I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a "community organizer," except that you have actual responsibilities. --Sarah Palin
I guess Sarah Palin has never tried to bring resources into a community that is systematically disregarded.
I work for a remote Northern New Mexico County. Our 40,692 mostly Hispanic and Native American residents occupy 5,858 square miles of mountainous terrain. Today we have beautiful county buildings, a top-notch staff, a state of the art health commons, and other facilities. But when I was first hired by an incoming Board of reformers, we didn't have funding, buildings or equipment. I remember making a trip to the dump with my boss to pick up my first chair. We parked it in a closet in a building that shook three times a day. One Monday, I came to work to a heap of rubble. The building had collapsed.
Sarah. No responsibility's just another word for nothin' left to lose.
It was a beautiful early May northern New Mexico day, mountains still crisp and white against a deep blue sky, and I was at the College visiting Alfredo, the County Commissioner. He was explaining why he had chosen somebody else to direct his new recreation department. "I'm looking for somebody who can coordinate baseball leagues," he said while I scowled. "It's a lot of scheduling. I think you'd get bored."
He was referring to the need to set schedules for the use of the few county ballfields, hoping the prospect of tedium would deter me. "I can coordinate the leagues," I insisted.
He tried changing the subject. "We're a community of farmers but we have to hold our biggest event, our fair, in Santa Fe County. We don't have land or facilities here. We don't even have land for ballfields, que no?. You know that field in Velarde? The one off the Highway? We've used it for 50 years but the BLM is shutting it down. It's disrupting the "View Corridor." The BLM and Forest Service took away all our common land in the llanos. Now we have to build on our prime agricultural land near the river."
He was referring to the Bureau of Land Management. Seventy percent of the land in Rio Arriba County is controlled by the Federal Government. Most of it was managed cooperatively by villages prior to the Mexican-American War. Commons were used for grazing, wood-gathering and other purposes.
"What do you mean, "View Corridor?"" I asked, my interest piqued. "You can't even see it from the road. All you can see is a pile of rocks."
"The BLM is piling up all those rocks next to the field," he agreed. "How come they can block the View Corridor with rocks but tourists can't look out the windows at our children?"
I got up to leave, a plan forming in my mind. "I can coordinate the leagues," I insisted again.
A few hours later, I was in Velarde sitting in a dugout with Steve Stellavato, the President of the Little League, and a parent named Pam. Steve was an unemployed geologist. His tight tee-shirt bulged against his sturdy torso and biceps. A blonde ponytail cascaded down his back.
"I don't get it," he told me. "Look at all those rocks."
"It don't seem fair," Pam added.
I pulled out a stack of incendiary flyers. 'CONGRESSMAN BILL RICHARDSON WANTS TO TAKE AWAY YOUR KIDS' BASEBALL FIELD TO ACCOMODATE ROCKS!' screamed the flyer. 'Come to Velarde Elementary Thursday at 7 to tell him how you feel. Call his office to inquire.'
"Congressman Richardson's office hasn't responded to our phone calls," I explained innocently. "But he might be more helpful if he thinks the BLM has become an embarrassment."
"Your boss let you make those things?" Steve asked arching his eyebrows.
I don't know who made them," I answered. "Neither do you. The important thing is we have to coordinate the ball leagues. Can you get them to this event?"
"Hell, yeah!" exclaimed Pam. "They'll be there. You want us to get them calling Richardson's office about the meeting?"
I smiled. "It wouldn't hurt if they tied up all his lines ranting about rocks and a field. And Thursday Night when the BLM tries to facilitate the meeting? Shout them down. I'll take over as a neutral facilitator."
"Neutral, my ass!" exclaimed Steve. I smiled innocently.
When I got back to my closet the phone was ringing. "Do you know anything about this flyer that mysteriously appeared on my desk?" asked Walt Howerton who covered the County beat for the local paper.
"What flyer?" I responded. I didn't tell him I placed it on his desk.
