I live in Peterborough, ON, a mid-sized city with a bustling heritage downtown, a penchant for hockey, a lively arts scene, a smallish university and a college.  Bethune Street runs along the west side of downtown proper, and in terms of the revitalization of the downtown, it’s a bit of a problem child.  Once the edge-of-town railway corridor for trains bound to nearby Lakefield, it’s extra-wide for most of its length. Though where it runs through the old north end it’s mostly residential, down closer to the commercial district it’s industrial, rough-looking, and derelict in places.

This is a big problem for the city.  It seems innocuous enough until you really start thinking about it, but with the mighty Otonabee River on one side, downtown Peterborough sort-of has its back against a wall.  On the other side of the river, there’s East City, jurisdictionally a part of the City of Peterborough but realistically (and historically) a place unto itself.  With only the Hunter Street bridge as access (especially now, with the train bridge closed to walkers and cyclists), downtown is mostly speaking to the rest of Peterborough. To the north, it’s limited by a block of massive heritage institutional buildings, such as City Hall and the Armories, which are beautiful but put act as a barrier between the shops and cafes of the downtown and the heritage homes of the old north end.  To the south, there’s a slow trickle of business and some opportunities for development, but once you get to King Street and the Dieter and Darcy’s building, you’ve hit a wall in terms of how far pedestrians feel comfortable walking, with George Street at it’s busiest and a series of large-scale modern buildings that sit too far back from the road or have too few windows to make walking pleasant.

To the west, Bethune stands like a no-man’s-land between downtown and the affluent neighborhoods of The Avenues. Its presence drags down the streets around it, creating a barrier of run-down heritage homes, unfriendly industrial spaces, and a sense of emptiness that discourages people from hanging out or even walking through. Much as I love urban decay and the visible layers of built heritage, I think the city’s health will be best supported by some big changes – and they’re already under way. I often walk or cycle down Bethune, and it’s been fascinating watching these small changes impact the neighbourhood for the better, and encourage the kind of growth that will keep the downtown bustling.

Throughout the course of The City Walker project, however long that is,  I’ll be talking about Bethune Street, Peterborough, and other cities, and thinking about what makes a streetscape and a city a liveable, healthy place that fosters community.

I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback – leave a comment below to let me know what you think!

I had a variety of reactions to that, from ‘Pssht, get over it,’ to ‘No, seriously dude: get over it.’ I know Hip-Hop and Rap have a low reputation amongst the Folk community, though I’d underestimated how reactionary and unwelcoming some people would be.  I don’t have much patience with people who write off a whole genre of music, especially those who haven’t really given it a listen.  You may hear that all Rap is about violence, drugs, and hos,* but if you actually like, listen to it, you’ll find that even when that imagery is in heavy use, there’s a lot of other stuff going on. “Rap music is the continuation of the Folk tradition,” I’d say, generally to raised eyebrows and shaking heads.

Which is why, watching one of last week’s episodes of The Colbert Report, I was so excited by and exchange between Stephen Colbert and Talib Kweli that I leapt up and danced around punching the air for a couple of minutes. You can watch the exchange (in Canada) by clicking here, but I’ve transcribed it:

Colbert “What is Rap, really?”

Kweli “Rap and… Hip-Hop… is a vehicle, it’s a tool for expression, and it’s more Folk music than Folk music actually is, because it’s speaking – ”

Colbert “It’s more Folk than Folk?”

Kweli “That’s right – because it’s speaking the language of regular folk. Y’know what I’m saying? When Folk music got popular, it’s ’cause it was stripped down,  it was in the language of what people actually said; and that’s what hip-hop does very well.”

There are plenty of Folk artists currently writing and performing whom I quite like, and whose music I find relevant, but as a whole, the Folk music scene can be a toothless, bland beast malingering on the opposite side of the politics it once espoused. It’s not really anyone’s fault; there are a lot of babyboomers in the Folk scene, and they got old.  Nostalgia has overruled their sense; Stephen Harper can plonk out ‘Imagine’ ’till the cows come home, but I like to ‘imagine’ John Lennon spitting in his face while he does.

