The ambiguity of policy (a night in Lower Merion)
I recently got invited to be on a panel, the first ever Environmental Forum at Lower Merion High School. The organizer was a high school student there who is quite involved in local progressive politics. We'd connected in the Philly DSA Slack channel when he asked if any organizers or academics knowledgeable about climate change, green infrastructure, the Green New Deal, etc. were able to come speak. I volunteered and found myself in a fascinating situation.
I was interested in doing the event for a few reasons. If a students asks for something then I tend to say yes unless it's a very unreasonable request. But also, Lower Merion is a sort of (in)famous school district in the Philadelphia region. I'm constantly bringing it up and seeing others bring it up in discussions about school funding injustice. I wrote about it in Dissent and mentioned it on a podcast. I just wrote a post about it. Something in the balance of forces points to Lower Merion. I also try to get in on policy debates because I always learn more when I'm in these situations and it's an opportunity to tell others about things I'm thinking about. I've found that doing policy research expands the concept of publication. Anytime I can make public statements advocating for transformative policies that push back capitalism, I consider it publication (which is much easier to do now that I have tenure, of course).
Getting there
It was pouring rain. Teeming. Sitting at home, I didn't want to go anywhere but I've been trying to go out more to get myself out of the house after two years of hunkering down. Pandemic parenthood will do that to you. So I finished teaching my class online and drove north thirty minutes to Lower Merion. I nearly had to pull over because of the rain. Local reporting the day after said it was some of the hardest and most torrential rain the region had seen historically, which set a bleak tone for the environmental forum.
As the cracked roads and dense housing of Overbrook changed into the single family residences surrounded by trees and lawns of Lower Merion across City Line avenue, I was picking up on another force. The rain was pouring down on all of us but our infrastructure was very different. This is a point that I'd make during the panel: ecological forces don't care about school district boundaries. The floods, heat, and storms will hit all of us and it'll take some pretty intense changes in policy thinking to prepare and mitigate collectively.
I pulled into the parking lot and walked in the building. I was in awe. I think I sighed audibly and said, "wow." The building is really nice. The halls are spotless and student art, trophies, and articles about the school line the walls. Since I've been studying school facilities I pay a lot more attention to ceilings, floors, lights, paint, and other such things. Everything was clean and functioning. Sparkling. No water stains, no dead bugs in the fluorescent light covers. The clocks were working.
It was night time so there was an eery quiet, but a pair of squeaking shoes sung out behind me. A woman with pink hair, eyes darting all around, was walking the same way. We headed towards the back of the building (two students, white high school boys with smiles, had pointed us in that direction). We were both a little lost.
Getting ready
Instead of following her though, I ducked into a nearby boys' room. It's jarring to go into schools and see the bathrooms labeled 'boys' and 'girls'. The gendered and aged interpellation is so normal when you're young but when you're an adult it makes less sense.
The sinks all had motion sensor faucets. Standing at one of these sinks, combing his hair, was a white man in a tie. His black hair looked dyed, but you can never really tell. It was slicked back. His tie was somewhat colorful, not overly colorful, and he looked like he was getting ready for a presentation. He didn't have a mask on. I did of course. I still have an unvaccinated toddler at home and "living my life" means taking most COVID precautions. This man in the tie looked at me only briefly, but his eyes were like old saucers, wide and confident but still confused and tired, and continued combing his hair.
Walking in quickly behind me was another older man (also white) breathing a little heavily and greeting the man with the black hair. This guy did have a mask on and had much grayer hair. He washed his hands, saying "I walked here!" He was pretty wet. The man with the black hair acknowledged this, saying "wow" while still looking in the mirror.
I left the bathroom, turned a slight corner, and saw a sitting area with a raised table, comfortable chairs, and floor to ceiling windows. The windows looked out onto a gymnasium that took up several floors, giving an immense feeling architecturally. I turned around and there was the entrance to the auditorium. From the lettering above the new doors to the professional-grade sound design inside, the carpeted rows and plush seats, it was like an auditorium at a small liberal arts college with a large endowment and sky-high tuition. It was spacious, quiet, and lit variously by stage lights focused on the stage. There was a table there with name tags, a dedicated microphone for each panelist, and a black pleated cloth hanging down so panelists' feet and legs were hidden.
