On Fights and Backs in the Age of Trumpence

When I was my daughter's age, there was a little white girl I wanted to play with. Her parents didn't allow it, so I shrugged it off and went off to play on my own. At the time, Mom didn't tell me why the girl  wasn't allowed to play with me. And to those parents' limited credit, they didn't tell me either. It was much later that I was finally told it was because I am black.

When I was just a little bit older than my daughter, a white boy in my class called me a nigger on the walk home from school. I turned around, kicked him hard in the nuts, and then chased him home. Classmates were around. They heard what he said. They saw my response. And when the kid and his father came to school the next day, looking for witnesses to report me, my friends had my back. And I don't think it was because they were afraid I'd beat them up too (I wouldn't have). They had my back because in their elementary sense of ethics, they knew it was the right thing to do.

Fast forward thirty years, and some of those same friends who had my back in grade school, have turned their backs or stood in palpable silence as I and people who look like me have begun to be harassed by racists emboldened by my "friends'" chosen savior. Those friends no longer have my back. They have stabbed it.

New friends, better friends, promise they have my back in the fight(s) to come. And to the extent that their hearts are true and their spirits strong, I believe they do. But I also know that the beat downs along the way (some reputational, some legal, and others, I'm sure, physical) are coming as much for my allies as for me and people like me.

And the tests my back-havers will endure will be many, with varied expectations of advocacy and intervention.

When I studied abroad in Russia one summer, I was one of maybe two dozen black people in the entire city of St. Petersburg. It wasn't long before the neo-nazis under Nevsky Prospekt saw in me an easy mark, and the abused and down-trodden Roma saw in me someone who, finally was lower on the whipping post than they were. I got through those two months sometimes by hiding in my room but mostly because two white male friends who spoke better Russian than I did, essentially took shifts hanging out and exploring the sites with me. They had my back in a most literal sense and I will forever be in their debt.

Last Thursday, when I finally had to leave the house (pesky job and adulting responsibilities), I was anxious. Friends and others around the country were already reporting racially abusive language and physical acts. But though I live in Denver, CO, I was on alert as I walked out my door. What would the rise of the Age of Trumpence have in store for me that day?

Very little, it seemed. I parked in a parking garage and scurried to my office hours, encountering no overt racial enmity whatsoever. I carried a large box several blocks to another meeting downtown and encountered nothing but either averted eyes or really earnest and hyper-kind smiles. I got through the day! Yes! And as I walked back through downtown, to the garage, I allowed myself a little relief.

Then a car rolled up slowly beside me, which was odd because there are no parking meters on that part of the street, nor any storefronts. A sneering voice said something out the window to me. I didn't catch all of it but I did hear "Trump's White America." And as I picked up my pace, without looking at the car or saying anything, the car sped up too and drove off with the sound of the occupants' malicious laughter.

I was shaken. But I wasn't alone. There was a thirty-something looking white guy who was just a couple feet ahead of me. When the haters rolled up and pronounced the truth of the day, my sidewalk neighbor glanced over his shoulder at me and the car. And here's the thing: he didn't say or do anything. He just kept walking.

I won't have friends like my buddies in Russia around me everyday. I need to rely on the kindness of strangers in this Age of Trumpence. But can I? When 1/4 of the voting-eligible population saw an opportunistic racist and xenophobe and said, "Yeah, I'm cool with that." And nearly half of the voting-eligible population saw the rise of the opportunistic racist and xenophobe and said, "Yeah, I don't care enough about that to vote to keep it at bay." When nearly 3/4 of those who could have had my back chose or enabled those who'd rather but a bulls eye on it, can I rely on the kindness of strangers and still feel safe in the land of my birth?

I am tired of abuse. I'm tired of the shocked white moderate and liberal realization that white supremacy isn't America's underbelly, it's fundamental to too many Americans' national identity. I'm tired of those with more privilege and security than I have ever had or ever will have here telling me THEY need ME to fight the fight that THEY should have been fighting with their families and friends.

I need sanctuary to recover my footing,  heal my broken heart, and raise my daughter in a space of genuine compassion and safety. I need to relearn who I can trust to have my back as I have theirs, and who offers nothing but smiles and lies.