Folk music had a lot to say, once, and was powerful in its delivery, but that was more than 30 years ago, before I was even born.  Folk music now has lost its power by avoiding politics and focusing on romance or the supposed simplicity of an earlier time, a nostalgia for things that never existed.  When it does deal with social or political subject matter, it’s often the politics of the 60s, or too preachy, simplistic, and heavy-handed for most audiences.  When I want to hear about things that are relevant to my life and the world I see around me right now, I turn to Rap and Hip-Hop.  Because the torch that Folk let fall has been picked up by the rappers and DJs; they’re talking about people struggling to survive in a hostile environment, about how they and their families and friends respond to social injustice, racism, and hard financial realities.

Folk music was the music of poor people, people who lived close to the means of production, who earned their meagre pay by mining or farming or rough, physical labour and yearned for a day when things would be more equal.**  The reality these days is that the working poor are in call centres and bargain stores, a time when being poor means you’ve never been to a farm or had the opportunity to grow or make something tangible with your own two hands.*** The wheel has turned quickly; the sympathy of the people isn’t with unions – which are pretty well seen as rich fat-cats and corrupt representatives that protect the upper middle-class at the expense of quality and fairness – or with the issues of the past.  It’s with the rise of a relatively-unprotected, urban existence, where the difference between making rent this month and living in serious debt is largely outside of your control in an almost Dickensian way.

Rap and Hip-Hop are as much a comment on and a protest against these conditions as they are a celebration of getting out of them.  And when you listen to what have been classed as ‘Conscious‘ rappers, you hear progressive views on community, equality, social justice and protest that seem to be the direct inheritors of the folk movement – or perhaps, more than inheritors, because they have raised some pretty rudimentary ideas up into adulthood.  There aren’t so many of those easy slogans or simple answers that Folk music has often fallen back on; the politics are complicated.  As a Feminist and someone who leans towards pacifism, I find the sexism and violence in some rap music problematic, but it doesn’t keep me away from the genre, nor does it change the fact that some truly great artists are people whose views I don’t share.

After Shad K performed at the Peterborough Folk Festival in 2008, I had people from all walks of life, ranging in age from their twenties to sixties, come up to me and with wonder in their faces tell me that they had no idea they could like Rap music.  It’s one of those rare victories that I’ve savoured ever since; tuning other people in to the amazing and important work being created by Rappers and Hip-Hop artists is a pleasure and a privilege.  And when you open your ears to something new, you might find yourself more familiar with the feeling of community, struggle and and passion than you’d have imagined.

*The word is used to illustrate opinions,with all respect. Do your thing, ladies.

**I have thoughts about how the middle class of the 60s romanticized poverty and the “simple life” much like the French aristocracy did in the 1700s, but that’s a topic for another day.

***Being able to afford chickens and have a yard where I can keep them, and grow vegetables, is a privilege I’m aware of; I have a complicated relationship with the urban homesteading trend, because I’m reasonably certain that this back-to-the-earth stuff is aristocrats playing at being milkmaids.  I can’t shake that sense of romance myself, but I do know that it’s pretty well bourgeoisie bullshit.

This is my fourth year as Artistic Director and Executive Director for the festival. I first volunteered for the festival in the late nineties, when I got stuck as a parking attendant for hours without water or any clear sense of what I was supposed to be doing.  Since then, I’ve coordinated Healing Arts and the Club Crawl, eventually taking on the positions I’m in now.

The festival is run by a small, dedicated, and hard-working group of volunteers, many of whom have been with the festival for years and work, month after month, year-round to bring together three great days in late August.  We’ve made a lot of changes to the festival in the past 4 years, changes I’m very proud of because they’ve made the festival infinitely better, and infinitely easier to run.  We’ve tightened up, planned carefully, and created a strong foundation for considered growth.  But change always angers people, especially when they see it as negatively impacting themselves.

Last year, when I proposed that we cut the Club Crawl, it was not the first time I’d argued that it was a waste of effort that reflected poorly on the festival as a whole.  Originally conceived as a fundraiser for the festival, the Club Crawl rarely worked as such, generally losing money despite our best efforts.  In my opinion, it was a clusterfuck; paying artists a pittance to play in venues unsuited for live music, running technicians ragged as they dealt with jury-rigged gear and practically no switch-over time.  Venue owners didn’t feel they were getting a good deal, either, and as a result, often dropped out or screwed us in some way at the last minute.  The final straw, for me, was when one of our funders praised the festival as a whole but suggested in strong terms that the Club Crawl didn’t live up to the standards they expected as a baseline for paid, professional artists.  I agreed, and either argued persuasively to the Board of Directors or just browbeat them (they may want to comment on which) into axing the Club Crawl for 2009.

