Why the Orca Lift Program is a Step Back

The new fare policy, Orca Lift, which took effect March 1, 2015, has great intentions. By offering low-income public transit riders in Seattle the opportunity to pay $1 less per ride, King County Metro hopes to help people continue to access goods, services and leisure activities. However, if this policy is an effort to acknowledge the rapidly vanishing middle class in Seattle, they are dangerously misguided.

They have fallen into what I am calling the fallacy of selective benefits. If the goal is to reduce inequality, the shortsighted and insultingly small contribution actually divides us and our interests.

Let me explain: it is shortsighted and divisive because the benefits are only for a portion of the population. The program is only for people earning less than double the federal poverty guidelines, about one in four. Because the other 75% of the population has to pay more for their tickets, a raise implemented to cover the costs of the Orca Lift program, using public transit becomes less likely for a large majority. Putting poor people onto buses and wealthy people into cars is a terrible and predictable outcome of this policy.

The relationl poverty perspective illuminates clearly the dangers of the fallacy of selective benefits. Victoria Lawson and Sarah Elwood of the University of Washington have written of the importance of inter-class contact zones as a source of empathy and re-working of class dynamics. De facto and explicit segregation of housing, schools and transportation by definition reduces these beautiful interactions. For the sake of poverty politics, the environment and the freedom that comes with quality public space, we should encourage public transportation across the board!

Additionally, as the ridership gets poorer, the population invested in public transit’s success becomes smaller and less powerful.  I wholeheartedly believe in the power of the people, and in the difficult struggle for rights, it is important that as many of us as possible are in the coalition.

The fallacy of selected benefits claims to reduce inequality, while creating tiered systems that divide us and make future gains more difficult. We can see it in the debate about whether to provide need-based financial aid, or eliminate college tuition, or the debate between Obamacare and a single-payer system. In each of these cases, the fallacy of selected benefits supposedly seeks to level the playing field, but actually leaves people saddled with debt and stranded in inefficient systems and traffic jams.  For decades, Portland offered FREE public transportation. What we spend on reducing fares, we can recover by reducing accidents, asthma, road construction and private car ownership.

It is important that public services are public, free-of-charge, for everyone. While the low-income fare policy probably has the best of intentions, the program will increase inequality and social stigma.

With Enrique Peñalosa talking in Seattle on May 6^th, maybe we could learn from one of his best-known bits of wisdom: “An advanced city is where…even the rich use public transportation.”

¿Clase o gradiente de clase? El falso “efecto de demostración” / Class or Gradient of Class? The false “demonstration effect”

Ezequiel Adamovsky, University of Buenos Aires, CONICET Research Center

For English translation, click here.

La mayoría de los trabajos que se ocupan  de la clase media comienza reconociendo la dificultad de definirla a partir de parámetros objetivos. Sin embargo, suelen pasar luego, rápidamente, a ofrecer una definición operativa ad hoc para presentar entonces los descubrimientos empíricos que explican cómo es esa clase o cómo lo fue en el pasado. La existencia misma de una clase media aparece como un dato obvio que no requiere demostraciones.

En verdad, existe en las investigaciones sobre la clase media un efecto de demostración que viene de la mano de evidencia empírica que, efectivamente, parece mostrar que existen diferencias entre los “tipos de existencia” de las personas de sectores medios y bajos. En la sociedad capitalista, tiende a haber una cierta correlación entre tipos de ocupaciones y niveles de ingreso, de modo que uno puede funcionar como “proxy” del otro. Además, los niveles de ingreso tienen fuertes correlaciones con otros indicadores, como el de nivel educativo, acceso a coberturas médicas, etc. De este modo, si sabemos que un conjunto de la población desempeña trabajos manuales no calificados, podremos asumir sin riesgo de incurrir en serios errores que sus ingresos y nivel educativo tenderán a ser comparativamente bajos, que no contarán con sistemas de medicina prepaga, etc. Lo mismo vale si la variable conocida es la escala de ingresos. Siendo el trabajo manual el peor remunerado, efectivamente es esperable que encontremos toda clase de diferencias en el “tipo de existencia” de un albañil por un lado, y un médico, un docente universitario y un pequeño industrial por el otro, lo que, a su turno, parecería confirmar que estamos en presencia de dos clases diferentes. Hay, sin embargo, un engañoso efecto de la muestra que, por obvio que parezca, está insuficientemente reconocido.

