Residents in toney Arlington Heights have a different gripe. They're upset that a nonprofit coalition of Jewish groups wants to erect a 50-foot-long, 9-foot-high basalt wall in Washington Park inscribed with the names of local survivors of Nazi atrocities. Neighbors like Brooke Constable and Doris Carlsen speak with voices as light and sweet as meringue while detailing several complaints. For one, they say they weren't properly notified of the plan by the city's Parks Bureau--which is true. For another, they're concerned about parking--although a study concluded the memorial would attract no more than 16 vehicles a day. More important to Constable and Carlsen, though, is the fear that the memorial will be, as one opponent, Janet Kreft, put it, the ultimate "downer." "No sensitive person should be expected to live 24 hours a day across from a monument that evokes death, horror and pity," Constable recently wrote to Jim Francesconi, the city's commissioner of parks. The memorial should go "right directly in front of your house," groused another Arlington Heights resident, Austin Howe, in a letter to Francesconi. The protests go beyond neighborhood boundaries. A majority of the city's neighborhood associations united in December in a failed campaign against so-called "granny flats," small apartments added to existing houses or garages. The protests have also spilled outside of Portland. In Milwaukie, neighborhood associations led a campaign that ousted Mayor Craig Lomnicki and two city councilors two months ago. The mayor's crime? He wanted to bring light rail and higher density housing to--of all places--the city's downtown area. There's a common thread that runs through the protests, whether they're against memorials in Washington Park or light rail in Milwaukie: neighborhood associations. According to some critics, the associations have undergone a Jekyll and Hyde transformation. The Rev. John Rodgers, a leader of the Portland Organizing Project, a church-based group that agitates for social and economic justice, says the associations are dominated by "professional cranks and loose cannons." It wasn't always that way. Back in 1970, before a single latte had been poured in Portland, and the average age of the five white men on the City Council was 61, neighborhood associations were the place that young activists went to ply the theory that all politics are local. "We were interested in neighborhood improvements," says Metro Executive Officer Mike Burton, who started a neighborhood association in North Portland in the early 1970s, "like paving streets and rehabilitating houses." For others, neighborhood activism meant performing charitable work that was sorely needed in one of the least religious cities in the country. "When it was formed in 1968, one of the first things the Brooklyn Neighborhood Association did was provide winter coats to kids who didn't have them," recalls Ethan Seltzer, director of Portland State University's Institute of Metropolitan Studies, and a former Brooklyn neighborhood activist. More and more, though, the neighborhood groups have become embroiled in land-use policies--the battleground for new developments, zoning revisions and other changes aimed at accommodating growth. "Now 90 percent of what you hear about is land use," says Lindberg, who now raises money for the Oregon Symphony. Land-use cases often bring out the worst in the neighborhood groups, he adds, because what's best for them isn't what's best for the city or the region. What changed the neighborhood associations? First, Seltzer says, the federal government stopped funding community organizing programs like Model Cities that brought a diverse mix of people--with a wide range of interests--to neighborhood activism. People also had more time for local politics back in 1970, when only 40 percent of American women worked. The first wave of Portland neighborhood activists was led by housewives like Vera Katz, Gretchen Kafoury and Margaret Strachan, who eventually moved out of neighborhood groups and into elected office. Idealism was wafting through the air in the 1970s, as well. "We were in a way NIMBYs," says Katz. "We fought the Mount Hood Freeway and expansion of Good Samaritan Hospital. But we also understood that we lived in a high-density urban neighborhood and were willing to accept poor people and a whole host of social service agencies." Burton says he saw the changes coming. "Some people who had a gripe viewed the neighborhood group as a place to pitch their bitch," he says. "They ended up dominating meetings. I noticed people wandering off because they didn't want to listen to Johnny One-notes. People who wanted to do good things said 'I don't want to hear that noise.'" So who are the people who now dominate the 94 city-sanctioned neighborhood associations, which received just over $1 million in public support last year? No one can say for sure. Diane Linn, director of the city's Office of Neighborhood Involvement, says the city keeps no specific