I've listened carefully to the recording of Fence Workshop Chapter 2A. Chapter 1 occurred in July, 2011. That's the public workshop that was not attended by the three people who suddenly decided we should have a public workshop. Chapter 2A occurred on Saturday, January 21, 2012. It apparently wasn't enough, and Chapter 2B occurred on Monday, January 23, 2012. That one, by the way, was attended by only one of the people who insisted we needed this workshop, now series of workshops. The other two were missing in action, though one said she was busy with her day job. Evidently, they didn't think a workshop was important in July, thought it was critical on 1/21/12, and thought it was unnecessary on 1/23/12. We have no information as to how they make their decisions.
As for the content, it was pretty much all over the place. Some people wanted the big picture, some wanted to pore over spurious hypotheticals and definitions, like of the word "yard," and some just wanted the Ordinance passed. One clear casualty of the workshop enterprise was the remarkable amount of time spent by the Code Review Committee. It was given little or no consideration and respect. The people who wanted these last workshops did not attend the CRC meetings, and they acted not only as if these meetings had not occurred, but as if it was perfectly OK to ignore them, and the time spent by the volunteers who made commitments to them. It's a funny thing that Noah ran on a platform that included his wish for more public involvement in local government, involvement that he has thus far quite consistently ignored. Roxy pointed out that CRC members have even stopped attending CRC meetings, because they grew tired of the pointless labor.
Barbara Watts spoke as if her decision about the Ordinance might rest on her grudging willingness to "compromise" with one resident, or her concern that her next door neighbor might be mad at her. There seemed to be no big picture. The real big picture, of course, was the very many hours of work and devotion of the CRC, whose meetings were open to the public, but this was essentially ignored. Gary Kuhl tried to remind the workshop that this wasn't about a personal opinion, certainly not the personal opinion of one or another Commissioner, but that it was about the work the CRC had done, and their efforts to arrive at consensus and a broad view of the neighborhood. He tried to remind the workshop that those who now suddenly had opinions had not ever attended any of the real working groups and meetings. He seemed to be talking to himself.
Gary had it occasionally within his grasp. He pointed out from time to time that approaching the Ordinance as the workshop attendees were could and would take an unmanageable amount of time, and the enterprise should be suspended. Even Noah Jacobs ethereally had it. He said that perhaps this workshop was not the place for this, and that the Commission had decisions to make, and perhaps it was not necessary (was perhaps disrespectful?) to waste the public's time fleshing this out this way. But his purchase was only ethereal. It quickly evaporated.
The voice of greatest and most salient reason was Barbara Kuhl's. She sensed something. She felt a pulse beneath the skin and the fat. She asked the Commission, by e-mail and at Chapter 2B, to reveal and perhaps elaborate what were their leanings about the Ordinance. Of course, they never did. But hers was the most important point. What were these workshops about? Why the peculiar attendance? What did the questions mean? Was all of this just maneuvering intending to serve some other and underlying goal? For example, during Chapter 2A, Steve Bernard suggested that the new Ordinance would frustrate both people who wanted fences and people who didn't. So what was left was to scrap the whole reconfiguration, and keep the original Ordinance. Was that it? He also said that he "personally" doesn't favor front yard fences. So that could have been it. Barbara asked, in her gentle but direct way, and she did not get an answer.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Well Shut My Mouth.
"We grow tyrannical fighting tyranny." E. B. White
It appears I lost a confrontation today with his Imperial Majesty, Noah Jacobs. The setting of my unceremonious defeat was the Fence Ordinance workshop.
It's hard to believe what a very short time ago it was that Noah introduced himself to the Village, raging, sputtering, and stomping around, until Roxy had to try to deflect or redirect him. His response was to accuse her, which he did repeatedly, of brutally suppressing him, which he generalized to what he wanted to portray as her tendency to suppress the general public. In fact, Noah ran on this platform. He claimed to want the public heard and respected, not muzzled, and certainly not by a brutish and self-possessed Mayor.
Fast forward just a few quick months, and Noah is not only elected to the Commission, but he and two of his colleagues elect him Mayor. Since he has no relevant experience and no knowledge of the Village and its procedures, no one can fault him for being a bit tight. After all, he has no idea what he's doing, and he relies completely on the Manager, the Village Attorney, and even the past Mayor to guide him through meetings. He didn't begin to know the first thing about the Fence Ordinance, having failed completely to familiarize himself with it in any way, and presumably it seemed like a great convenience to him to deflect having to vote on it for a while. Thus, public workshop #2.