Tomemos como ejemplo un estudio reciente producido por el Departamento de Economía del Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), sobre las características de la “clase media global” que muchos autores insisten en que hoy existe. El trabajo analiza estadísticas sobre las condiciones de vida y los hábitos de consumo de las poblaciones de trece países en desarrollo. La información recabada incluye tipo de empleo, nivel de ingreso, educación, acceso a la salud, tipo de vivienda, gastos en alimentación, presupuesto para la recreación, etc. En este caso, los autores eligieron agrupar la información obtenida según clases sociales definidas como niveles de ingreso o, para ser más específicos, como capacidades de consumo per capita (podrían haberlo hecho también por tipo de ocupación, los resultados habrían sido no muy diferentes). De acuerdo a un criterio arbitrario, definieron que llamarían “clase media” a todos los hogares que cayeran entre el vigésimo y el octogésimo decil en la escala del consumo, lo que, traducido en dinero, significaría hogares en los que se gasta entre 2 y 4 dólares per capita por día, o entre 6 y 10 según cada país. En cualquier caso, quedaba claro que gastos menores o mayores a esos valores correspondían a la clase baja o a la alta, respectivamente. Recortada así la muestra de “clase media”, los autores concluyeron que, a pesar de las fuertes diferencias culturales entre los países (entre ellos estaban desde México hasta Pakistán, pasando por Costa de Marfil, entre otros), existían pautas compartidas que hacían a esa clase diferente de las otras.[1]

Leyendo esta investigación, uno podría concluir que la evidencia empírica confirma la existencia de una “clase media” no sólo en cada país, sino incluso a escala global. El “tipo de existencia” específico queda demostrado: la “clase media” no sólo consume más y vive en mejores casas que los pobres (algo que va de suyo) sino que incluso comparte rasgos “subjetivos” como la tendencia a garantizar mayor educación a los hijos o a formar familias menos numerosas. Por tomar como ejemplo una sola entre las series de datos utilizadas, la información sobre el consumo en esparcimiento confirma que existen diferencias entre las clases:

Porcentaje de hogares en los que se realizó algún gasto en actividades

recreativas (festivales). México, población urbana, según clase.

A partir de estos datos (y de otros por el estilo), podría imaginarse que existen diferencias lo suficientemente significativas como para que las consideremos espacios sociales diferenciados. Por el consumo de esparcimiento, la clase media mexicana aparece como un conglomerado claramente “despegado” de la clase baja, pero con un acceso a ese tipo de bienes bastante por debajo del de la clase alta.

Sin embargo, con los datos algo más desagregados el panorama resulta más complejo:

        Porcentaje de hogares en los que se realizó algún gasto en actividades recreativas 

               (festivales). México, población urbana, según nivel de consumo y clase.[2]

Como puede observarse, en este cuadro lo que aparece es un gradiente más o menos continuo en la adquisición de ese tipo de bienes culturales según los niveles de consumo. Si tuviéramos los datos con mayor nivel de desagregación, veríamos que no hay cortes abruptos que, por sí mismos, “demuestren” la existencia de universos sociales separados. El siguiente cuadro muestra una desagregación todavía mayor de los datos de la investigación en cuestión (hipotética) y una agrupación de los promedios en otras clases posibles, alternativas a las que utilizaron los autores:

Porcentaje de hogares en los que se realizó algún gasto en actividades recreativas (festivales). Desagregación hipotética sobre la base del cuadro anterior y agrupación de clases alternativa.

