ability to hold on to their heavy industry, which they have used to build a robust economy. But that doesn’t answer the question of how they have been able to maintain control, and raises questions about how a region that suffered devastation in the Spanish Civil War and World War II followed by decades of fascist oppression and guerilla warfare could develop the strongest economy in Spain.

Political autonomy is certainly part of the picture. Shortly after my trip to Appalachia, I got a chance to visit the other end of the Appalachian Mountains and was struck by how different it felt. Brattleboro, Vermont is a town of about 12,000 residents; it was roughly the same size as the town of Appalachia in the mid-20^th Century (before Wise County’s decline). The two areas have roughly the same topography and distance from the urban markets. But Brattleboro has a starkly different political reality as one of the larger communities in a very small state – imagine if it were instead a protrusion on eastern border of New York. And Brattleboro is a town that works; there were few vacant storefronts in the bustling downtown and hardly a chain store to be seen. Wise County, on the other hand, is full of vacancies and shows little evidence of recent economic development other than strip malls and chain stores.

Brattleboro’s success compared to Wise County suggests that the political borders do make a difference, and smaller polities can be beneficial to people on the national margins. However, Catalonia is also a historic autonomous community within Spain, and its unemployment rate is upwards of 33%. Something else is going on among the Basques.

That something else includes the Mondragon Cooperative Corporation. This is one of Spain’s largest enterprises, with 32.5 billion euros in assets and 14 billion euros in sales. Mondragon includes a bank and grocery store chain that are both among Spain’s largest and have nationwide scope. Mondragon’s co-ops have their own social security and hospitals as well as an education system including a trade school and university. The co-ops also do their own economic development and training.

And the economic results have been stellar despite the ongoing crises in Europe and Spain. Mondragon businesses rarely fail, but when they do, the worker owners who make up more than 90% of the 83,569 employees do not have to worry about layoffs because they are transferred to other co-ops. And even non-member workers are relatively safe, with only 0.1% job losses in 2011.

Mondragon has contributed to an economy that is not only more affluent than the rest of Spain, but also more egalitarian. I had a chance to visit a few years ago, and witnessed a different way of living, without visible signs of extreme wealth or poverty. I did notice some substantial mining near population centers, however. So if anyone is looking for a mine-free utopia, this is not it.

How has Mondragon stayed under local control? The system is a multi-centered democracy in which the workers are owners. They avoid decisions like selling out to the highest bidder regardless of long-term economic impact. And they make proactive decisions like limiting top executive pay to only six times starting wages.

Mondragon is not perfect and it is not the only reason for the Basque success. But some sort of cooperative economic development would provide an essential alternative to the coal industry, and also help Appalachia move toward a new way of doing business. A holistic economic approach must recognize coal’s important place in the current economy as well as its inevitable decline as the remaining seams are played out.

We should not dismiss the need for struggle against the abuses of big coal, but it is incumbent on those who oppose mountaintop removal to present another vision of how things could be, in ways that realistically address facts on the ground.

I previously wrote about the prospects for launching local cooperative development through co-ops like the Hoedads of 1970s Oregon or more current Center for Cooperative Forest Enterprises, which keep control and profits in the communities most impacted. There are other nearby centers of organization against mountaintop removal, and at least one is already exploring cooperative models through a worker co-op called Fairtrade Appalachia.

Here are some questions that might contribute to the efforts to build a sustainable Appalachian economy.

What are the resources that Appalachian communities have to work with? What types of jobs do SAMS members want for their community? What might the first incarnation of a cooperative enterprise look like one year from now? What might a cooperatively-based economy look like in ten years? What sorts of businesses could be developed that would preserve land or restore degraded areas?

I’m honestly not sure if cooperatives can solve Appalachia’s economic problems. I’m not even sure if the problems are solvable anymore. But I hope that this food for thought can point in a direction that will help move beyond the current division and impasse in the community that is preventing a unified response to external threats.

Nurse Logs: Caring for the Next Generation

Sometimes it takes me a long time to complete blog posts. An idea will rattle around for weeks on my desktop, half-developed or nearly finished. I often wonder what I am waiting for and wring my hands about writer’s block.

Nearly a month ago, I posted a philosophical piece about the ways our economy resembles a forest. Both are dominated by large vertical structures that hoard resources, and those vertical structures are increasingly vulnerable to cataclysmic domino-effect collapses that both make a huge mess and provide dramatic opportunities for smaller and more nimble undergrowth to flourish and eventually replace the current regime.

I always planned to follow that up with some thoughts about less-cataclysmic change. That is, when an individual tree goes down, its trunk is broken down into available nutrients, creating “nurse logs” that can be found on the forest floor, manifesting as linear patch of vibrant growth that benefits from both the release of material resources from the nurse log itself and the opening in the canopy (which lets in water and light).

In this case I’m glad I waited out my writer’s block because it turns out that I just needed a certain experience to help crystallize the concept into an applied illustration.

Last weekend I took an unexpected trip to Appalachia, Virginia. The Faith and Money Network has been cultivating relationships there as a form of “reverse mission” to teach people from relatively-wealth cities about poverty, and I happened to be in the right place at the right time to benefit from an open space on one of their Trips of Perspective. I’m grateful to both Mike Little for the generous offer to tag along, and whomever it was that had to cancel at the last minute. I learned a lot about an issue that had only barely registered, but which I now recognize as a serious economic and environmental crisis in its own right as well as a harbinger of what capitalism has in store for us all.