Sometimes, getting out is the best course of action. Trumpenistas may triumph when I and others leave. They may even try to block the right of return for anyone who departs. But if those who have the wherewithal (and strategic privilege) to stay and fight prevail, then the Trumpenistas will win this terrible battle but will lose the long and bitter war for this country's soul.

Manifesting 2016

Last week, when Z and I returned from a palliative visit back to Washington, we spent the first weekend of the New Year making and studying our manifestation collages for this year. 

Z's was adorably concise:

By the time the year is over, we will have two dogs. We will also visit Arizona (including camping). Z will attend cowboy camp and learn how to ride a horse. And we will live, once again, in a small town (I didn't have the heart to tell her that the "small town" she chose for her collage was actually a street in Memphis).

My collage is a bit more ... ambitious.

This year - I pray - my various projects, risks, opportunities, obligations, and loves from the last few years will come to a productive bloom. Some - like my fellowship with B Lab - have a predetermined end date. Others - like becoming a licensed attorney for resilient local economies and re-establishing a home west of the Rockies - are a bit more nebulous in their ETAs. In large part, this is because I feel quite driven by my Duty of Care: care of myself, yes, but mostly care of those I love.

The care of someone or something differs from the care for the same.  Care for connotes actions but also feelings and taste ("I do not care for Faux News or artichokes"). Whereas Care of solely connotes actions. What must be done to keep that about which I care in good condition? We take care of our stuff, if we want it to last. We take care of our children, if we want them to thrive. And sometimes, we take care of our parents, for the same reason, prompting a reversal of roles that is both empowering and terrifying.

My mother is facing a common but scary illness, and though it was caught early enough that her prognosis will likely be good, there's still a lot of uncertainty. But the one thing about which we are certain is that I will need to step up and help take care of my mother at some point, in ways that I have not done before.

At the same time, I must take care of Miss Z (who, like me, is impatient to move back to Washington). And I must take care of myself as I fully reboot my career and pursue my entrepreneurial goals (a niche law practice and homestead B&B).

The language of duty reads like an imposition but I experience it more often as an opportunity. I have the opportunity to figure out how to take care of my Mom. So many of my friends and family have lost one or both parents. I'm sure that my relationship with my Mom will evolve but at least we have a relationship to nurture.

On those nights when I stare wistfully at my 1st edition copy of Go the F*ck to Sleep, while my beloved, sleep-drunk five year old is in full banshee mode, I nevertheless appreciate the opportunity to be her mother and take care of her. And then I enjoy a glass of Washington red wine.

And when I look at my collage with impatience and anxiety, I challenge myself to focus on the opportunity that a new year, combined with my talents, ambitions and dreams present. I don't know if by the end of 2016 I will have done even half of the things represented in the collage. But I know that I am very fortunate to have no small amount of pluck and luck as I embark on my 2016 journey. And I am so very fortunate to be able to put family at the center of my values and my aspirations.

Is this a "thing" yet? #ClimateChange Relocation and #Localist Economic Development Specialist #placemaking #dreamjob #MSULawSM

It is totally possible that I may have missed something during the fog that is law school, but it seems that most discussions about the expected population displacements due to climate change focus on climate refugees from island nations and rapidly desiccating subsaharan nations. This makes sense of course because for many of the citizens of these nations the evacuation need is now, rather than in some more distant future.

Domestically, the discussion seems to gloss over the fact that if the projections are correct (See NASA's recent megadrought projections for the next 35 years), millions of American citizens will soon need to relocate from flooded coasts or drought-ridden communities, most likely to other locales within the United States. With Central California wells already running dry and the ferocity of recent hurricanes displacing hundreds of thousands of people (e.g. Katrina: 400k people and Sandy: 776k), the need to think about and plan for relocation is now.

At the same time, other communities in the country are rebounding from the Great Recession and are actively pursuing strategies for locally-owned and operated, sustainable economic development (See Cleveland, the BALLE case studies, Richmond, VA). This is particularly true for communities that are off the beaten path or are reinventing themselves as post-industrial locales.

So, why not combine the needs of climate change relocation with the needs of localist economic development? Put another way, where will all the amazing companies and organizations in, say, the San Francisco Bay Area go when the sea levels rise, the heat waves become chronic, the water runs out, and/or the Big One hits?