Como puede verse en este ejercicio, lo que los datos muestran no es que existan diferencias significativas en el consumo cultural entre las clases. Lo que la información permite afirmar es algo diferente: que existe un gradiente de clase en la intensidad del consumo de este tipo de bienes. O dicho en otros términos, que la mayor capacidad de consumo tiene en México una relación directa con la asistencia a festivales. Pero de estos datos no se deriva que se recorten tres clases (ni mucho menos cuáles serían esas clases). Cualquier ejercicio de recorte que uno realice –dos, cuatro, siete clases, lo que fuera– subiendo o bajando la frontera entre ellas del modo en que a uno le de la gana, hallaría diferencias considerables en los promedios por grupo. Eso, sin embargo, no es una comprobación de la existencia de esas clases, sino el resultado de un falso “efecto de demostración” que viene del ordenamiento de un gradiente de clase realmente existente según un esquema de distinción en clases preconcebido. Este tipo de datos por sí solos no demuestran la existencia de ninguna clase, ni tampoco alcanzan para emitir caracterizaciones de la “clase media” (ni de ninguna otra).[3]

Por sorprendente que parezca, una porción perturbadoramente grande de los estudios académicos sobre la clase media se apoya en este tipo de metodología. Partiendo de la noción apriorística de que existe una clase media que agrupa, digamos, a empleados de comercio, almaceneros y abogados, “miden” o analizan determinados rasgos de comportamiento –endogamia, postura política, cantidad de hijos, actitud frente a la diversidad sexual, etc.– para concluir que todos esos sectores tienen algo en común que los hace diferentes de quienes quedan por arriba o por debajo de una línea de clase arbitrariamente establecida. El “efecto de demostración” de la muestra agrupada a priori oscurece el hecho de que, posiblemente, las opiniones políticas del empleado estén más cerca de las del obrero calificado que de las del abogado de una firma exitosa, mientras que las pautas matrimoniales de éstos sean “endogámicas” pero sólo en su propio círculo o círculos cercanos (sin que la opción de casarse con la hija de un almacenero sea más frecuente que la de hacerlo con la hija de un obrero calificado). Más aún, muchos estudios que parten de la definición a priori de “clase media” se concentran en el análisis exclusivo de las categorías ocupacionales o de ingreso así definidas, sin hacer muestreos de otras. Como resultado, suelen hallarse rasgos compartidos que parecen otorgar unidad a la clase, siendo que, en verdad, son inespecíficos (es decir, son rasgos que también se encuentran entre las clases bajas, entre las altas, o en todas).

* Este texto es un fragmento de la contribución del autor al libro de reciente aparición, Clases medias: nuevos enfoques desde la sociología, la historia y la antropología, ed. por Ezequiel Adamovsky, Sergio E. Visacovsky y Patricia Beatriz Vargas (Buenos Aires, Ariel, 2014).

[1] Abhijit Banerjee & Esther Duflo: “What is Middle Class About the Middle Classes Around the World?” MIT Department of Economics Working Paper No. 07-29, 2007.

[2] Ibid, anexo, tabla 4.

[3] De hecho, la comprobación de que los gradientes de clase no necesariamente justifican los recortes y agrupaciones de clase que conocemos (y que identifican una “clase media” como una de las tres fundamentales) fue uno de los resultados más resonantes de una reciente investigación sociológica de gran escala llevada a cabo en Gran Bretaña, que concluyó que el viejo esquema tripartito ya no es apropiado y que hoy son siete las clases sociales; cf. Mike Savage, et al.: “A New Model of Social Class: Findings from the BBC’s Great British Class Survey Experiment”, Sociology, vol. 47, no. 2, 2013, pp. 219 –250.

Questioning our Questions

Koji Pingry, University of Washington, Department of Geography

In our American society it is incredibly hard for us to break out of the comforts we have come to know and expect. Many problems exist across different scales but because of our desire to maintain a certain lifestyle, the questions we have to ask ourselves about these important issues allows us to seek the safe answers. For example, what can I do about the large-scale destruction of the natural environment? If you are part of the modern American middle class the answers are simple. You can buy organic, drive a hybrid car, use reusable bags, invest in sustainable development, etc. Personal responsibility and individualism are a major part of our American character and the questions we ask about how to solve societal issues like environmental degradation or poverty reflects these ideals. As individuals we have the responsibility and power to make a difference.

The individualistic questions we ask produce solutions that both assign and alleviate guilt. After many documentaries, lectures, or books on the issue of environmental degradation we are posed with the rhetorical question “what can you do to help?” The responsibility for the problem here is placed on you the individual and it now falls on you solve it. The task of ending climate change for any individual is impossible. Unless everybody who is currently living beyond their means drastically changes their way of life, the environment will continue to suffer. Because the responsibility now lies with the individual as opposed to the society, we are given ways that we can potentially help the environment, thus alleviating guilt, without having to give up all that we have come to know.