The workshop started with Noah's launching into asking questions about the Ordinance. He needed Gage Hartung and Dan Keys to explain it to him. Sometimes his colleagues, mainly Bob Anderson, would have to tell him what our Ordinance is. Sometimes, even the Village Attorney had to explain to him about these kinds of Ordinances in general. The problem with the tutorial he scheduled for himself is that he had convened the Commission, some of the Village staff, the Village Attorney, and several residents to keep him company while he asked Gage and Dan, and anyone else who would read him the Ordinance, to tell him what he never bothered to find out or ask about before. It was beginning to be a bit odd sitting there listening to this. Some of us were commenting to each other about it.
So, I asked for a chance to speak. Noah, who presumably intended to be slightly inclusive, told us that we could have three minutes to say what we had to say. I reminded Noah that he had not made any of the routine efforts to find out about the Ordinance (didn't come to Commission meetings, didn't go to any of the Code Review meetings, didn't familiarize himself with the Attorney's contributions, and didn't attend the other public workshop), and I wanted to know if Noah's asking people to explain the Ordinance to him was what this workshop was really about. That's certainly what it was about so far.
Well, I really didn't get out many sentences before Noah started cutting me off. He finally declared that I was only allowed to ask questions, not make comments. He hadn't established this scheme with his colleagues, and he didn't ask for any consensus; he just seemed to make it up on the spot.
So, I left. I've attended meetings chaired by John Hornbuckle and by Roxy Ross. I've seen each of them challenged, either by residents who were going on and on about something, or even by residents complaining personally about them. And I've seen each of them try to respond to or redirect those residents, generally as respectfully as possible. But I've never seen anything like this. This is a Chair who ignores his colleagues, acts as brutish as possible, and completely suppresses speakers. This was E. B. White's worst nightmare. Tyrannical, indeed. And I understand part of Noah's problem. He has placed himself at a huge disadvantage. He has almost no experience seeing how a Mayor acts, and his most direct experience involved a Mayor having to deal with him, when he was quite out of control. So not much chance for real perspective and insight there.
It appears I lost a confrontation today with his Imperial Majesty, Noah Jacobs. The setting of my unceremonious defeat was the Fence Ordinance workshop.
It's hard to believe what a very short time ago it was that Noah introduced himself to the Village, raging, sputtering, and stomping around, until Roxy had to try to deflect or redirect him. His response was to accuse her, which he did repeatedly, of brutally suppressing him, which he generalized to what he wanted to portray as her tendency to suppress the general public. In fact, Noah ran on this platform. He claimed to want the public heard and respected, not muzzled, and certainly not by a brutish and self-possessed Mayor.
Fast forward just a few quick months, and Noah is not only elected to the Commission, but he and two of his colleagues elect him Mayor. Since he has no relevant experience and no knowledge of the Village and its procedures, no one can fault him for being a bit tight. After all, he has no idea what he's doing, and he relies completely on the Manager, the Village Attorney, and even the past Mayor to guide him through meetings. He didn't begin to know the first thing about the Fence Ordinance, having failed completely to familiarize himself with it in any way, and presumably it seemed like a great convenience to him to deflect having to vote on it for a while. Thus, public workshop #2.
The workshop started with Noah's launching into asking questions about the Ordinance. He needed Gage Hartung and Dan Keys to explain it to him. Sometimes his colleagues, mainly Bob Anderson, would have to tell him what our Ordinance is. Sometimes, even the Village Attorney had to explain to him about these kinds of Ordinances in general. The problem with the tutorial he scheduled for himself is that he had convened the Commission, some of the Village staff, the Village Attorney, and several residents to keep him company while he asked Gage and Dan, and anyone else who would read him the Ordinance, to tell him what he never bothered to find out or ask about before. It was beginning to be a bit odd sitting there listening to this. Some of us were commenting to each other about it.
So, I asked for a chance to speak. Noah, who presumably intended to be slightly inclusive, told us that we could have three minutes to say what we had to say. I reminded Noah that he had not made any of the routine efforts to find out about the Ordinance (didn't come to Commission meetings, didn't go to any of the Code Review meetings, didn't familiarize himself with the Attorney's contributions, and didn't attend the other public workshop), and I wanted to know if Noah's asking people to explain the Ordinance to him was what this workshop was really about. That's certainly what it was about so far.
