Consult in New Delhi, or "Three years from now..."

Below is a copy of the meeting minutes from this week's consultation in New Delhi, in which the Institute of Social Sciences and The Hunger Project hosted a roundtable of practitioners and academics committed to local governance issues and decentralization. See it here, and for more info check out our website at localdemocracy.net

MINUTES FROM THE INDIA CONSULTATION, 9 JANUARY 2013

/lolmyface

India is a geographically and socially diverse country with a federal governance system. India has a tradition of decentralized governance since the implementation of the Panchayati Raj local government system in 1992, though these constitutional provisions often confront persistent structural challenges and limited mobilization of resources that impede effective participation, local planning and action. Against this background and with the support of the UN Democracy Fund, The Hunger Project (THP) organized an expert consultation in New Delhi on January 9 as the next step in cultivating a global community of practice on capacity building for participatory local democracy.

THP greatly appreciates the generous and enthusiastic participation by committed individuals from the UN system, academia and civil society who provided great support, information and recommendations to the project. We greatly appreciate the leadership of Dr. George Mathew (chair) and Dr. Ash Narayan Roy (executive director) and all the staff of the Institute of Social Sciences for organizing and hosting the consultation.

The experts identified numerous challenges, the most significant being the widespread shortage of resources among panchayat institutions and the civil society organizations supporting them. Only about 3-5% of total public funds in India are in the hands of local governments. Chronic shortages of funds and limited access to information about mandates and politics rights restricts their ability to mobilize resources to address local needs, even when there is local political will.

India Gate, or "When the cold sets in"

You could taste the juniper on your tongue, as well as the burning trash. While at once nostalgic of camping in the the lower Sierras, the smoke that filled the cold streets on Delhi in a thick haze was also pungent and choking. Three days ago this street was full of Indians protesting the failure of Delhi authorities to prosecute six men who had raped and killed a young women on a bus. The protesting had escalated to mobs and even conflict as police in military-style riot gear descended upon the crowd in an effort to clear them from the India Gate monument area.

Today the park was empty except for the police buses and about 50 guards spread around the south entrance, and the smoke. This week marked the coldest day in New Delhi in nearly 44 years, at 1.9*C. Sam and I had left Washington in 1*C weather only a few days earlier as the Midwest was preparing for more snow, and so I understand when Americans ask why this is a big deal. But consider that for most of the year this region is nearly tropical, and that central heating is almost totally absent. More than 40 people died from exposure in Delhi yesterday.

As we drove around the city today from one meeting to another, I noticed scores of people wrapped in layers of shawls walking along congested (but somehow still flowing) roadways carrying stacks of freshly cut branches and children carrying sacks of leaves they had collected. Later on in the day these lines of travelers turned into groups of people standing around open fires in trashcans or even simply in the dirt near the street, in front of tall tents and gerry-rigged tarp and metal huts. Despite the government's large subsidies for kerosene during the colder winter months, many still can't afford to spend limited cooking fuel on heating an open space.

So now as we walked along India Gate, through the streets full of tuk-tuks and buses and cars that all rushed by in some chaotic yet purposeful swarm, the fog descended over Central Delhi and mixed with the smoke of juniper and trash and dung fires into a rich, bitter mist. The police brigades wrapped their faces in scarves, played cards and shared cigarettes, and smiled at us with shaking heads each time we approached the barricades. The protesters had moved closer to the parliament buildings these days, and except for the hum of the never-ending stream of autos the area was almost silent. And in a bustling city of 250,000 it was strange, and exciting.

Getting places, or "You almost had us there"

"I'm not going to do that for you. You have to go to San Francisco."

The woman stared back at me as she paused deliberately, adding to the finality of her response. She was young, only a few years older than me, and her eyes were an earthy green than complimented her skin. I thought it reminded me of a rich coffee. Under different circumstances I imagined she would have an inviting look, the kind that encourages nervous strangers to introduce themselves at a party. But not today. Not at all.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I knew what she would say, but what else could I do. Her face was expressionless. I had to have been the hundredth person to ask her this month. "C'mon, my friend was just here last week and he was done in like 10 minutes."

"Sir, India is jurisdictional."

Twin Peaks San Francisco Sunrise (HDR time-lapse) from Chad Richard on Vimeo.

Thank to Eliot Chang for sharing this!

Our vacations are never simple

This adventure started July 1, then took a break for this past week while I worked in the city and my car was stuck in Valencia, CA. It now resumes. The last 650-mile leg will start and end ... ... TOMORROW!

SFPark goes live with mobile app for parking

For those of you readers with iPhones in and around San Francisco, your day has finally come. SFPark released its mobile app for iPhone users today, less than a week ahead of the program's full-fledged launch. SFPark has already activated 5,000+ smart meters around the City, and users can now pay with credit and debit cards, as well as coins and SFMTA parking cards. Rates are adjusted several times daily for business and peak hours, and the rate structures will [only*] occasionally change at the start of new months. As for the "quality of life" issues, drivers will now be able to access graphical information on parking availability and pricing in each of the pilot neighborhoods. Small sensors keep up-to-the-minute record of used and free parking spaces - not only in garages, but also on the street.