Slovaj Zizek calls this phenomenon cultural capitalism, referring to how we have now combined the act of saving the environment with consumerism. Buying green is posited as the solution. The concept of developing sustainably, or consuming environmentally friendly products, allows us, referring to the middle class in America, to not move away from what we have understood as the norm while feeling good about our choices. The harsh reality though is that no matter how much we have supposedly changed our buying habits, no matter how green the BP website looks, the environment remains in crisis and continues to worsen each year. The problem here lies more with the original question asked then the solutions that came out of it.

I use the example of the environment because it is an issue that is relevant to all people. The environment is an issue that is frequently talked about and on the political scale there is a general consensus that climate change is a major global concern. Discussions surrounding poverty and homelessness tend to be more contentious, especially here in the United States. These seemingly unrelated issues have at least one thing in common. Mainstream conversations of these topics are dominated by individualistic questions despite the fact that these are collective issues.

Growing up in Seattle my entire life, I have become completely desensitized to homelessness. I have come to know homelessness as an accepted, inevitable part of society. Again, because of our individualistic character, and the media representation of the poor, the responsibility for the poor and homeless to obtain the American dream and become part of the idealized middle class falls on the individual. At the most basic level, the middle class here is portrayed as self-made, hard-working, homeowners, those who support a family, send their kids to college and then retire. In America, where the ‘pull yourself up by the bootstraps’ mentality dominates public discourse, those not living in poverty can ignore the system that advantages some people while oppressing others. Those in the middle class can ignore the privileges they have enjoyed in order to succeed in this society. Despite this cultural norm, there is a sense of subconscious guilt that remains part of the middle class identity, the guilt of over-perceived inequality and unequal life chances. This feeling results in the often-asked question; how can I help the homeless? Naturally, the response is the homeless shelter.

This past year I spent time volunteering in a youth shelter and I understand that shelters provide a necessary, important service. The fact of the matter is, there are over 3,000 people a night that sleep outside in the city of Seattle. I have seen the shelter act as a community for young people to support one another. I have experienced the shelter as a positive space of encounter between very different people. Shelters provide a night of warmth and food for many people that may not have access to these on a daily basis. I really came to appreciate the kinds of connections that can be made and the potential for alliance building among volunteers and guests.

But I have also seen the shelter act as a solution for the middle class because it both alleviates the guilt that I described above for the volunteers and donors while providing this necessary service, in much the same way that “going green” does. The concept of cultural capitalism is something I thought about a lot during my time volunteering. There is a general feeling amongst the volunteers that we are doing a good thing but less attention is placed on whether it is enough. As a society if you donate to non-profits you are rewarded with the portrayal that you are a benevolent individual and also tax breaks. As opposed to the shelter being a service that is provided by our local government supported collectively through tax dollars, it is a place that is funded and supported through the kindness of our hearts. We are taught to feel good about ourselves when we donate two dollars to charity as we buy our groceries as opposed to understanding that we all have a communal responsibility to take care of one another.

I found in my experience that even though the shelter could sometimes be a place where alliances across class were built, it was also a place where people’s stereotypes were reaffirmed and their own self-identity reassured. Along with that, I struggled knowing that the shelter was never going to be the solution to end poverty even though it is addressing a desired need. For most people the shelter is not a place to question our privilege. It does not make us question the structural issues that make these shelters a necessity in the first place.

This is not to put down volunteers, donors, or shelters. Again, they are serving a need in the community that is absolutely necessary and many are doing a fantastic job of providing these services. But in the same way that we know using reusable bags really do not do anything for the environment, I think most people know that homeless shelters are not ever going to end homelessness. They are a Band-Aid fix. They are addressing a symptom of our American social, economic system and not the causes. So if we understand that homeless shelters aren’t actually going to end homelessness, that driving hybrid cars wont save the environment, why do we continue to fixate on these solutions? It is because these solutions don’t disrupt our sense of security, our self-identity. It is because the original questions we ask ourselves look to what changes we as individuals can make as opposed to what we can do collectively as a society. It is because both the solutions and questions do not force us to critically reflect on our own lifestyles and how incredibly unsustainable they are environmentally, economically, and socially.