Well, I really didn't get out many sentences before Noah started cutting me off. He finally declared that I was only allowed to ask questions, not make comments. He hadn't established this scheme with his colleagues, and he didn't ask for any consensus; he just seemed to make it up on the spot.
So, I left. I've attended meetings chaired by John Hornbuckle and by Roxy Ross. I've seen each of them challenged, either by residents who were going on and on about something, or even by residents complaining personally about them. And I've seen each of them try to respond to or redirect those residents, generally as respectfully as possible. But I've never seen anything like this. This is a Chair who ignores his colleagues, acts as brutish as possible, and completely suppresses speakers. This was E. B. White's worst nightmare. Tyrannical, indeed. And I understand part of Noah's problem. He has placed himself at a huge disadvantage. He has almost no experience seeing how a Mayor acts, and his most direct experience involved a Mayor having to deal with him, when he was quite out of control. So not much chance for real perspective and insight there.
Friday, January 13, 2012
It's a Weird, Weird, Weird, Weird World
It was creepy. Sort of post-apocalyptic, in a way. When the Morlocks sounded that siren, and the Eloy got all stupid and hypnotized, walking like zombies to their deaths, at least there was a method. At least it was about something. Not this time. Just quirky, and inchoate. There were bits of something that looked like functioning, but they sort of didn't go anywhere. Watts seemed to speak against something, then voted for it. Cooper spoke definitively against something, then voted for it with everyone else. I'm not describing this so you can see it. Maybe because it was just that disorganized. Chickens don't really run around once their heads are removed. They can't, without their heads. They just sort of thrash around. Well, it was like that.
How can I tell this story? At the beginning, Jacobs suggested the Pledge of Allegiance. But he didn't lead it. It seemed he couldn't remember how. Ana Garcia led it. Then Noah just stood there. We all did. No one knew what he wanted to do. He didn't seem to know either. So we all eventually sat down. Then Noah sat down. He paused, then mentioned a long-time resident who had recently died. Oh, yeah, that's why he was standing. But he forgot. And he got her name wrong, seeming to confuse it with a similar-sounding name of another resident in attendance (not dead).
The minutes. Passed without amendment again. Two months in a row. If you don't come to meetings, you have no idea what this used to look like. Up to an hour spent struggling over those minutes, and how tragically faulty they were. How much was missing, how utterly wrong they were. And how nefarious were the omissions and distortions and anyone who didn't confront them. How vilely served the public were, now and in perpetuity. So for the second month running, not one amendment was considered necessary. Minutes complete and accurate. Same meetings, same minutes, same Clerk. I asked her last month if she had done something different. "No."
Then, Noah gave the gavel to Barbara. There was something he wanted to talk about, and he wanted some sort of action taken. Maybe. It was never clear. We'll come to Barbara and the gavel in a bit. So what he wants to talk about is how to redesign the minutes. The group starts on some sort of discussion, which was circular and vague, until Roxy reminds them of two things. One is that this matter was not part of the announced Agenda, which means they shouldn't be introducing it in stealth fashion. Why Roxy has to tell this to the arbiters of openness, transparency, and anti-secrecy, is not clear. But they go on discussing it anyway. (Think chicken sans head.) The other thing is that Noah's main proposal, that when the public speak, their topic of conversation should be noted in the minutes, is already in the standing Ordinance. Noah couldn't get this. Roxy read it to him, but he still didn't see it. He thought his reference and that in the Ordinance were somehow different, in some way, even though they were essentially identical. Roxy tried to point that out to him, but he insisted there was some sort of difference. So they went on like this for a while, until they finally voted not to continue the discussion. (Although the chicken is writhing and convulsing, it will eventually stop, due to loss of blood, if for no other reason.)
So Barbara and the gavel. No idea what to do with it. None. She giggled a bit, but had to be directed by the Attorney to ask for seconds, ask for a vote, whatever. She even said she didn't want the responsibility. Poor Barbara. She said she never wanted even to run, but run she did. Who knows if she wanted to win, but that happened, too. And now, having told people after the election that she didn't want to be Mayor, she winds up with that wooden hammer-like contraption. Well, only five more months to go, and she won't be Vice Mayor any more. Presumably, she hopes Noah won't feel inspired to make motions too often. And I have to say, I like Barbara. She's a very nice person. Just out of her element, as she herself notes. Do you know that she learned there were free Miami City Ballet tickets routinely available, and she called and snagged us about 30 of them? True. She will receive them, pass them along to Maria Camara, and anyone who wants to go is welcome to a ticket. So call Maria if you want to go. 305-899-8000.