I have to admit I was completely taken off guard by the anger from several local artists.  What I saw as a shitty gig or tokenism they (I guess) saw as inclusion. And I’m sorry they felt that way; it reflects poorly on local audiences and venues that a $50 gig with no real soundcheck is considered okay for a skilled artist who’s been playing for years.  I know it’s a lot harder to get into the festival now than it was in the past, because there are fewer slots.  But I think it’s important for any publicly-funded arts organization to treat artists with respect, and part of that respect is to create opportunities that operate at a professional standard – decent pay, decent playing conditions.  Another facet of that respect is to set the bar high and encourage the community to reach it.

My philosophy for booking has always pretty much been the same, from my very earliest days as a promoter, through my MoHo days, to now.  I book great professional artists who are good to work with, and I pay them as well as I can and ensure they work in decent conditions.  My resources are limited and I’m bound by the conditions of my funders, and this means that, if I’m going to follow my own ethical code, I book fewer artists, but better gigs, than we’ve done in the past.

In addition, we receive funding from the terrific Arts Presentation Canada program, run by the Federal government, whose purpose is to increase diversity at festivals, and who stipulate that their funding should be used to book artists from out-of-province as well as emerging and culturally diverse acts.  I see this as an opportunity to introduce Peterborough artists and audiences to the sounds and ideas that are happening across the country, but it also means that there are fewer slots for local artists than in the past.

I’m extremely lucky because I book a free festival, so I don’t have to worry about a draw – every year, 7000-9000 people come regardless of who’s playing.  Personally, I prefer to support emerging acts in any case, and I really don’t like the idea of blowing half or more of my artistic budget on the last two acts of the night.  But it also means that we miss out on those tasty admissions fees that can make up a third or more of a festival’s funding.  The idea of fencing off the festival area and charging admission has been bruited about, but none of the current Board are comfortable with the idea of changing 21 years of tradition in such a fundamental way – we like the festival free and accessible.  So we do our best with the funding we receive, and I think we do a pretty damned good job.

There are so many things I wish for the Peterborough Folk Festival - good god, how I’d love to expand and do three days in the park, to rebuild that concrete stage with a proper proscenium and offices and dry storage underneath,  and re-terrace the hill.  How I’d love for us to own our own sound gear, to build some permanent platforms in the park, and to do weekly concerts throughout the Summer and a Winter series.  I want to draw in the communities of new Canadians in Peterborough and become relevant to them, and I’d like to see more participatory workshops where our audience get to learn how to do things.  I want to see fewer and fewer cars in the parking area, and more and more people arrive on foot or via transit/canoe/bicycle. I want to see an increasingly diverse crowd of people enjoying the kind of music they can’t hear anywhere else in the City.

My dreams always outstrip my abilities, and our finances.  I am constantly disappointed by what I was not able to achieve in any given year.  But by consistently setting the bar higher for ourselves, we reach a little higher every year, and do better.  It’s hard work, but I think we can’t ask any less of ourselves than we ask of our community.  And I think that, if we don’t ask for high standards from our community, we tacitly encourage unprofessional-ism and sloppy work.

Join us, August 27 – 29, 2010, as we try to reach a little higher than we have before; there will be mistakes, absolutely, and things that don’t quite make the grade.  But there’s a spirit of sweetness, or openness, and a sense of community that you won’t find elsewhere.  Moments of beauty that you can share with friends and family, great music, delicious food, and fabulous crafts.  For all the heartache I’ve occasionally felt over the PFF, the end is always worth it.

This year I intend to step down at Executive Director of the Peterborough Folk Festival; if you’re interested in the job (it’s primarily a volunteer position, involving grant writing and administrative work, but comes with a small honourarium), you can get in touch with me and we’ll talk about it.