Addressing issues this big takes a long time. The solutions are not something that will arise over night. And because of that at this moment the solutions are not as important as the questions. In conclusion I suggest a few different questions with the goal of moving away from an individualist approach, toward a more relational one: How do the advantages those who are privileged enjoy work to reinforce the cyclical nature of poverty, and continue to marginalize a large segment of our population? How can the privileged deconstruct some of these power structures so that poverty does not need to be a normal part of society? How can those with privilege set aside their own desires, and support movements that may not be directly advantageous to them (i.e. the 15 now campaign, or universal health care)? What would a society look like, what would a shelter look like, if these were the questions being asked?

Fighting with Family and Seeking Transformation through Care

Emma Slager, University of Washington, Department of Geography

Earlier this year, I attended a family wedding that took me into the company of uncles, aunts, cousins, and siblings. My family is big and rowdy with diverse life situations and political persuasions, and as is our custom, we did a lot of arguing about politics during the weekend we spent together, drawing a few concerned glances from strangers around us. As our talk ranged from health care to public transit and gentrification, I grew frustrated. I was unable to get my uncle to see my perspective about the Affordable Care Act, unable to convince my aunt that private bus systems set up by tech companies in San Francisco and Seattle might do more harm than good.

And yet, I think most of us left the weekend feeling closer to one another than when we’d entered it. In coming together from all over the country to support a family member getting married, we cared for one another. We made food for each other, gave one another rides, helped set up for the wedding and cleaned up after the reception, talked together about our struggles and joys, offered advice and compassion.

Reflecting on the experience of fighting with family, I wonder if the difficult conversations are worth it. Is it possible to build progressive change by working through our ideas together while we care for and support one another?

Alliance politics suggests that it is, that we can productively seek change through everyday interactions of care and support, rather than through politics of antagonism. In a speech titled “Bodies in Alliance and the Politics of the Street,” Judith Butler considers street protest in relation to the everyday bodily dimensions of collective action. Referencing protests in Tahrir Square during the Arab Spring, she said:

“Sleeping on that pavement was not only a way to lay claim to the public, to contest the legitimacy of the state, but also quite clearly, a way to put the body on the line in its insistence, obduracy and precarity, overcoming the distinction between public and private for the time of revolution. In other words, it was only when those needs that are supposed to remain private came out into the day and night of the square, formed into image and discourse for the media, did it finally become possible to extend the space and time of the event with such tenacity to bring the regime down.”

Butler here urges us to do away with a distinction between public space of action and private space of bodily support in our analyses of political action, between spaces of production and spaces of reproduction. Political action must always be supported by everyday action, and indeed, it is the carrying out of the daily activities of support—eating, sleeping, using the bathroom, attending to medical needs—in public spaces, as much as the ‘political’ activities of chanting, building barriers, and opposing security forces that make street protests effective struggles for revolution.

Although Butler does not draw on care theory in her speech, her discussion of the support that undergirds political action reminded me of care theory and of Joan Tronto’s article “Care as a Basis for Radical Political Judgments.” Where Butler examines the everyday work that supports public protest, Tronto considers the implication of making political judgments based on everyday care relations. Tronto defines care as “everything we do to maintain, continue, and repair our ‘world’ so that we can live in it as well as possible” (142). Care is ubiquitous, evident in the ways that we care about, take care of, and give and receive care in our daily interactions with people and places. Care theory sees individuals not as rational actors who make decisions based on self-interest but as people “constantly enmeshed in relationships of care” (142). Therefore, unlike political judgments based on abstract and universalized principles of fairness or ‘justice,’ political judgments based on care take account of the needs and capacities of those involved in the specific and concrete situation at hand.

Both Butler’s and Tronto’s arguments hinge on erasing the distinction between public and private, on recognizing the ubiquitous, everyday relationships of care and support that undergird any kind of public politics. All of us are entangled in various communities and institutions in which we enact relationships of care, including our families, neighborhoods, workplaces, faith communities, or schools. How might we therefore go about building alliances within the institutions and communities in which we find ourselves by paying greater attention to care and the work of mutual support in order to transform our communities and our worlds? Below are some ideas of places to start.

