The Healing Center in the Seventh Ward, with its food co-op, art galleries and community garden, seemed ideal for an ACORN training—if we could get in. Fortunately, a custodian arrived with the keys, but he paused at the door.
“I come from a small low-income neighborhood and there’s major issues with our water, and that all stems back to polluting industries."
“Wrong room,” he said, before escorting us to a small blue room on the second floor, stocked with tables and chairs. Soon the space was ready, with coffee and king cake (a special favorite in New Orleans) just in time for the first attendees. They trickled in until all the seats were filled. In total, twenty-three people from 17 member organizations showed up from Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas and Arkansas. They represented groups confronting blight, super-fund site contamination, and food deserts. Robyn Thiggpen, who came from Sulphur, Louisiana, has been fighting liquid natural gas (LNG) export terminals in Lake Charles. “I come from a small low-income neighborhood and there’s major issues with our water, and that all stems back to polluting industries.” Everyone I spoke to had a story, and they all seemed eager to develop their skills as organizers, and network with people driven to enact change.
Reverend Richard Bell opened the session with a prayer. Then Rathke took the reins. His booming voice and inexhaustible reserve of folksy aphorisms illustrated what his colleagues referred to as his “cowboy shtick” in The Organizer, a documentary about Rathke and ACORN. I briefly pondered Alinsky’s distinction between “revealing flashes of arrogance, vanity, [and] impatience,” and the organizer’s ego, which “must be so all pervading that the personality of the organizer is contagious, that it converts the people from despair to defiance, creating a mass ego.”
As the day proceeded, I saw Rathke in that latter light. He seemed singularly and sincerely driven by his work. Those who knew him trusted him. One attendee, Kevin Holloway of ACO (Arkansas Community Organization), drove over four-hundred miles from Little Rock because “anything Wade’s involved in is going to be something good.” Alongside exercises in recruiting dues-paying members into a movement, or planning anti-flooding campaigns, I witnessed the soft work of building relationships, and I observed how the brash “cowboy” offered people a sense of empowerment and purpose.
"We reached out to them and said nobody’s doing anything about labor...And they helped us when nobody else would."
At the end of the day, Valerie Jefferson from Women of Action stood up to emphasize how A2 and ACORN had been there for her union when they were fighting for better pay and working conditions. “We reached out to them and said nobody’s doing anything about labor, nobody’s doing anything about organizing. We need assistance.” Her voice cracked as she continued. “And they helped us when nobody else would.” Her words attested to the potential of this new experiment — both the power of A2 members, and our responsibility to support them.
Community organizing depends on little actions: finding the right door, filling the coffee machine, getting people in the room. Those actions, combined with the guidance of experienced hands, can snowball into a movement.
In a few weeks, we’ll be at our next training in Cleveland. Hopefully, the doors will be unlocked. But without a doubt, Rathke and his team will be there with coffee and king cake (or donuts), and I’ll watch another room of people move closer to becoming a collective force for change.