data on who participates in neighborhood associations. What is known, according to Linn and others, is that the neighborhood associations tend to be ruled by older homeowners whose blood pressure zooms when something threatens to devalue their property. Activists also have a lot of free time on their hands, adds Becky Miller, former chairwoman of the Hayhurst Neighborhood Association in Southwest Portland. "There are a lot of well-educated, retired empty-nesters or activists who don't work full-time," says Miller, who described herself as a stay-at-home mom until she went to work last year for Bill Sizemore and Oregon Taxpayers United. Messinger, the Concordia Neighborhood Association chairman, is a prime example. Messinger managed more than 600 Portland properties when he retired three years ago at age 47. He had no history in neighborhood activism. In fact, he says he "intentionally stayed away from it because of all the backbiting politics." But after buying and renovating a 4,000-square-foot house in a rough neighborhood, he got involved, in part to protect his investment. Another distinguishing trait links many of today's activists: computer literacy. Activists in Southwest Portland have set up an e-mail forum--with taxpayer money--that bristles with their gripes about the city. For instance, City Commissioner Gretchen Kafoury was blasted on e-mail last summer because she disagreed with activists about zoning revisions in Southwest Portland. "This is exactly what is wrong with our government today," Miller wrote in the e-mail forum. "They listen, but they do not hear. They want to be dictatorial, not democratic." "In fact, the citizens are the ones who are the responsible adults, not the majority of the [city] council," added Martie Sucec, chairwoman of the Multnomah Neighborhood Association. One participant in the e-mail forum thought he detected a paranoid streak in some activists. "I find the shocked, persecuted tone of some of the posts to this list puzzling," wrote Doug Klotz. "Writers go on and on about a conspiracy by city government (and others) to ruin the city and ignore all the citizens." Activists like Miller do feel persecuted and see themselves locked in mortal combat with the city and its allies. Miller's e-mail moniker is "warwager," and Sucec has likened her fight against rowhouses in Multnomah Village to her protests 30 years ago against the Vietnam War. Despite activists' squawking, however, few people are willing to condemn Portland's neighborhood associations. Some are simply afraid of them. Although the groups have no real legal authority--except for free appeals of land-use decisions--they can muster an angry mob. When former Mayor Frank Ivancie tried to slash funding for the neighborhood groups one year, Lindberg recalls, "there was an absolute revolution--you couldn't get a seat in City Hall for those budget hearings." Others stress that not all neighborhood groups are NIMBYs. Robert Liberty, executive director of 1000 Friends of Oregon, goes so far as to say there's no such thing as NIMBYism. "That's a term used by homebuilders and people who sympathize with them to slap down opposition and to portray it as selfish and mean," Liberty says. Jean Hoops, chairwoman of the Friends of Cathedral Park Neighborhood Association in North Portland, won't buy that. Hoops is convinced neighborhood leaders in nearby St. Johns are NIMBYs. "If something is good for the world," Hoops says, "they'll say 'forget it, we don't want it.'" But she stresses that her group is different. The Cathedral Park group--one of the associations praised by city officials--endorsed the affordable housing project in Johnswood, a new parole office in North Portland, and a county health clinic--all of which the St. Johns association opposed. Still others--while ornery as Mike Tyson--appear to have legitimate gripes. The Buckman Community Association in inner Southeast Portland, for instance, feels besieged: 80 percent of the neighborhood's 8,000 residents are renters; 25 percent live in poverty; and the neighborhood contains more than 40 social service facilities, including a new methadone clinic. At a meeting last week, 35 angry residents not only railed against City Hall, but even balked at giving a $100 grant to a homeless shelter. "That's the 1960s," one resident grumbled. "I've had enough with helping humans." The meeting at the Hinson Baptist Church took an even more misanthropic turn when neighbors learned that the Oregon Youth Authority wants to set up a home for criminal "gang-affected" youth three and a half blocks from the Buckman Elementary School. "There's great frustration we don't have the clout that other parts of the city do," says Buckman chairman Andy Eisman, shaking his head in disbelief that people in Southwest are fighting swimming pools and Holocaust memorials. "We'd absolutely love those things," he says. Mayor Vera Katz says Buckman residents may have reason to feel dumped on. They probably do have too many social service facilities