Proactive planning for relocation should be part of any climate-change threatened organization's or individual's emergency management plan and long-term projections. BUT the best relocation planning would take seriously the organization's or individual's role in becoming a community partner in placemaking in its future home.

Essentially a community development strategy of disaster avoidance and prosperity creation needs to be part of future planning. A proactive embrace of relocation as an opportunity rather than a chore can prove to be a very good decision for business, communities and for individuals' quality of life.

A Climate Change Relocation and Localist Economic Development Specialist would be part Hollywood location scout, part matchmaker, part community mediator, part designer, and part lawyer. She would help relocating businesses and individuals identify communities in more stable zones that are or could be excellent partners for the business' or individual's talents and goals. She would also work with communities hoping for an influx of good neighbors and good business by helping those communities complete a soul-searching SWOT analysis of their strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats. Communities hoping to welcome new neighbors and businesses have to recognize that they can rarely control who those people and businesses will be (exceptions: formula business zoning and other zoning & building code strategies), and thus they need to be sure that they are ready to grow and learn with their new neighbors.

Certainly a specialist who is a skilled facilitative or transformative community mediator can help with these conversations. If she also has a design thinking sensibility she can help insure that the process is empathetic and responsive to both the migrants and the communities. And as a lawyer, she can facilitate the numerous transactions incumbent in relocating businesses and individuals (e.g. real estate transactions and syncing business and estate needs with the laws of the new state).

Admittedly, that's a lot to ask of one person, but then again, this is the era of the purple squirrel job description. Personally, I see this need to help individuals, businesses and communities plan for the effects of climate change as an argument for a multidisciplinary practice where relocation specialists, mediators, business-savvy service designers and lawyers work together to help communities, businesses and individuals prepare for and embrace the inevitability of change.

The Person I Want To Be & The Work I Want To Do #sharingeconomy #SHARE2014 #reinventlaw

I was raised as an only child, which means neither listening nor sharing come naturally to me.

But the life journey I've been on has taught me how to be better at both. And raising a wonderful, strong-willed and shockingly intuitive four year old challenges me to continue to grow in my listening and sharing skills. Professionally, I look forward to developing my new career path (from academic administration and university teaching to law and legal entrepreneurship), with a commitment to hone my listening ear and heart, and develop a deeper understanding of sharing. Doing so will make me a more effective advisor and advocate for the resilient communities with which I hope to work.

Yet, the prospect of foregrounding that commitment is by no means an obvious one because I am in law school and law too often emphasizes centralized authority that regulates the bejeezus out of the innovative zeitgeist at the heart of the sharing economy.

This tension between law and innovation figured prominently in panel discussions and informal conversations I had at the SHARE conference in San Francisco in May. The topics that captured my attention the most were: grassroots legislation reform; homesharing law wins (here and here) and setbacks; the trifecta between regulation, entrenched market interests (especially with ridesharing), and sharing; the tension between dead capital and venture capital in sharing economy platforms; and questions of access, equity and inclusion. There were some people who felt strongly that if the laws didn't work, then simply skirting the law was a valid response. But overwhelmingly there was more of a willingness to work with regulators as co-creators of the sharing economy, which I found to be a more reasonable position.

Regulators are people too. Work with them as if they are part of the #SharingEconomy. How will you build trust with them? #2014SHARE
— Karen FrancisMcWhite (@accidentalhippy) May 14, 2014

But attending SHARE did not only afford me the opportunity (thanks to generous support from Peers.org and SOCAP) to listen to the incredible speakers and others in more informal gatherings, it also presented me with an opportunity to spend several hours with my professional role model, Janelle Orsi, founder of the Sustainable Economies Law Center. Admittedly, I was a little worried that I may have rubbed her the wrong way even before we met. I had contacted her several months before about the prospect of coming to Michigan to run a Legal Tools for the Sharing Economy workshop for the student organization I co-founded, the Resilient Communities Law Society. Mind you, it's not like my follow-ups had been like that paperboy in "Better Off Dead" (well, maybe a little bit). But Ms. Orsi took my enthusiasm in stride, was personable and allowed me to observe intakes at one of the SELC's Legal Cafes.

