the price of activism

Okay, that's the birthday over with. It has been a hard two weeks, encompassing the death of my friend Dona Spring, who turned the same age as me last January and who had spent more than half of her life battling the ravages of a particularly nasty form of rheumatoid arthritis. When she died after a bout of pneumonia her spine was at an almost 90 degree angle. I loved this woman for her undiluted passion for animals, for the weak, the environment and for her city, as well as for her pure disdain for those who lied and tried to exploit the land for profit. When I met Dona, she was already well into her second decade of wheelchair activism. And what a friggin' activist. Remaining true to her causes, her passions and her constituents ensured there would be no backroom deals at the last minute, no moving to the right to appease the so-called 'middle'. Dona was elected and re-elected in Berkeley's District 4, a mixed neighborhood where small Victorian cottages and a wide range of incomes butt heads with downtown development interests. She was usually opposed by a candidate with more money to spend, backed by business or the university. Dona's last public statements came at the old oak grove which UC Berkeley is determined to destroy to build a new gymnasium. If she could have found a way to hoist her souped up wheelchair into the branches to join the tree sitters - she would. Dona was my strongest ally in battles with the Berkeley animal shelter where over 70% of incoming animals were killed until I decided to change my life and devote as long as it took to shock this so called progressive city into the new millenium of animal care. 

It may seem like a small achievement, but I have always believed that when you act locally the ripples can be unstoppable. And if you aren't interested in animal shelter issues, please just read on because every time we change our small worlds, we are empowered to imagine bigger change.

I gave ten years to this effort - during which time I take full credit for removing the Police Department from running the shelter. In 2000, after two years of telling City Council repeatedly of brutality and callousness by staff and management at the shelter - including stories of staff experimenting with how to kill a dog with the smallest amount of euthanasia drug to save money, or killing an animal who was a favorite of a particular volunteer - the Police Chief called me into his office and showed me some polaroids of a dead love bird, and admitted that a staff member at the shelter had bitten it to death in retaliation for it nipping at him. He said 'I've got a problem down there but we're cops. Most of my guys are saying "it's just a bird". What am I gonna do?' I told him his department had no business running an animal shelter. And that activists like me would give him no peace until they got out of the business of killing animals. And then I repeated the statement to the Mayor and the City Manager and within two weeks a decision had been made to transfer the department to civilian control.

Once civilians control animal services it becomes a place where change is possible. No longer run as a paramilitary operation, those who come into contact most with animal control feel less scared of the consequences. When civilians are doing the budgeting, money is spent on volunteer co-ordinators and not on police cruisers (now there's a concept), and when a civilian is running animal services, the emphasis shifts from code enforcement to welfare and care. Berkeley now has the lowest euthanasia rate in all of California.

6 years ago my calls for a new animal shelter building were finally heeded by Council and I led a successful campaign for a bond measure which raised 7.2 million dollars for a new shelter. I have fought for the last six years for the right site for that building and Berkeley finally three weeks ago - just before Dona's death - bought a property I have long thought of as the right one. The last conversation I had with Dona was to tell her the news.

But these ten years have taken their toll on me. It is hard to admit that I sort of abandoned my work as a photographer, that I neglected my relationships, that I decided that I had to bring about this change regardless of the effect on me personally. I found myself at 50 unable to earn what I had in earlier years. I've paid a pretty hefty price for my activism.

So, here's the thing. I took another blow this week, a tough one. But blows do have the effect of energising me. I've been trying over the last year to recover my enthusiasm for writing and for taking the photographs again which I know have had an impact on people. I'm dragging out the novel again, I've made some headway on my new play which will pick up the same main character from Any Woman Can (yeah, yeah, it's me. That's a surprise eh?), and I'm trying my hardest (though it is hard) to start work on a new photo book - a sort of journey in words and pictures through the landscape of my life and others who have self defined at some point or another as butch. 'BUTCH - from androgny to elsewhere'.

Elsewhere. I did change Berkeley in a small way. It's probably time to leave.

Comments

[Deborah, The Great AND Powerful]

I'll be in your book.....

[Barry in SF]

Hey, what's happening here? Lately the blogs seem to start out about one thing and wind up with self praise. Now, you've accomplished a lot, but something is going on here that makes me wonder just what in the heck is happening here?

There is no doubt in my mind you have had perhaps the greatest effect on Berkeley in the last several years than anyone. Kicking out the cops was a great accomplishment, rivaled only by getting the new shelter funded and sighted. I'm sure you'll tell me otherwise, but I doubt you'll convince otherwise.

What I'm concerned about is what's going on with your self image? Seems like your wacking yourself over the head with one hand and slapping your back with the other.

And what's up with the "its time to leave" horse shit? You're not going anywhere. A shit disturber of your stature is going to get bored in the sticks. It's just too much a part of your nature.

I doubt there's enough hosre shit in Elk, or Moose Breath, or Guala Guala for a disturber with your accumen. You'll be bored in no time.

Get your ass in the darkroom or photoshop or under a dark cloth with a portrait camera. You've got the chops. In time you can start thinking about a memoir.

Right now, though, you're still gathering material.

Or, maybe I just don't understand the blog concept. Let me hear from you, Spanky.

Bill Lee

[Sue]

hey Jill,

I hope you don't leave Berkeley since I'm just getting to know you. I'd love to help with that photo book if I can!