There’s a big risk I will start sounding like Lewis Black in this post.  I have had it up to here with ho-hum service providers who haven’t felt a sense of urgency since the last time they stood in a slow fast food lane.

It’s one thing when the waiting customers are adults.  Another matter altogether when we’re talking about children.  Because children – you see – live in a different time dimension, sort of like dogs.  Every hour is a day, every day is a month – waiting ticks away on a bigger clock for kids.  At the same time kids’ brains are developing at warp speed and their emotions are careening around street lights and space shuttles, adults are yawning their way through the 3 hour process necessary to schedule the next meeting in six months.

And kids?  They don’t really complain about it.  They don’t know too much about consumer hotlines and ombudsman programs.  They show up where the adults take them.  And use the only tools they have to make themselves heard including silence, ‘acting out’, and taking off, if they’re older.  They don’t know what they need and they don’t get it about taking a number.  They are told to rely on adults to figure it out but the adults have a lot of other pressing matters like referral forms and reports and collaborative team meetings.

The cynical part of me thinks that this dull, uninspired, limp culture is part and parcel of the for-profit helping industry whose interests are better served by kids staying a mess rather than getting healthy.  Maybe I’m wrong — everyone’s really super committed but it’s just hard to move quickly and affirmatively.  Sure.

Maybe it’ll all work out.  I just have to be patient.

This week someone thought they had to explain to me that ‘kickin’ it’ meant hanging out.  Thanks.  Gee, I thought people were actually going out back and kicking something.  Each other?  A ball?  Please.

One thing I know about — is ‘kickin’ it.’  Chillaxin’ – I’m pretty good at that, too. I’m also not bad at hangin’ loose (when I’m not hangin’ tight) and just plain chillin’. 

I got my start early.

In a real inner tube.

From a tractor.

So there.

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post.  You see, the post was going to be about gardening – about how some people are good gardeners because they can commit to consistent effort and other people are, well, like me.  But I write about what I’m thinking about and what I’m thinking about is race.

So.  Cultural competence.  Does it go both ways?  If I am the only white person in a training program or a job or a school, do people worry about dealing with me in a culturally competent way?  And if they did (worry, that is), what would that mean?  What would be done differently?  In what ways would people take my white origins into account and how would they, or would they, modify their language or behavior? Can a white person wonder if something is culturally competent for him or herself?  Does the concept have validity for a white person in an African American world, say?

Of course, the issue of cultural competence is very difficult, made more complex by institutional racism and the pervasiveness and persistence of white privilege.  Thinking historically, it would be nonsensical to assume that the need for cultural competence runs both ways for that very reason — the embeddedness of racism in American society.  But what about in in a day to day sense, in the sense of a white teenager, who because of a variety of factors, is plucked from her family in a white environment and placed in an African American home, school, and neighborhood? 

Is it safe to assume that this kid will be well-received and that any feelings of fear or apartness or differentness will be quickly abated by people’s kindness?  That’s what I’m hoping.  And that years from now when she recounts the experience she had living in the African American community, it will be with pride and fond memories.  I want to believe that she won’t feel judged or marginalized and that her entire cultural identity won’t be comprised of stereotypes about white people.

I don’t have any answers and I’m not judging anybody.  I’m just wondering, that’s all – mostly because I know this kid and really care about her, but also because I think it’s an interesting and challenging set of questions to ponder.

And the picture?  It’s the product of one of the two days a year that I garden.  Day one is when I go to Stein’s and buy a bunch of plants.  Day two is when I find the machete and clear out the garden on the side of our house which looks spectacular at the moment…..although I have notoriously low standards in this field of endeavor.

A project is a thing of beauty in your mind’s eye.  It’s the implementation of it that’s the bear.  Yesterday’s project was repainting our sauna.   It looks like a little house – about 9′ by 15′ with a peak that you need an extension ladder to reach. 

The project started out hopeful and cheery like most projects do.  Using red paint helped.  Looks new.  Going fast.  Lots of jokes between me and my painting partner.  This is great – we’re going to be out of here in an hour. 

Dry wood sucking up paint like crazy.  Very hot sun and hotter wind that blows the paint off our brushes on to our arms.  Weeds in the way.  And so are the remnants of a Northwest Indian tribe totem pole which fell over in a Lake Superior storm about ten years ago. (Is this an odd story yet?)