Productively critique the power structures operating within a given community and in the broader systems in which the community is situated.

Sometimes, we need to call one another out. Our communities reinforce privilege and disadvantage, they contain and produce hierarchies, and they silence dissent. It is important that we not ignore these dynamics within our communities but that we challenge them from within. This is not easy work, and it can easily be misinterpreted as an attack on the community. However, it is essential work to do. Tronto writes, “in a society that took care seriously, people would perceive greater and wider forms of care as within their self-interest” (146). One way in which we can seek to transform our communities is to help those we are in relationship with to affirm and practice such greater and wider forms of care.

Strengthen the voices of the marginalized within the community.

This involves a process of stepping up and stepping back as we recognize that different members of any community are of course differently situated. When we find ourselves in marginalized positions, we can speak back to those in positions of power and proclaim our equality. And, understanding that marginalization also produces great vulnerability, when we find ourselves in positions of privilege, we can push back against that privilege. In this effort, I have found these suggestions from Mia McKenzie (http://www.blackgirldangerous.org/2014/02/4-ways-push-back-privilege/) to be wise and helpful.

Introduce new voices into the community.

A third way to seek transformation is to introduce new voices into the community. We can demand initiatives to increase enrollment of underrepresented minorities in our universities, and we can welcome marginalized neighbors as full members into our faith communities. We can build long-term partnerships across neighborhood groups to fight for policies that benefit all of our cities’ residents, and we can introduce our disparate family members, friends, and coworkers to one another, asking them to care for each other across lines of difference. At their worst, communities are sites of exclusion, but an alliance politics premised on care requires inclusive communities that are open to being transformed by new members.

These strategies are of course limited and insufficient, and it is vital to remember that we ourselves need to be transformed as well. As Tronto warns, we must not romanticize care. But in caring for others and in being cared for, we not only help sustain ourselves and our communities, but we also lay foundations for political change built through everyday alliances.

The (Visual) Art of Contact

Sarah Elwood and Vicky Lawson, University of Washington, Department of Geography

A few weeks ago, Seattle’s Real Change organized this installation in Westlake Plaza, as part of their Outside In campaign for increased shelter capacity. 3123 pairs of shoes, representing the 3123 people sleeping outdoors on a cold January night in the 2014 One Night Count. The plaza buzzed with activity: Kiosks for signing the OutsideIn petition; people exploring and photographing the installation; distribution of free shoes; the occasional person exchanging one pair of shoes for another. Founding Director Tim Harris mentioned to us his surprise that the shoes became public art, calling it ‘the art of contact’. Here, he referenced Mary Louise Pratt’s Arts of the Contact Zone, a powerful source of inspiration for our thinking about poverty politics and cross-class alliance. Contact zones can prompt moments of interaction that foster insights about privilege and injustice, where people connect across differences in ways that upset their preconceptions about, for example, poverty and poorer people.

For us, the contact zone has been a captivating but elusive ideal. Truly transformative cross-class encounters are hard to find, arising mostly from intensive processes of reflective engagement, such as a years-long community planning forum we studied or weeks of intense classroom work. In the fleeting encounters of everyday life, we mostly see a cementing of people’s assumptions that middle class and poorer people are fundamentally different and that reinforce narratives that blame and shame poorer others.

Yet in the brief encounters at the shoe installation, something different was happening, prompted by the art of this contact zone. The vivid spectacle of 3123 shoes drew people in. As they looked, touched, and photographed, people in the plaza talked to one another. We overheard homeless and formerly homeless people talking to shoppers and tourists about cold feet, wet feet, weary feet and hurting feet – and the forces that produce them: The constant movement that comes from the policing of public space, banishment and trespass laws, the long walks after the end of downtown Seattle’s Ride Free Zone, the felt consequences of unaffordable health care. The transformative art of the shoes stems from their creative visual work – what they prompt us to see and ask. They invoke the common needs of the bodies we all inhabit, while also catalyzing questions about the different bodily vulnerability of more and less privileged people. They conjure an intimate sense of struggling feet without objectifying actual people in doing so.