Essentially SHARE 2014 and connecting with Janelle Orsi reaffirmed my commitment to growing a new career as a legal advocate for the sharing economy and community resilience. I came to law school convinced that I would focus on community-based urban redevelopment and urban agriculture, and rather than pivot after two years of law school, I think I've widened the aperture a bit.

That widening is largely thanks to the incredible learning and professional development experiences I have had through the MSU ReInvent Law Laboratory. ReInvent Law has introduced me to pioneers in legal design, services and reform, and given me opportunities to develop the project I came to law school to build: MiHomestead.com. I unveiled the first iteration at ReInvent Law London last summer and continued to work on it through a subsequent presentation at ReInvent Law NYC, and for a pitch competition.

So when ReInvent Law London 2014 took place last week, I followed the Twitter feed for #reinventlaw as closely as the four-legged menagerie I am pet-sitting allowed. Last year, I had been so nervous in preparation for my talk that I did not adequately do one very important thing: listen to the other talks. This year, I "listened" to the feed and heartily wished I could be at the conference. Hopefully the videos of the talks will be uploaded soon, especially the following:

• Kanan Dhru, Research Foundation for Governance in India, Lawtoons: Law Made Fun through Comics
• Ivan Rasic, LegalTrek, Lean: Can NewLaw Learn from Tech Startups?
• Mårten Janson, Fondia, Legal Departments as a Service
• Siobhan Duncan, Westminster University Law, Affordable Justice - Prepaid Cards & the Legal Services
• Frédéric Pelouze & Alexandra Uhel, Alter Litigation, The Paris Bar Incubator: Towards Innovation in the Legal Market
• Carlo Rossi Chauvenet, legalPAD/We Have the Future, Law is Not Enough

To say that I have found myself in a bit of a quandary as I consider my professional life after I graduate in May would be an understatement.

I continue to work on MiHomestead, but I am well aware of startup statistics (even as I adopt a Lean approach) and am stepping up my research of other avenues for combining my interests in law, the sharing economy, food system reform and community resilience.

Of course I am also aware that the year I finish law school is the year my daughter starts kindergarten, so whatever I do professionally and wherever that journey takes us must be a good parenting decision for my Washington-born, outdoorsy-and-artsy, and London-loving little girl (Sidebar: she has an airplane roller bag that she keeps by the door because "I might need it to fly somewhere" says the child who at four has already been on over two dozen airplanes).

So as I pet/housesit this summer and work on MiHomestead, I have a lot to review, think about, and DO. Because the person I want to be doesn't just sit on her laurels and listen, she's a doer and a sharer vested in building the more resilient society in which I want my child and all children to grow and thrive. She's also a bit of a law geek inspired by legal innovation and determined to roll up her sleeves and join in the grief and the joys of making the law work for resilient communities, rather than against them.

Transitions

I had such noble aspirations for this blog when I set it up: chronicle the journey of a late-thirty-something single mother's journey through law school and personal/professional reinvention.

But then, there was a snafu with the ex and some legal wrangling last summer, before I could move with our daughter (for whom I have always been and continue to be the primary caregiver).

And being somewhat crunchy (and occasionally naive), I tried to commute to my daughter's school and mine exclusively by bus and bike for our first three months in Michigan. Not surprisingly, spending upwards of three hours a day commuting ate into my study time and I did not do nearly as well in my first semester of law school as I had hoped.

Eventually, I found my stride (and a decent 2000 Toyota Sienna minivan), revamped my approach to studying and realized: 1) the first year of law school really is as demanding as "they" say; 2) my daughter is a resilient child, but she still had a challenging time with the transition (at least initially) and needed me to be more fully present with her when we were together; and 3) there would be no time for blogging (even most of my Facebook and Twitter action were shares of other people's finds and insights).

So, as transitions go, my change from being The Boss of a university program to being a student (one of over 300 in my class), has been an exercise in humility and time management reform. But through it all, my experience of being a mother to a toddler-turned-preschooler has been my anchor and my inspiration, and - with her increasing verbosity - my accountability check. There's nothing quite like being chastised by a three year old who is using your own words and tone accurately, to reign you in (it's mostly when I drive, because Michigan drivers are ... "special").