Cooper had inspiration, too. He had this idea that he should be able to "direct" the Manager, or the Attorney, or someone, to craft Agenda items for him. He should just tell them sort of what he has in mind, and they should "handle it." And he shouldn't have to provide any back-up, either. This discussion took a lot longer than you might think. I don't know if Ana really didn't fully understand it, which is what she said, or she just couldn't believe it. Everyone seemed to try to tell Bryan it doesn't work this way. But he wants it to. Bryan is on strike against the Village, and won't come to any Village events. Even now that he talks as if he owned two other votes, the majority, and the Mayor, he won't come. And he's missed more meetings than any other Commissioner in the past two years. And now, he doesn't want to have to submit his own Agenda items. He wants someone else to do it. It's really not at all clear what he thinks his job actually is. The only responsibilities he accepts are smirking, blaming, and trying to order people around.
There were a few other topics of discussion. The log cabin, for example. It's in terrible need of major renovation. The Commission could only agree to look further on condition we get grants to fix it. The log cabin was described as a local, State, and maybe even national treasure, but we should only fix it if we can use someone else's money. And there was a good deal of scrutiny, much more than you might have imagined interested anyone, of mutual cooperation agreements with other municipalities and their police departments. Mitch Glansberg, Bob Anderson, and Ana Garcia tried to explain how standard and helpful they are, but some were just more skeptical than that. And again, the Commission could only accept these agreements after they were abundantly reassured that we only take from other municipalites: we are not called upon to give them anything or do anything for them. Hell of a social philosophy we have working here.
Bernard left a little before the end. Had enough? One of my friends says his wife probably texted him, and told him the party was over. Gaspar stayed through most of it. That's a first. He and Steve were in heavy consultation throughout. I guess we'll see how they decide to have Gaspar handle this in Gaspar's next column. Funny thing about Gaspar and his columns. He always says, as if it's a good thing for a reporter/"Correspondent", that he never talks to anyone. This is how he used to explain why he refused to talk to Ross, Anderson, and Childress, whom he never tired of trashing. But it seems he makes an exception for one of the two people, apart from himself, that he likes. Probably just a coincidence.
As Charlie Smith was leaving (no, not the Finance Director; the other Charlie Smith) he did that thing where you brush one index finger over the other in scolding. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. Remember elementary school? Anyway, he did it to me. So I figured he wanted to tell me something. I went with him to the lobby. He tells me I'm "mean-spirited." I gave a hard time to the new Commissioners, he says.
"I'm 'mean-spirited?,'" I ask.
"Yes."
"What about Steve and Bryan? Are they mean-spirited?"
"They mean well."
"They do?"
"Yes."
Oh.
How can I tell this story? At the beginning, Jacobs suggested the Pledge of Allegiance. But he didn't lead it. It seemed he couldn't remember how. Ana Garcia led it. Then Noah just stood there. We all did. No one knew what he wanted to do. He didn't seem to know either. So we all eventually sat down. Then Noah sat down. He paused, then mentioned a long-time resident who had recently died. Oh, yeah, that's why he was standing. But he forgot. And he got her name wrong, seeming to confuse it with a similar-sounding name of another resident in attendance (not dead).
The minutes. Passed without amendment again. Two months in a row. If you don't come to meetings, you have no idea what this used to look like. Up to an hour spent struggling over those minutes, and how tragically faulty they were. How much was missing, how utterly wrong they were. And how nefarious were the omissions and distortions and anyone who didn't confront them. How vilely served the public were, now and in perpetuity. So for the second month running, not one amendment was considered necessary. Minutes complete and accurate. Same meetings, same minutes, same Clerk. I asked her last month if she had done something different. "No."
