The suburb of Brightmoor was a stop in City #3 of my grad school's tour of the American Rustbelt: Detroit. As far distant as Detroit is, the lessons from Brightmoor carry over to our own backyards, from my shared hallway shower to the city of Bowling Green.
Christmas morning 3:00 am brought the surprise of finding the shared bathroom in my apartment building occupied by street bums. It's not the first time and - given the timing of the police - will probably not be the last. But it's recalled to mind the story of another shared community space....
Brightmoor is not the backdrop I would have chosen for a life's masterpiece. The residences are run-down; perhaps two houses have historical value. But Brightmoor has become just that for a group of dedicated community members.
A brief bit of history:
Now, among abandoned houses painted in bright murals, poetry scrawled across their boarded-up windows, runs a circuit of neighborhood gardens. Young adults would set up home in some of these same abandoned houses until such time as the neighborhood was able to buy them at auction. Even among the neighborhood initiatives was a valiant attempt to clear abandoned properties by expanding the Detroit city limits on goats.
In our quest to improve the places we call home, how does one choose the canvas? Just how far does one go?
I don't pretend to have all the answers. But if we want to see our communities become resilient, it's helpful to distill a few key ingredients.
While it probably is good to start with a place that has its redeeming qualities - the soil isn't too rocky - the houses are solidly built - the crime rate isn't too high - looking at Brightmoor shows this can only be part of what it takes to work real transformation.
Where the ties to place fall short, bonds between people are the stronger force. More than that, I think, between people who have a keen sense of home, those with a keen vision of what's possible, and those with a bent for action. If I could guess, it starts with the people who have lived in a place a long time, built upon by those who settle in a place and desire to tap into that deep connection. A commitment to a shared future that includes the generations to come. As Riet, now a leader of what has become a neighborhood-wide effort, says:
"You need someone who is willing to settle down for the long run, who can get to know people, spend time finding the assets and listen to what people want [....] I plan on dying here."
This idea of living and dying among the people we seek to help is the radical concept behind the community development group of which Riet is a part. A strong vision is important. So is being entrenched for the long haul.
Yet one of the smart ideas in Brightmoor was to break the tasks ahead into manageable projects. While I like to think that one could gauge whether one has the resources to see a vision all the way through to completion, starting with little steps that carry their own reward justifies pouring in all the effort required.
Yet one of the smart ideas in Brightmoor was to break the tasks ahead into manageable projects. While I like to think that one could gauge whether one has the resources to see a vision all the way through to completion, starting with little steps that carry their own reward justifies pouring in all the effort required.
It's a virtuous circle. While one vandal can undo much, a single flower-bed or Christmas wreath sends the signal that "This place is worth investing in."
As I'm evicting the street-people from our shared restroom, with a conviction that by the time my lease is up I will still be living here and they (or at least their drug habits) will not, I consider what it must take.
Deep dedication to place is one valuable piece. Strong vision is another. Community organizing and those who can do it will tie the two together.
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