Now it is summer, and I have survived the first year of law school (or at least I mostly have; we shall see if I totally have when the grades appear). I don't expect the rest of the journey to be easy (though I have enjoyed the downtime between the end of classes and the start of my urban agriculture practicum). But I do expect to be better situated to make time for journaling/blogging about this journey, and my myriad methods of starting over, building anew and making a stable home for my family.

Preparing to become an even more frugal foodie

I cannot believe that we will be moving in less than three months!

The time has flown by, aided in part by some "issues" I am having with my ex.  But I have faith that all will be resolved favorably soon, and my Little Miss and I will be able to embark on this exciting adventure soon!

One of the things I have recognized, as I purge belongings (a process that has become so cathartic, I am seriously at risk of just walking away from all belongings...except for Little Missy's favorite toys of course...I'm not crazy): I need to start more accurately living within the budget we will have once we move.  Which means: I need to do a better job planning for healthy eating and living on our soon-to-be restricted budget.

Today, a Facebook friend told me about the Health on a Budget online conference, kicking off this weekend.  It's sponsored by the folks at Raw Foods on a Budget.  Because, fundamentally, my commitment to urban agriculture and legal reform was inspired by my health saga five years ago, this is something I can certainly get on board with and support.


I may even sign up for the year-long access to the conference archives, as soon as I sell more of my belongings, that is.

To begin anew...

In these waning days of my first professional foray, I have had ample opportunity to explain my decision to move on, chase a dream, and hopefully, finally, pursue my passion.

I began this foray more than ten years ago, convinced that I wanted to be a university professor of English, when really, all I knew was that I did NOT want to teach middle and high school any more and I loved literature.  These last ten years were not, however, a waste.  They were my process of discovery and discernment, through which I made lifelong friends, had many fabulous and life-altering adventures, learned the power of failure and the regenerative force of love. 

But above all this, I finally found the courage to live my one life with passion and conviction.  

As I put to rest my eight year struggle with a dissertation that just... would... not... come... together, I came across two passages, one from Mizuta Masahide, a 17th century Samurai and the other, from Michel Foucault's The Use of Pleasure:

Barn's burnt down

Now

I can see the moon.

And

As to those for whom to work hard, to begin and begin again, to attempt and be mistaken, to go back and rework everything from top to bottom, and still find reason to hesitate from one step to the next – as to those, in short, for whom to work in the midst of uncertainty and apprehension is tantamount to failure, all I can say is that clearly we are not from the same planet.

Letting go of my doctoral pursuit was traumatic.  But it was also an opportunity to recalibrate, reimagine, clarify and truly see not who I thought I was going to be, but who I am happy I've become.

I have had two lifelines in the last two years: my daughter and my garden.  While I have always been vested in social justice, becoming a mother has made me even more determined to insure that I am actively helping to create the world in which I want my daughter to grow and thrive.  I became even more obsessive about gardening and, as much as my schedule as a working single mother allowed, embraced the urban homesteading lifestyle.  That commitment introduced me to an incredible community of urban homesteaders, notwithstanding some self-important strivers who had convinced themselves that they were the founders of urban homesteading, and therefore had the right to trademark the terms "urban homestead" and "urban homesteading".  Dorks.

In the last year, I have recognized an increasingly enthusiastic transformation in my professional and personal interests.  While I still love literature (reading it, rather than writing about it [or worse, grading writing about it]), and I still aspire to publish (memoir and fiction), I have become mildly obsessive about urban agriculture, urban sustainability and the role of the law in both.

So, with my current position vulnerable to the federal budget pissing match, my daughter being young enough to forgive me, and all of my non-school debt due to be paid off by next spring, I decided to do something radical.

I am going back to school.

I have already received a full tuition scholarship to one of my top law school choices, which is awesome, because I am absolutely debt-adverse given the state of the legal job market, my age and my goals: I aspire to be a legal advocate for urban agricultural activities in post-industrial cities like Detroit.  I don't anticipate getting rich, but look forward to making a living doing meaningful and variable work that I suspect I will enjoy.

And so, I begin anew.

It is scary.  It is exciting.  It is me.