No Cloak or Dagger

Tonight I attended my first ever Community Council meeting. Tiff and I ambled in about twenty minutes late, but we were greeted without ire by the responsible citizens who had shown up on time. One woman even gathered an agenda and accompanying papers for us to review as we took our seats in the back of the library. I did not feel at all uncomfortable. As I scanned the room, I even noticed a man who’d given a parasailing presentation at Kincaid a few weekends back, where he let me almost ruin his expensive flying contraption. It was nice to see Bob in a lower risk setting.

Our state representative, Les Gara had the floor. He was fielding questions anyone might have, and several interesting issues were raised. One, admittedly non-issue, particular struck me. Mr. Gara has been in the news recently regarding an alleged ethics violation for soliciting campaign contributions during the legislative session. KTUU’s Bill McAllister reported Friday, May 11th that Gara is being challenged by opponents over a letter he sent out on March 25th asking supporters to contribute to the House Democratic Campaign Committee, which he heads.

In his initial story, McAllister confuses the subject. He includes a quote from Republican Representative Ralph Samuels, who appears equally uninformed:

“‘It's pretty black and white to me,’ he said. ‘The reason you don't raise money during the session is that elected officials are talking about issues that directly affect the people that are probably donating to that campaign. And it's just flat-out wrong; I don't care if it's legal or not; it's wrong.’"

Samuels makes a good point, but it is totally irrelevant. Had Gara been raising money for his own campaign or for any other individual campaign, Samuels’ comment would carry some weight. However, since he was fundraising for the House Democratic Campaign Committee, his letter is no different than any standard-fare Republican fundraising dinner. Since funds from this committee are distributed amongst several campaigns, the notion that Gara may have been personally influenced by the demands of the donors is unlikely. And, as I said, it makes him no more predisposed to such unethical behavior as any other party-wide fundraising conducted by either Democrats or Republicans.

However, none of this stopped McAllister from following Samuels’ quote with this paragraph:

“But it appears to be just what Democratic Rep. Les Gara did on March 25, sending out a fund-raising solicitation in his role as head of the House Democratic Campaign Committee.”

At this point, I can only assume McAllister was nearing his deadline and had to finish the story quickly, because that association is loose at best. It doesn’t take into consideration the details, which happen to be relevant in this story (then again, I can’t think of a story where the details are irrelevant).

And to further solidify his smorgasbord reporting, he ends the story with an anecdote about Kodiak Representative Gabrielle LeDoux, who backed down from a plan to raise money during the legislative session for her Primary campaign against Congressman Don Young. Her own personal campaign. McAllister apparently missed the point.

I’d give the man points for publishing Gara’s rebuttal the following Monday, but he so thoroughly screwed up Friday it’s difficult to hand him a free pass. I know it’s difficult having your work scrutinized daily by all manner of interested parties, but these are connections any liberal arts undergrad ought to be able to make. It is disappointing to see them go unnoticed by such a seasoned reporter.

The rest of the meeting was interesting, if mostly in the anthropological sense. It was fun to observe the council regulars in their indigenous environment. They love committees and they adore process, even if they outwardly reject it. About halfway into the meeting a group of young skaters walked in and took seats in the back, throwing everyone off. Eventually the question of why attendance is so low at community council meetings was raised, and one naturally curious member asked why those students chose to attend. They said they were there to propose the idea of a skate park on Government Hill. The regulars loved this. They loved the idea that these kids wanted government to do something for them. The whole council launched into a tutorial about how to properly prepare such a proposal. One member even offered written step-by-step instructions. They had found interested youth and were excited to offer their guidance.

This display heartened me and I believe it serves as an appropriate counterpoint to yesterday’s post. There is hope here, even if it lies mostly to the left of the stoplight.

Quonset Hill

I had a few Netflix DVDs to pickup in the mailroom this afternoon so I slipped on my flip-flops and made my way down the narrow stairway and into the building’s cavernous basement. World-War-Two-army-installation cavernous. I’ve never actually stepped foot inside a Quonset hut, but I assume this is what they look like. Concrete adorned with white steel pipes. It would creep me out if it didn’t serve as such an effective echo chamber. Regardless of how loud you’ve got your iPod turned up, it would be impossible for some madman to sneak up on you down here.

I’ve always considered the possibilities of this basement, especially for kids. It’d be the perfect place to bust your ass rollerblading or to shock the system by riding your bike indoors. But, for whatever reason, I hadn’t considered the possibilities such a place might hold for teenagers, which is strange as I recently was one. This afternoon, however, one such possibility became clear. As I ventured into the basement, I sensed the potent fragrance of weed. Marijuana, not ragweed, thank God. I can already feel the pollen count affecting my better judgment.

The epicenter of the odor was in a lovely open area near a small hatch window. It being near a window must have been a coincidence, as it was shut and the smell permeating the room was fresh and undiluted. The smoke had disappeared but had not yet truly escaped. It’s possible they merely closed the window before taking their last few hits as a courtesy to their fellow neighbors who might not want rain pouring into their already dank basement. Possible. But unlikely. They were probably just too stoned to notice the window in the first place. Or at least too stoned to recall its function.

So there it was. An undeniable smell wafting through building nineteen’s underbelly. And it made me pause. This is where the unsuccessful people live. The people that, for whatever reason, cannot afford to live anywhere else. This is Section 8 housing. Now, I don’t want to imply everyone is here because of massive, lifelong drug problems, but I’d say this is the demographic most likely to have partaken. I’ve smelled weed walking by any number of doors in this complex. It’s common. It’s pervasive. So why aren’t these kids in their apartments smoking with their parents? Are they afraid their old man’s going to cut into their stash?

I don’t have the answer, but I suppose part of it is the rebellious nature of teenagers. They strive to be different. So if their mom is on the couch flickin’ her Bic at a big fat bowl watching the Price is Right, it’s only natural they’re going to at least find someplace else to smoke theirs. And why not a community basement? I only hope their rebelliousness transcends this ultimately futile effort. I hope it brings them into parks, onto beaches, anywhere across the A Street bridge. This is nowhere for a person to end up. Nowhere to settle.

But then I recall our slogan: “We’re HIGH on Government Hill.” And I realize my hope is as stale as the air in that basement.