Then, Noah gave the gavel to Barbara. There was something he wanted to talk about, and he wanted some sort of action taken. Maybe. It was never clear. We'll come to Barbara and the gavel in a bit. So what he wants to talk about is how to redesign the minutes. The group starts on some sort of discussion, which was circular and vague, until Roxy reminds them of two things. One is that this matter was not part of the announced Agenda, which means they shouldn't be introducing it in stealth fashion. Why Roxy has to tell this to the arbiters of openness, transparency, and anti-secrecy, is not clear. But they go on discussing it anyway. (Think chicken sans head.) The other thing is that Noah's main proposal, that when the public speak, their topic of conversation should be noted in the minutes, is already in the standing Ordinance. Noah couldn't get this. Roxy read it to him, but he still didn't see it. He thought his reference and that in the Ordinance were somehow different, in some way, even though they were essentially identical. Roxy tried to point that out to him, but he insisted there was some sort of difference. So they went on like this for a while, until they finally voted not to continue the discussion. (Although the chicken is writhing and convulsing, it will eventually stop, due to loss of blood, if for no other reason.)
So Barbara and the gavel. No idea what to do with it. None. She giggled a bit, but had to be directed by the Attorney to ask for seconds, ask for a vote, whatever. She even said she didn't want the responsibility. Poor Barbara. She said she never wanted even to run, but run she did. Who knows if she wanted to win, but that happened, too. And now, having told people after the election that she didn't want to be Mayor, she winds up with that wooden hammer-like contraption. Well, only five more months to go, and she won't be Vice Mayor any more. Presumably, she hopes Noah won't feel inspired to make motions too often. And I have to say, I like Barbara. She's a very nice person. Just out of her element, as she herself notes. Do you know that she learned there were free Miami City Ballet tickets routinely available, and she called and snagged us about 30 of them? True. She will receive them, pass them along to Maria Camara, and anyone who wants to go is welcome to a ticket. So call Maria if you want to go. 305-899-8000.
Cooper had inspiration, too. He had this idea that he should be able to "direct" the Manager, or the Attorney, or someone, to craft Agenda items for him. He should just tell them sort of what he has in mind, and they should "handle it." And he shouldn't have to provide any back-up, either. This discussion took a lot longer than you might think. I don't know if Ana really didn't fully understand it, which is what she said, or she just couldn't believe it. Everyone seemed to try to tell Bryan it doesn't work this way. But he wants it to. Bryan is on strike against the Village, and won't come to any Village events. Even now that he talks as if he owned two other votes, the majority, and the Mayor, he won't come. And he's missed more meetings than any other Commissioner in the past two years. And now, he doesn't want to have to submit his own Agenda items. He wants someone else to do it. It's really not at all clear what he thinks his job actually is. The only responsibilities he accepts are smirking, blaming, and trying to order people around.
There were a few other topics of discussion. The log cabin, for example. It's in terrible need of major renovation. The Commission could only agree to look further on condition we get grants to fix it. The log cabin was described as a local, State, and maybe even national treasure, but we should only fix it if we can use someone else's money. And there was a good deal of scrutiny, much more than you might have imagined interested anyone, of mutual cooperation agreements with other municipalities and their police departments. Mitch Glansberg, Bob Anderson, and Ana Garcia tried to explain how standard and helpful they are, but some were just more skeptical than that. And again, the Commission could only accept these agreements after they were abundantly reassured that we only take from other municipalites: we are not called upon to give them anything or do anything for them. Hell of a social philosophy we have working here.
Bernard left a little before the end. Had enough? One of my friends says his wife probably texted him, and told him the party was over. Gaspar stayed through most of it. That's a first. He and Steve were in heavy consultation throughout. I guess we'll see how they decide to have Gaspar handle this in Gaspar's next column. Funny thing about Gaspar and his columns. He always says, as if it's a good thing for a reporter/"Correspondent", that he never talks to anyone. This is how he used to explain why he refused to talk to Ross, Anderson, and Childress, whom he never tired of trashing. But it seems he makes an exception for one of the two people, apart from himself, that he likes. Probably just a coincidence.
As Charlie Smith was leaving (no, not the Finance Director; the other Charlie Smith) he did that thing where you brush one index finger over the other in scolding. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. Remember elementary school? Anyway, he did it to me. So I figured he wanted to tell me something. I went with him to the lobby. He tells me I'm "mean-spirited." I gave a hard time to the new Commissioners, he says.
"I'm 'mean-spirited?,'" I ask.
"Yes."
"What about Steve and Bryan? Are they mean-spirited?"
"They mean well."
"They do?"
"Yes."
Oh.
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