Anyway, so we’re getting tired and very hot.  Painting partner sees a little hornet’s nest.  Good reason to skip the two slats right below.  First shortcut.  Last side has the weeds and the totem which of course we shouldn’t move out of respect to its what? imminent total deterioration? Second shortcut.

Now at least one of us is nearing heat stroke.  Spectator saunters over and suggests we just paint the bare spots.  “That’s crazy.  It’ll look like polka dots.”  The sauna was already red, so I actually considered that option. The two of us are now slapping paint on the last side wherever we can reach and starting a little chorus of “nobody’s going to see this side anyway.”  Which is perilously close to a really defeated “who gives a crap, haven’t we worked hard enough, the rest of it looks ok, let’s just bag it.”

And I realize that this surrender to good enough happens a lot when two people are working together.  It’s like cutting class — it’s contagious.  What the heck?  We could be drinking a beer and admiring the front of this damn sauna – where it actually looks pretty good.  If one person isn’t a high quality hardliner, two people will talk themselves into doing just enough to get by. 

Does it matter?  Sometimes.  Not everything needs to be perfect.  But some things do.

Still.  Sauna looks pretty good.  Don’t you think?

Jan Wilberg Janice Wilberg

For years, I’ve complained about human services agencies with locked front doors.  Agencies that require you to push the little doorbell, then talk to the receptionist, then get buzzed in, and then sign in.  One agency I frequent even asks me to include my license plate # on the sign-in sheet.  When they let me in, it’s not clear what criteria I met or failed to meet.  Did I not look dangerous?  Did they assume I didn’t have a cute pink pearl-handled revolver in my big Coach bag (like I even know what a revolver is….although, happily, I do know what a Coach bag is).  So agencies are worried about security — after 9/11, everyone got intense about security so I always attributed it to that and shrugged, oh well.

A dear colleague of mine, Ramon Wagner, had a completely different approach.  He talked all the time about front porches and how agencies had to sit on their front porches (figuratively) to understand the world and their place in it.  He didn’t believe in locked doors and, to this day, Community Advocates, the agency he founded, is a walk-in place. Stop in any day and you will see dozens of people in the waiting room who just walked in looking for help.  This is more than just not having a locked door.  Community Advocates, probably without knowing it, was on the cutting edge of a new way of thinking about human services than can be summed up in the word welcoming.

For the past few months, I’ve been assisting the Community Services Branch of the Behavioral Health Division in its efforts to establish a Comprehensive Continuous Integrated System of Care.  Fundamentally, this is about integrated substance abuse and mental health treatment services but, to me, the overarching value in the approach is the concept of welcoming.  Drs. Minkoff and Cline, the primary consultants to Milwaukee County on this effort, explain this concept in an article “Developing Welcoming Systems for Individuals with Co-Occurring Disorders: The Role of the Comprehensive Continues Integrated System of Care Model,” found at http://www.kenminkoff.com/articles/dualdx2004-1-devwelcomingsys.pdf.

Welcoming is about not having a locked door to anything.  At least as I understand it so far, it means that a troubled person presenting him or herself for help is welcomed, helped and respected.  “You’re in the right place.  We’re glad to see you.”  That’s the message.  Even if a person ends up needing to go to another program with more expertise or somehow can’t qualify for what’s available on-site, the message remains – “it’s good that you’ve decided to seek help and we will help you find it.”  This isn’t just at the front door but throughout an organization.

When people are sick and down, when they feel they’ve lost everything and have no choice but to ask for help, they don’t need locked doors and stern looks.  They need ackknowledgement, a smile, and maybe a nice cup of coffee.  In short, they need to be welcomed.

Jan Wilberg Janice Wilberg

I’m not saying sexism is dead, but it’s been a long time since I walked into a meeting feeling apologetic because I didn’t bring the coffee pot.  This is a bit embarrassing but I actually had a secretarial job once that included not only making the coffee but having a hot cuppa joe in my hand as the boss walked by into his office.  This came after the job where I typed the exact same letter (I’m talking typed here, folks, as in the key hitting the paper and having to erase same if said key was the wrong one) for eight hours a day for two straight weeks so the coffee making/handing thing seemed like a small price to pay to get free of that damn letter.

Remember how Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said he couldn’t define pornography but he knew it when he saw it?  Once you get past the obvious like huge disparities in pay and opportunity, that’s what sexism is.  It’s a bad electricity a woman feels the minute she walks in a room.