I walked down the center aisle towards the stage. Among the eight name cards was mine: Dave Backer. Three seats in from stage right.
Coincidences
The organizer of the event, Max, greeted me. He was wearing a black suit with a t-shirt underneath the blazer, wild and curly shoulder-length hair streaming down his shoulders. He looked like a rock star. After shaking his hand he went to greet another person and I put my backpack down and took my seat. I looked out into the auditorium. There was a mezzanine! There were circular lights lining the back wall emitting a cool white light.
Something caught my eye and I wasn't sure what it was at first. After scanning the room I realized one of these circular lights had a light bulb that was on the fritz. It blinked off and on. The only flaw in the facilities I could see. The blinking light was annoying but also kept me company throughout the event as it unfolded, like a lost daemon in the facilities.
Other panelists climbed the stairs to take their places. Two older white women came up first, each a few seats away from me. We smiled and nodded at each other. I looked to my left and the man with the black hair and saucer eyes from the bathroom was sitting a seat over from me, laptop and notepad at the ready. It was as if he'd been there all along.
Then a younger woman of color walked up the steps and sat in the chair between myself and the man with the black hair. She introduced herself as Kani, field director for the Paul Prescod campaign. I'd actually spent the previous week working with a team of academics and organizers to put together a Green New Deal for Schools for Paul's campaign as part of DSA's national GND commission. I've known Paul since we moved to Philadelphia as he's been so active in DSA. I'm a big supporter of his primary campaign against Anthony Hardy Williams, a centrist with a long and sort of sad political career in the region. Kani and I chatted about West Philly, where we were from, left politics, etc.
As we were chatting, other panelists filled in the seats. An extremely round older white man was sitting next to me wearing a plaid shirt. He had gray curling hair rising off of his head and neck, a cell phone in his thick hands. He introduced himself as Tim Briggs, the state representative for Lower Merion. By the time I looked up everyone was there and introductions were starting. That gray haired man from the bathroom--the one who said he'd walked to the school--turned out to be local politician Ray A. Courtney. A young white woman sitting on the other side of Briggs was state senator Amanda Cappelletti. And during the introductions, the man with the black hair and somewhat colorful tie turned out to be Lower Merion School District's head of operations, the guy who manages facilities.
I was struck by the company I was in. These were local and state politicians and leaders in the district. What was a socialist school finance researcher and organizer doing there? It's not a coincidence. Five years ago I don't think I would've been invited to such an event. But Max's invitation to me was a good example of young peoples' shifting politics in the country. The event was co-sponsored by the Lower Merion Democrats (thus the political connections), but Kani told me later that Max was interning at Paul's campaign as well.
State power
Max moderated the panel, having written out questions that he sent us in advance. The questions were all about movements, organizing, and how to fight climate change. I was also surprised there too, since most Democrats don't speak in terms of movements and organizing but rather voting, consumer choice, and participation. It made for an awkward dynamic since the politicians spoke for most of the evening. There was a certain deference to them. This makes sense given the august quality of state power. I chafed a little given my anarchist roots though it's understandable and I don't fault anyone.
My chafing at the close proximity of unfamiliar representatives of state power grew slowly into a bemused and intriguing discomfort as the evening moved on. I didn't know what to do with my hands or really any part of my body. About a third of the way into the panel I realized to my dismay that everyone else was sitting forward with their hands on the table, but I was sitting back with my notebook on my lap. That way I could lean back and see who was speaking but I wondered whether it looked strange. I had no idea. I'm so rarely on stages. I tried to focus more on the conversation, keeping in mind my daemon friend the blinking circular light in the back. The attendance wasn't very high, maybe 20-30 people were scattered throughout the auditorium, so I didn't feel overly nervous. To me, it felt like the panel was my audience.
We weren't called on to speak. Max would ask a question and if we wanted to respond we'd turn on our microphones, which were button operated so you could push it and unmute it. The overall issue for discussion was what to do about climate change, particularly for a student audience. The politicians talked about their positions, records of voting and committee service and initiatives they've supported (various moderate policies like the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative), the dynamics in Harrisburg (terrible), and how important voting is particularly in the upcoming election for governor. The older women talked about climate groups in the community. They mentioned a controversy that I'd like to look into: an initiative by the Lower Merion school district to use eminent domain to take over thirteen acres of old growth forest called Oakewell, plow it under, and build new sports fields for BlackRock Middle School.