in their neighborhood. "Next week I'm going to look at concentration rates," she told WW. The mayor is also blunt in saying the city has done a poor job of listening to citizens' fears and involving them earlier in the planning process. "Times have changed, cynicism has grown," says Katz, who started her political career as a Northwest Portland activist. "If you don't change the way you include citizens, you are going to lose them. We saw it in Gabriel Park and with the Southwest Community Plan, and more recently with the Holocaust memorial. "That's not to say we need to placate everyone," she adds. "But we can't be so arrogant either." So what's a city that gains 75 new residents every day to do? It's not a trivial question. The rising tide of neighborhood rebellion is more than a few isolated cases of crankiness. In some cases, it signals real problems for the region's growth plans. How, for instance, can the city accommodate 2,500 new housing units a year--as Metro's 2040 Growth Plan requires--if a proposal to create 130 new "granny flat" apartments a year provokes outrage from the city's neighborhood associations? The political climate looks only more stormy as recall threats spread beyond Milwaukie. Jack Peek, chairman of the Foster-Powell Neighborhood Association, was at the fiery Buckman meeting last week, trying to arouse support for a city ordinance that would require neighbors to be notified in advance about new social service facilities. If the City Council doesn't "ram through" his proposal, Peek warns, "what happened in Milwaukie needs to happen in Portland." Despite such bullying tactics, city officials are conciliatory. They say they want to get more people involved in associations, ply them with more money, talk to them more and steer as much growth as possible away from neighborhoods. As a first step, the City Council recently changed the name of the Office of Neighborhood Associations to the Office of Neighborhood Involvement in hopes of getting more business and ethnic groups involved in local politics. Katz is not confident it will work. But the name change was suggested by a citizen task force, she notes, so the council felt obliged to try it. The next step, Lindberg says, might be to buy off neighborhoods, in a sense, with local improvement projects. "It used to be that neighborhoods listed all the things they needed," he says, "and we had statistics showing that 50 percent of all needs--like swing sets and stop signs and street cleaning--were funded in the city budget. Now we don't have that, and all you hear about is land use." Miller, who recently moved her family out of Portland to more rural Woodburn, agrees. She says investments in things like sidewalks would quell a lot of protest. "If there was money for infrastructure, you'd see a different attitude in Southwest," she says. The third and perhaps most important step is to better communicate the benefits that come with increased density. "When we discuss 2040 we need to stop speaking in abstractions like 'more compact growth,'" says Liberty. "What the hell does that mean?" "You need to lay out a vision of how you could have a more dynamic city with more cultural amenities," adds Lindberg. "You need to discuss the whole idea of what a city's about--is it to protect the status quo of residential enclaves or to open minds to all these other things?" Finally, Katz says, Portland ought to concentrate its growth in the central city, particularly in underdeveloped areas like the River District, North Macadam and the Rose Quarter. Katz insists she's not capitulating to neighborhood NIMBYs. "No," she says, "My fear is that we could lose the battle on holding the urban growth boundary. And I'm convinced that we have blocks of undeveloped land where people actually want growth to occur. It seems until we deal with those properties we ought to move gingerly in neighborhoods." To some it seems a shame to forgo the things that make cities great--like a bustling population living in walking distance of cafes, pubs, theaters, parks, bookstores and galleries--in order to please neighborhood associations and their preference for suburban-style single-family houses. "It's hypocritical for people who want to live city life to be against the one condition that actually generates good city life," says author Kunstler. But that's the paradox of Portland--and the double edge of its neighborhood associations. Much of the city's financial stability comes from its success in keeping a high percentage of homeowners from fleeing to the suburbs. And city officials must kowtow at times to those homeowners--and their xenophobia--to maintain one crucial aspect of Portland's vaunted livability. The only other option is for more people to get involved in neighborhood associations and change their focus. "It's got to be that people in neighborhoods make them better," says Seltzer. "What they are and should be is up to neighborhoods and no one else." --Ruth Rowland contributed to this article. |