It’s something I can feel in an instant but can’t explain or define.  It’s the feeling of being tolerated, considered to be taking up space, not possibly being able to contribute, regarded as fundamentally nonessential.  It brings on a visceral, angry, fear-like feeling that dips really fast into believing that maybe some of that disregarding, dismissive attitude might be warranted.  The sickening thing about any ism is how quickly its victims absorb its judgement.

I’ve often told people that I decided to get a Ph.D. so people would listen to me in meetings.  Sounds flippant, but it was actually my driving force.  I wanted to be taken seriously – I figured the extra letters would help.  It did.  But hard to tell if the Ph.D. lessened the extent to which I absorbed others’ sexist attitudes or whether the degree changed other people’s attitudes toward me.    Chicken-egg.  All I know is the degree coupled with the fact that I now look like everyone’s mother has really made my recent encounters with sexism pretty darn rare.  But not non-existent.  Not yet.

Jan Wilberg Janice Wilberg

If you’ve got a lot of fire power, it’s hard to resist the urge to show it off.  Hence, the Blue Angels and the Thunderbirds and the whole concept of Shock and Awe which I’m kind of ashamed to admit I’ve used in various efforts to try to beat out competition for one thing or another.

But like every other tool, you have to be strategic about when you use it.  As an evaluator, I frequently meet with programs to review progress.  Usually, I meet with the agency director and the program coordinator.  But sometimes, I walk in and there’s a sea of people – from administrators to line staff to the receptionist.  Then I think to myself, why do they think they need all these people here?  I thought about putting a limit on the number of people at an evaluation visit but then, I thought, doesn’t a program’s decision about who needs to be there telling me something important?

Lobbying elected officials or meeting with bureaucratic higher-ups is another area where people often miscalculate the appropriate show of force.  Do you want a roomful of supporters if you’re trying to get a touchy piece of legislation passed?  Of course.  Standing room only.  But do you want a crowd when you’re meeting with an individual elected official about a delicate policy issue?  Different matter.  If each person in your delegation represents an essential and unique expertise, it’s probably ok to bring them along.  But if they are just taking up space or helping you feel more confident or important (it is nice to have an entourage), think again. 

When policymakers see a gaggle of people heading for their office, they put on their public face.  Not their ‘let’s get to know each other’ face or ‘let’s work out this problem’ face.  They glad hand, listen politely and move on.  And then they wonder why you needed a small army to talk to them. 

Advice?  Think about who will add essential value to a meeting; who will make the outcome better.  Make sure you’ve determined who is going to play what role.  Think Blue Angels.  Each one of them knows the plan and sticks with the program.  That, and the fact that they’re maneuvering those amazing planes within inches of each other, makes for a very impressive show of force.

Jan Wilberg Janice Wilberg

Yippee!!  You’ve got a live one.  Someone who actually wants to be on your board of directors.  What’s next?  Wining and dining?  Flowers?  Nope.  If you’re like many nonprofits, you’re going to spoil the mood with an application and an interview, maybe a couple of each, with references.

I hate this.  I figure if I’m going to offer my time to be on a nonprofit board of directors, not much should go on except profuse thanks and  celebration.  My message to nonprofits that have gone to too many board recruitment workshops – STOP IT!  Drop the”let’s see if you’re good enough for our two-bit organization” approach and go with “I love you now and will love you more every day we’re together.” 

I’ve sat through a couple of these first date hells.  Once I mentioned to the director of a small community center that I would be interested in helping out by serving on their board of directors.  “Oh, great!,” she said.  Then started the vetting.  The application.  The interview. The interview with board members. The queries about my motivation.  What I would offer the organization.  Was I committed enough.  Interested enough.  I was, actually.  I thought it was a dynamite little organization. But, you know what? I was very put off by the process.  I wasn’t applying for a job.  I was there basically to DONATE MY TIME.  Should you kiss my ring for that? Maybe, especially since you need me more than I need you.

I recently joined the board of Spotted Eagle, Inc.  Here’s how they handled me.

• The board chair responded to my email inquiry quickly and enthusiastically.
• The executive director sent me info on the agency and set up a meeting.
• I was welcomed to the meeting by the board chair, executive director, and another board member – who turned out to be someone I’d worked with several years ago.  He was obviously asked to come because the others thought he had some positive pull with me.
• We had a lively, funny, interesting meeting in which they laid out their hopes, dreams, disappointments and worries.
• They made it clear that they had already vetted me — I got clear “google” vibes.
• I felt appreciated and needed.  Now, isn’t that a great way to start a board membership?
• There was no idiotic  application, no interviewing me, no hoops.  It felt respectful and appropriate.  These folks got it — I was willing to volunteer my time and whatever expertise they might find useful. 