I was honored to be there and lucky to have a place on the stage but only felt right chiming in during two moments. I had the feeling that I was speaking another language entirely, but saw myself as there to offer policy ideas that others might not be thinking about to stretch the political imagination.
Thinking regionally, tactically, and monetarily
The first time I spoke was during a section on policies or initiatives at the local or state level panelists thought might be important. The conversation focused on things happening in Lower Merion, of course, but one of the older climate activists spoke about a regional program (I think it was about tree planting) and I thought it might be an opportunity to mention one of my favorite policy recommendations: regional tax base-sharing.
I tapped my mic, the red light came on, and I mentioned that climate change didn't know about or respect human-made boundaries like school district lines and that local tax bases are one of the ways governments like districts and towns can finance climate mitigation and adaptation. I said that since Lower Merion has a large tax base from its high property values, it's essential to think about the region it's a part of and not just what its residents do within its boundaries. Tax base-sharing can help other municipalities with smaller tax bases to fund the green projects that need funding, particularly in our federalized and local-control-obsessed country.
I could feel the quick nervousness in my voice. A kind of shakiness. After I switched my microphone off the conversation went elsewhere.
The next time I spoke was during a section on movement organizing. How did panelists think we could fight for policies that make a difference in climate change? Kani spoke on the power of mass organizing and getting involved with campaign's like Paul's. The Democrats largely talked about voting, registering people to vote, and trying to make sure Democrats take back the state house and senate so we can pass legislation that would achieve these goals. Courtney said that he thinks advances will come when technology improves enough to end carbon emissions and people decide to use purchasing power to make those technologies mainstream. Vote and buy green.
I thought of two pretty disparate points I could add here, one about tactics to use while organizing and the other targets when planning campaigns. None of the panelists had mentioned direct action and civil disobedience, despite these being one of the few ways that everyday people who aren't elected officials can exert meaningful social force. I said that while it might feel like corporations have all the money and politicians have all the power, you can make a big difference by working with a group to disrupt business as usual. I gave the analogy--that I'd heard in a Poor People's Campaign training--of an ambulance going through a red light. We all know that you should stop at a red light. But the ambulance is dealing with an emergency so it breaks that rule. Similarly, climate change is an emergency and we should be willing to break rules to ensure those in powerful positions do something about it.
The second point I made was about which parts of the social structure we should target when organizing in the climate fight. While the politicians on the stage had mentioned taking over the state house and senate, this strategy mostly focuses on fiscal policy: state spending from general fund appropriations. I said that monetary policy is another terrain of the fight when thinking about how to finance something like a Green New Deal and we should think about targeting central bankers.
The ambiguity of policy
Again, I couldn't tell if anyone understood what I was saying. But at least I'd said it? Looking out into the audience I saw a few high schoolers slumped in their chairs, on their phones, looking around. I saw scattered adults supporting one or another panelist on the stage. The woman with the pink hair who I'd seen in the hallway at the beginning was taking video when Senator Cappellatti spoke (I found out she was her media persion.) Others had gradually walked out.
By the end, I'd noticed that the Director of Operations said almost nothing. He gave one comment at end about what students specifically should do about climate change. He said something interesting. He recommended that students study and learn about how buildings work, how construction can be improved, and how to actually build and maintain infrastructure that reduce emissions. He was advocating for a kind of polytechnical education focused on infrastructure but from a climate change point of view. I liked that idea and was a little sad about his quiet presence. I've come to see that building and facilities maintenance are such an essential part of school finance and policy, yet the people who work to keep the lights on, air flowing, and actual infrastructure in tact get little opportunity to connect with a broader public.
As the event ended, various members of the audience and panel chatted. I put my backpack and jacket on, walked back out through the shining hallway of the school, and into the teeming rain of reality wondering what exactly had just happened. It was an ambiguous moment of education policy in which I had participated, so much to do and yet so little done.