The art of the shoes also transforms by disrupting, even briefly, the usual taken-for-granted rules of public space in urban America. On this afternoon countless people – the privileged and the impoverished – were “loitering” in the plaza, chatting, eating and drinking, sitting or lying on the sidewalks, feeding and playing with their dogs. In short, they were doing the things of everyday human life that are lightning rods for harassment, ejection, violence, citation and arrest when they are done by people perceived as homeless. The shoes produce a space in which something else is possible, something other than the tight policing of poverty that countless people assume is necessary to creating ‘safe’ and ‘attractive’ urban spaces. This contact zone shows us a different possible space in which all, not just the privileged, can do the things of ordinary human living.

Another recent encounter reminds us that the transformative art of contact also emerges in small interventions that shift how and what privileged people see. Over breakfast at a small hotel, I (Sarah) was talking with another guest. He enthused about taking up cycling in retirement and his favorite riverside path in Portland – it’s beautiful, he loves it, except for all the trash he sees. “It’s a mess,” he said, “shoes and clothes and trash and everything.” Silence. Then, my partner (a social worker) said, “You know, people live there. It’s their lives.” Another silence. Then a response that seemed to recognize that poverty and privilege radically differentiate experiences of the same space: “I guess you’re right,” said the cyclist, “for me, it’s just the place I ride.” The art of this simple intervention is a transformation of vision. Where this man once saw trash, he suddenly sees lives. As the conversation continued, he began to ask questions – what makes many of her clients homeless? How do social services help? What are the limits and problems with that help? Here, the art of the contact zone lies in an intervention that simply and powerfully shifts someone’s interpretive lens. It makes visible what privilege has obscured – that his riverside recreation is a space of precarious living for less privileged others.

Do these momentary encounters show us a fully transformed poverty politics or lasting insights into the interconnections of poverty and privilege? Of course not! Yet in each, the art of contact opens a space of possibility in which privileged actors can see differently, and from there, potentially know and engage differently. They suggest that momentary encounters can indeed change the stories we tell ourselves, the explanations we automatically turn to when we encounter poverty and difference.

What lessons might we take from these examples? In the everyday, be brave over breakfast! The simple statement “people live there” risks a moment of discomfort by demanding a different vision. But importantly, it plants a seed that stands to grow greater transformations. In activism, reclaim public space! These examples call us to re-engage the visual. We tend to be deeply (and appropriately) nervous about visual representations, worrying that they fix, distance, objectify, stereotype, lying wide open for misreading. As Jacques Ranciere reminds us “There is no straightforward road from the fact of looking at a spectacle to the fact of understanding the state of the world; no direct road from intellectual awareness to political action.” (The Emancipated Spectator, 2007, p. 75). Yet these examples remind us that a critical visual politics is possible, powerful, and necessary.

Radical Vulnerability: Towards Stronger Alliances

Elyse Gordon, University of Washington, Department of Geography

Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change. Brene Brown

Alliance work means building trust through radical vulnerability. It is compiling the fragments of our journeys. Paraphrased from Richa Nagar, Keynote Address at the 2014 Critical Geography Conference in Boulder, CO.

—

What does it mean to be in alliance?

A simple question, you might say. Alliances are partnerships, relationships between two or more parties that share a common goal. They work together to achieve that goal.

Let me paint a scene of one such possible alliance:

A local tenant’s union is organizing a campaign to raise awareness of the violence of gentrification. A university professor has worked on gentrification for 15 years, and is eager to ally with the union to provide resources. A local middle-income resident who has felt threatened by creeping rents finds out about the union and decides to start attending meetings and organizing efforts, but doesn’t join the union.

The university professor might think they have some expert knowledge to share on this issue, given that they have researched it and written extensively about gentrification for a third of their life. Yet, have they experienced the processual nature of these practices? The creeping in of bourgeois businesses? The escalating rents? The ubiquity of white folks where once there were few? Have they worried about their ability to pay rent as developers and landlords continue the pursuit of capital? Have they feared their 4-unit apartment building being torn down to make way for a new urbanist condo complex? Likely not. It is possible, but likely not.

The unaffiliated neighborhood resident is familiar with the processes listed above, but they have not felt compelled to join the union. Better to test the waters first before committing to a more radical organizing strategy. But, this resident has been sparking conversation with their neighbors and colleagues, bringing the topic of gentrification to audiences who might otherwise cast it as an inevitable process.