What I consider the greater crime, however, is the culture of wear-down that perpetuates this cycle.  How many terrific, smart, passionate people get so worn down by the demands, expectations, disappointments, losses, and low-income of a career in the community and non-profit sector that we lose them after a few years, with a net loss to the community of invaluable experience, momentum, and expertise?  As people interested in the health and vibrancy of our community, it’s poor behaviour to demand that our volunteers and employees sacrifice their own to the cause.

Whenever I hear the adjective “tireless” applied to a community worker, hear jovial references to their round-the-clock presence at the office, see their time and work undervalued, I worry about the future of the organization they work for.  It’s a process of attrition, a death by a thousand cuts.  The fall may be slow, but it’s inevitable.

A community’s greatest asset is its skilled workers; protect yourself, and the important work you do, by avoiding the pitfalls.

I’ve given this a lot of thought, having been involved in the community sector a long time, and often fallen into the traps described above.  As paid staff, volunteer, and Board member, I’ve both asked too much and been asked too much.  There’s not a mistake on this list I haven’t made myself, sometimes over and again.  So, as much to remind myself as to educate anyone else, here are seven strategies for making a positive difference in both your own life, and that of the community!

1. Know why you’re joining the organization.

Yes, it looks good on a resume to say you sat on a Board of Directors or volunteer, but are you prepared to do the work?  To pay close attention to the financial spreadsheets?  To ask questions, and challenge more established people when you have doubts or concerns? To do more than to merely show up?  Sitting there mouth closed and eyes glassy does no one any good, whether you’re a ticket-taker or a member-at-large.

2. Know you have the time to devote to the organization.

You see something you feel is important, and you want to help, and before you know it you’ve committed yourself to a major role without stopping to see if there’s room in your year for another commitment.  Too many times we spread ourselves too thin to be of any use to anyone, and achieve less because we aim for more.

3. Understand and share the goals of the organization you’re joining.

An argument about what route to take from here to Toronto is resolvable, but when they want to get to Toronto and you want to get to Mumbai, there’s no way to reconcile except by force.   There can be as many goals in any given organization as there are people and ideas; read the bylaws, vision, mandate and goals of the organization and find out when those were last reviewed and how often they’re referred to by the Board.  If the group hasn’t looked at them in a few years, or they seem unfocused or unreasonable or don’t represent the current organization or your own goals, steer clear.

4. Be honest and upfront; provide and review information.

By supporting your information and experience with confidence, and being familiar with the issues at hand, you clear the way for reasonable debate and informed decision-making.  The habits of making decisions in the heat of the moment, folding to peer pressure, charismatic persuasion, or the desire to avoid responsibility or confrontation can become endemic to an organization and pretty much always result in poor leadership and bad management.

5. Be firm in defence of your own time, health, and sanity.  Be firm in the defence of other people’s time, health, and sanity.

As an employee, be sure that your understanding of your hours and your boss’/Board’s understanding of your hours is firm – most non-profits expect their staff to work more than they’re being paid for, or demand more than is possible in the time available, which is a certain recipe for burnout.  As a volunteer, particularly a Board member, make sure that what you and other volunteers are asking of each other and your employees is reasonable and conforms to existing labour laws (you’d be surprised at how many community organizations have no clue about employee rights).  Steer your organization towards a stable working environment; try to find ways to offer benefits, decent pay, and reasonable expectations to employees.

6. Choose your battles carefully; outline your strategy to the people you work with.

Organizations, like individuals, are likely to over-extend themselves.  Is it more important to run a fund-raising event or write a grant?  Which items of your programming are most essential and important and which are continued due more to tradition or habit than demonstrable impact?  Is the org accomplishing what it exists to do? Assess the work you’re doing, and try to focus on the  strategies which best support the goals of the organization.  Withdraw from commitments or programming which take more than they give back, even if it means a loss of funding.  Consult with your team, create a strategy, and maintain a dialogue so that everyone involved in the organization and served by it can access and understand the choices that are being made.

7. Monitor your own engagement.

Sure, you started out passionate, committed, and invested, but that was then.  Have your goals changed since you’ve gotten involved with the organization?  Do you find yourself less interested in this work than you were?  Do you think your time would be better spent elsewhere? Don’t feel guilty about withdrawing if you’re no longer engaged in the work; some people can sustain 25 years of interest and passion, but they’re in the minority.  Change when you need to.