"It says, 'CONGESSMAN BILL RICHARDSON WANTS TO TAKE AWAY YOUR KIDS' BASEBALL FIELD TO ACCOMODATE ROCKS!' There's a meeting scheduled for Thursday Night."
"Maybe Richardson's office knows something about it," I suggested. "Have you asked them?"
Walt called back a half an hour later. "Richardson's office didn't know about it," he informed me. "They're investigating. But it turns out the BLM is trying to shut down that ballfield in Velarde citing disruption of the view corridor."
"What!!!" I asked him. "The leagues here have been using that field for decades. What's a view corridor? It sounds like they're calling little brown kids visual pollution. That is repugnant and it makes me angry!"
"Can I quote you on that?" asked Walt.
"Sure," I told him. "Have a field day with it."
The phone rang again. It was the County Manager, Lorenzo Valdez. He sounded suspicious. "Do you know anything about the meeting Thursday Night? Richardson's office called to ask about it. They must be worried if they're calling."
"No," I said. "Did you ask the guy you just hired to coordinate the leagues? Maybe he knows about it."
Thursday Night rolled around and cars overflowed the Velarde Elementary School parking lot. Lorenzo, Alfredo and a few of my colleagues looked on in surprise as hundreds of people packed the auditorium. "This isn't what I had in mind," commented Alfredo pointedly, referring to our conversation.
I gazed back innocently.
The meeting that nobody called opened. Steve Stellavato stood up. "I'm the President of the Rio Arriba Little League," he informed the audience. "The League Parents asked for this meeting because we want to know why the hell the BLM is calling our kids visual pollution and why they are closing our ballfield. We're pretty ticked off right now. We would like Lauren to facilitate this meeting between the leagues and the BLM. We want a neutral facilitator."
"Yeah!" shouted Pam. Parents in the bleachers clapped their approval. Steve H., the director of the local BLM office turned dark red. Smoke seemed to be pouring out of his ears. The beefy blonde rancher beside him (some sort of regional honcho) looked as if he might throttle me momentarily.
I stood up to facilitate. "In 1848, at the close of the Mexican American War, the US Government signed the Treaty of Guadalupe Hildago, promising to honor the Spanish Land Grants," I began. The regional honcho darkened. "But the Treaty, like many treaties, was not honored. Over time, the federal government and private businessmen confiscated most of the common lands used for homes, grazing and wood gathering. These parents feel it is an extension of Manifest Destiny to seize their baseball field. They want it back. Plus they'd like additional acreage to relocate the Rio Arriba County Fair here in Rio Arriba." I noticed Alfredo snickering discretely.
A Representative from Congressman Richardson's office stood up and introduced himself. "The Congressman asked me to convey his regrets that he couldn't be here. He had absolutely no knowledge of any BLM plans to close down your ballfield. We have brought with us Ms. Charna L. out of the Albuquerque office. She will meet with local government leaders to find ways to work with you to meet the needs of your community."
Charna stood and waved to the crowd like Miss America. "I am so excited to work with you all," she declared. "Nobody is going to shut down your field. That's a promise. And I'm happy to meet with the County Manager to see if we can identify land for other uses."
Some parents cheered.
Epilogue: The field remained open. The BLM met with us for years and did not identify land for the fairgrounds. Eventually, county leadership acquired land in the town of Abiquiu (perhaps through the BLM, perhaps through another source) and built a stunning rural events center. I was not part of this project as I had been assigned to Health and Human Services. I am proud to work as part of a brilliant team. And although this story is my reminiscence of a particular event, many people have worked to make Rio Arriba what it is today. I am just one spoke in the wagon wheel.
Today, I run programs and have staff. I would never dream of running such wild risks. Eventually, as Governor, Richardson funded us. So perhaps Sarah Palin is right. A small town HHS Director is kind of like a community organizer except you have actual resources to administer.
Still to come: My Marvelous Recycling Misadventure