The union is wary of the professor, but eager to have access to the resources that come with a university affiliation. They have been leveraging a large organizing campaign, and being able to reach the university setting more directly is a huge asset. They value the copy-editing and organizational skills of the professor, but dislike the idea of being a staging ground for research. They have work to do on the ground, and are more interested in having local residents buy in and support the work. But, then again, more bodies in the room means more interest and traction around the gentrification concern. They’re not going to turn anyone away.

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Alliances are fragile, in negotiation. They are not static relationships, but rather ones built on trust and circumstances. Rather than an alliance perhaps we can think of the process of developing and negotiating ally-ship. This suggests that the experiences of risk and the shared goals will inevitably shift over time.

Let’s revisit the example listed above.

Our middle-income neighborhood resident has been enthralled in the work, and eager to spend time organizing and contributing with the tenant’s union. They feel inspired, and they’ve been learning an enormous amount about community organizing principles, and about the lived experiences of gentrification.

But then, our resident recently got a hefty promotion at work. They now make enough money that the concern for paying rent is rendered minimal. And the new expectations at their office meant they had less time to commit to the gentrification awareness campaign.

This is an excellent example of the constant negotiation of ally-ship. The resident’s availability diminished, as did their incentive. Most importantly, so did their risk.

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Ally-ship is built on the sharing of risk. This risk will always be uneven, because it reflects the same uneven power geometries in which we already exist. Tenants at high risk of losing their apartments due to gentrification have more at stake than a university professor who is intrigued by the organizing campaign. However, the professor is not free from risk. Their work might be devalued in the academy. Perhaps the politics of the organization make them question their own privileged position, thus opening them up to the risk of letting go of privilege. Maybe the time they commit to the organizing work means less time on teaching and administrative requirements, or perhaps less time with family. Either way, there is risk involved, even if it is not the same.

It is in the admittance of this risk that alliances build trust. It is in saying, “I have something to lose, but I choose to be here, anyway.” It is in saying, “I know you have something to lose, and I know my stakes aren’t the same, but I’m here with you.” It is in saying, “I have no idea how to do this work, and I am ok with failure. I am here to learn, not prescribe.” It is in saying, “I just made a mistake. I’m sorry. How can we move forward?” It is in saying, “I have doubts. Don’t you? Can we make that productive, rather than cynical?” It is in saying, “How is your family? Here is a story about mine.” It is in saying, “I recognize that my job makes me complicit with oppressive power relations. But I don’t want that to prevent me from also acting. Will you have me at the table to work alongside you in a common struggle to diminish those power relations as best we know how?” It is in saying, “I’m here. I’m showing up. I’m flawed, but I’m here.”

Richa Nagar, a feminist scholar at the University of Minnesota, calls this radical vulnerability. She argues that this is the only way to do the work of alliance politics. It is to reflect deeply on one’s own flaws and shortcomings, accept that these are part of what makes us human and whole, and then being able to articulate and share these.

Too often, those of us in positions of relative power, say, embedded in universities, might fear sharing our vulnerabilities because we know our stakes in the game, our risk, are often less than those with whom we seek ally-ship and how dare we try to compare our risk to that of a tenant facing possible eviction?

However, if we silence this awareness, we also diminish the potential to empathically connect with our allies. Nagar would urge us that regardless of the stakes, it is important to share the fragments of our own journeys that illustrate our humanity. The connection fueled by this shared humanity, the inherent messiness, is the basis for trust. It is the basis for alliance.

An ethic of care helps illustrate how to engage such a conversation. She recognizes that, “individuals act politically, then, not only on the basis of their self-interests, but as a result of the particular constellation of caring relationships and institutions in which they find themselves” (1995, 142). As a relatively privileged participant in the academy, how might I share my own stories of caring relationships as fragments of the journey that shaped my interest and commitment to my current alliances?

As Brene Brown, a social work scholar and unofficial life coach, has shared, it is in vulnerability that we allow for great creativity and change. If our ally-ships are inspired by visions for more just power relations, for less oppression, for a greater awareness of intersectional identities, for recognizing the ways poverty is produced and sustained, then we must embrace our own vulnerability, and practice the uncomfortable art of sharing that, to lay a strong foundation for trust, ally-ship, and change.