How did this make me feel?  Good.  I like the organization, I like the people and what they are trying to do.  I’m happy that they thought I could be useful.  It’s all good.

Next time you go recruiting for board members, understand that you are asking people to donate their time to your organization.  Would you treat a potential financial donor like you are treating prospective board members?  Are you vetting financial donors to make sure they’re worthy of donating to your cause?  Board members are precious.  Show them you love them from the get-go.  You’ll get paid back, many times over. 

Wine and dine works every time.  Trust me, I’m right about this.

Jan Wilberg Janice Wilberg

My son is trying to get some traction in his life/work/career.  He’s 23, Nicaraguan, and wants to be an actor.  He’s also kind of short which hasn’t helped his acting life but that’s beside the point.  Right now he’s working on a landscaping crew with 8 or 9 other guys, all African-American, most of whom come to work with their pants on the ground, just like in the song.  After a couple of days of being the only Hispanic guy, my son fell in with these guys as work friends.

A couple of weeks ago, he told me that the group was chastised by their supervisor because one of the ‘pants on the ground’ guys had talked to a white woman who worked in the office and scared her.  Turns out he’d said good morning and tried to strike up a conversation.  Nothing nasty.  Just guy – girl chat, or so he thought.

So, my son says, “Are you not supposed to say hello to people because it’ll scare them?”  Of course, right there, I’m thinking that it’s an interesting predicament he’s in — is he in solidarity with his crew or wanting to distance himself?  Is Mr. Theatre getting radicalized?

“They use the N word alot which just makes the white people more nervous.” And does it ever. The N word, the pants on the ground, scary rap lyrics, cool poses make the white people more nervous, for sure.

Pants on the ground – just the latest in a revolving door of reasons to not want to talk to young African American men.  The big pants make them scary?

So everyone tries to fix the ‘pants on the ground’ kids as if their pants signify a much bigger pathology.  My pants, therefore I am? 

I don’t buy it.  We aren’t our pants.

A guy in skinny jeans can be just as messed up as a guy in baggy pants or they both might be graduate students at UW-M.  Who the heck knows unless you talk to them?

Ever been framed?  I don’t mean framed as in having a nice portrait done. I mean framed as in being falsely accused of an offense.  I have.  And it’s not a nice experience. Here’s what happened. 

Several years ago, I was the planning director for a large organization looking to hire a community organizer to work on Milwaukee’s near southside.  Two individuals who had been active in the agency’s resident councils applied – one from the southside with years of grassroots community experience and the other from the northside  with experience working as a realtor.  After interviewing both, I offered the job to the southside person.

The northside person called me to complain.  We discussed the position.  I explained as best I could – within the constraints of good personnel practice – the reasons why I felt she was not as well suited to the organizing position.   She was unhappy and said that she would file a complaint with the organization’s director.  And she did.  The matter was resolved; the southside person assumed the position and all was done.  Or so I thought.

Several months after I left the organization, I was notified that there was an EEOC complaint against me.  Basically, the northside person alleged that I had discriminated against her on the basis of age by not giving her the job instead of the southside person.  Her word against mine, right?  Nope.  Know why?  She had a friend listening in on our phone conversation – a friend willing to say that I’d made inappropriate statements about the applicant’s age and her ability to ‘fit in’ with a younger staff.

I hired an attorney.  The attorney took depositions and prepared a defense.  I spent a couple of thousand dollars on fighting the accusation because a) I didn’t do it; and b) I didn’t believe the organization would defend me strenuously enough.  And I was right.  The organization settled the complaint, paying out several thousand dollars so as not to expend more money on litigation for a former employee (me).

I couldn’t believe it.  Two people could lie – just make stuff up and get believed.  More than that, two people lied about me — a decent person trying to do good work and make right decisions.  They lied about a person who would never lie about them.  But there I am – in the record books as an age discriminator.  Framed.

I could hear the buzz around town.  “Hey, did you hear?”  Humiliating. Infuriating.  Wrong. 

You know what I learned?  The truth isn’t that big a deal to everyone.  It might be a big deal to you and me but don’t assume everyone feels that way.  For some folks,  what they hear is what will work for them.  And screw people’s reputations.  Not nice, is it?  That’s being framed.