I had previously heard of “mountain top removal.” It is just what it sounds like. Explosives and large machines scrape off the tops of mountains and shove them into valleys, picking out what little coal is left in the dwindling seams. This process has generally replaced underground mining because the thicker seams that could be dug out through underground tunnels have been extracted to the point that they are not profitable enough for coal companies seeking quick profits. The thin seams remaining are close to the surface, so just scraping off the mountain is quicker and cheaper than sending workers underground. The increased automation is a major contributor to job losses in the area.

A work in progress.

Mountaintop removal is an ugly process even after they (sort of) restore the original contours, throw down some grass and pine seedlings, and hope that the new “mountain” doesn’t totally erode right away. From what I’ve seen, it usually does erode, often badly. And sometimes there are catastrophic flash floods and debris flows, which do huge damage to homes in the mostly-impoverished coal camps that lie along the streams now polluted by runoff from these huge operations.

Appalachia was once a thriving mining center, and its run down main street includes an old hotel of eight stories as well as a charming four-story building built on curved street so that each floor is at street level. It is now a hollowed-out ghost town with about 5% of its peak population, nearly surrounded by devastation. It is also a center of resistance to mountaintop removal, home to the Southern Appalachian Mountain Stewards.

The main plant has already been demolished and they will eventually demolish these silos.

SAMS has organized local citizens and recently halted a plan to remove Ison Rock Ridge, which looms over the town. However, there is always a new struggle in this David/Goliath Story; when the high school recently closed as part of a countywide consolidation that eliminated half of the six high schools, the coal companies apparently did an assessment of turning the site into a coal mine. Mining is happening so close to the area’s residents that a stray boulder from midnight blasting actually rolled down a hillside and killed a boy in his bed in 2004.

You have to see it to believe it. I was only able to take a few photos of the edge of things, but this map gives a better idea of the scale and proximity to town (although some older projects are not immediately visible from space).

I got a chance to look at a “reclaimed” area about as old as I am, and it looked nothing like the original landscape – it wasn’t even moving in that direction. Rather, it was covered with about half grass and brush, with the main trees being non-native Russian olive, locust and pine. It looked like a big debris pile with some half-hearted vegetation waiting for a big enough rainstorm to collapse into the nearest stream.

Note difference between original forest at left and “reclaimed” area in foreground.

The topsoil is buried in the process of removal and the crushed sandstone and rocks of the mountain’s remnants must be compacted to prevent erosion. So synthetic fertilizers are needed to give the new plants a chance of survival. Judging from what I saw, the process in not often successful.

As I noted in my last post, forests don’t just grow on bare rock or debris piles. Building a mountainside forest takes a bit more patience and care than the average for-profit mining company can muster. Certain stages of development are needed, and certain resources must be available before they can just skip along to the next stage.

Now, I’m no expert on how to rebuild a mountain successfully, and I’m not even sure it can be done. I definitely think it is better to leave mountains where they are. However, I mountaintop removal is a reality that must be worked around for the immediate future, and opponents must develop viable alternatives to help the area transition out of its economic dependence on this unsustainable activity.

One opportunity that seems worthy of exploration (at least to an outsider who knows very little about the economic and technical realities) is to shift responsibility for restoration from the coal companies to local – ideally cooperative – contractors. Rather than bury the living skin of the mountain, the topsoil and brush from one mountain could be anchored onto a nearby rebuilt mountain before it is replanted. Large limbs and trunks could be a key part of this woven framework, since their decay would do more to restore the mountain’s ecology than any amendments humans could provide.

This process would be more labor-intensive (read “job-producing”) than current methods, and would require additional materials – including perhaps something resembling giant staples to keep logs from moving, and a biodegradable mesh fabric to hold smaller materials in place. These could be the seeds of new industrial development in the region, providing jobs along with the additional labor needed to transport, arrange and anchor the biomass.

This would not solve the inherent problems surrounding mountaintop removal, but it would mitigate their impact and potentially put restoration in the hands of local people who have a vested interest in its being effective in the long term.

Something like this has already happened. In 1971, the Hoedads Reforestation Cooperative was founded in Oregon. It grew to employ 300 worker-owners in crews operating in clear cuts throughout the West, and the co-op expanded from tree planting to a variety of other forest-related businesses. The organization lasted until the mid-90s, at which point its demise was attributed to their not being as many clear cuts in need of restoration – victims of their own success.

There are additional technical challenges to restoring a mountain that has been torn apart and sort of rebuilt, even beyond the challenges of healing a clear cut. But I’m sure the Hoedads faced some pretty devastating erosion in their times, and their alumni would be well-suited to help identify organizational lessons learned and think through adaptations of their restoration processes and financial model (since mountaintop removal is generally occurring on private land, the contracting methods would have to be different).

So here’s the part where I get all philosophical and stuff:

In the same way that the new Hoedads could employ nurse logs to hold together mountains, they could serve as a nurse log for the new economy, beginning to break down and repurpose the economic resources currently trapped in the great vertical structures of the mining companies. This new cooperative could also include sustainable timber harvest and non-forest timber products modeled after Fair Trade Appalachia, a worker co-op operating not far to the west of Wise county, in Tennessee and Kentucky. Indeed, there is potential for federated structures to market and distribute these products throughout the region and beyond. Additional ideas could be drawn from the Center for Cooperative Forest Enterprises.

The catch is that each mountaintop that is removed under the current regime is a loss of resources, in the same way that each tree trunk removed through clear cutting is a lost nurse log. And the overall weakness in the global and national economies mean that there are limited resources from outside to support this project. Time is short, and ultimately this work must be led by the people of Appalachia.

But the rest of us should pay attention to this proverbial canary in the coal mine. Unless we are able to come up with viable local alternatives, our economy will continue to be hollowed out by for-profit extractive industries and other businesses that base their success on extracting wealth from the communities in which they do business. Appalachia is our future.