See how it works, and revel in the glory of how much easier your life just got. Those of us with Droids or not-smart phones will secretly envy and resent you for now.

Why good evening, Madam! "9 Fellows Walk into a Bar... (Pt. 4)"

Ryan and Elaine love Corgis. Of course corgis are basically chubby foxes with tiny little legs and a forever-happy demeanor, so it’s easy to understand. But I mean they LOVE corgis, as in they send videos to us of baby corgis slipping on hardwood floors, and with their political slant they obviously share a particular fondness of the Governor’s own corgi named Sutter – who has an inexplicable cult following in San Francisco and a regular column in the Chronicle. Odd perhaps, but we really enjoy our up-to-date news on anything.

And so the story continues. On our late night stroll back to the hostel from Spin – which is a burger joint bar with street bikes wired to a computer and projector for the purpose of digital wind-sprint races – several of the Fellows and I suddenly stumbled upon an enormous, fanciful building (like a splice of museum, synagogue and 1780 colonial brick architecture) that we slowed down to inspect out of curiosity. It was incredible, but unexpectedly large buildings often seem incredible after 3 open-bar receptions and a night out with politicos.

As Chance would have it, a woman in a fine coat was taking a corgi out for a late-night walk along this building at the same time, and Ryan and Elaine noticed. “Oh my god a corgiiiiiiiieeeeeeiiieeiee!!” they screamed as we all pounced on the dog. The flurry of shouting and baby talk was actually met with a happy invitation to play with the excited dog. Of course we did, and the pup just ate it up.

“Oh look at you, you’re so cute! And such a little attention whore, aren’t you!” Ryan exclaimed at the corgi rolled around on its back, pretentiously.

“Oh, he is such an attention whore!” the woman laughed. “He does this all the time.”

Meg eventually looked to Elaine, smirking. “Wouldn’t it just be great if this were Sutter?” she said not-quite-quietly and everyone laughed. This was Elaine’s dream, of course. “He is so adorable. So what’s his name?” She asked.

“Sutter.”

“Wait…… like the governor’s dog Sutter?”

“Well, he IS the governor’s dog Sutter.”

@__@

"... ... ... OMG YOU’RE SUTTER!!!!!” Everyone went crazy, and I’m absolutely certain we looked nothing less than crazy to this poor woman standing next to us. It took a few moments for someone to ask the obvious question. “So why are you out this late walking the dog? Like, how do you know Jerry Brown?”

“Oh, I’m his wife.”

We stared at her. And then suddenly, a photo clipping of her face from an article I once read popped into my mind. Yep, it was her.

This was very exciting and all, but when you recognize the First Dog before the First Lady, and the First Lady is also effectively the Governor’s Chief of Staff, and it’s very late at night and you’re trying to get home, there’s not a lot you can do to recover a sense of professionalism. But fortunately, she thought our resulting shock and fumbling of gracious words were hilarious.

"So lemme guess, you're out here this late to avoid the paparazzi that love your dog?" Dani laughed.

"Well, yes. That was the idea."

"And then you ran in to us? Lucky you!"

"Oh, so it would seem...".

League of Cities! or "9 Fellows... (Pt. 2)"

The bus was delayed. BART rail to Walnut Creek was delayed. The ride from Walnut to Creek to Sacramento SHOULD have been delayed, but somehow Marielle, Eliot, Whitney and I made it through any traffic and across the Central Valley in an hour 0_O thanks Rocco!

All of the fellows were booked for one room in a huge 1880’s Victorian home-turned-to-hostel just a few blocks from the Capital building. Way back in the day it was owned by a wealthy family making bank on the industries sprouting up around the Gold Rush, but it was later purchased by a hostel company and moved a few blocks down the road (yeah, that’s right. The whole thing.), perhaps because buying another building and simply keeping it on its foundation would have cost too much. Our check-in lasted about 5 minutes – hardly enough time for a superfast suit-up – and then we were off to the California League of Cities.

The League stands up to state government tyranny!

Defends the Integrity of Redevelopment Agencies!

Protects the way of the public sector lobbying institutions!

And fights for the good of all Cities! (except for Vernon. They actually want to dis-incorporate Vernon.) *(1)

The League today is essentially a government PAC. Ideally it consolidates the interests of over 480 member cities in California, and affects issues that impact those members through the state's legislative process and rule-making bodies. LoCAC also offers consultation and expertise to these institutions on matters affecting local government, as well as to each other. In reality Los Angeles, San Francisco and - oh, let's say El Cerrito - differ on a lot of issues. The 10 largest cities are permanent members of the Board, but each municipality gets one vote in their general Assembly. This makes for some good arguments about state priorities.

Our speaker laid out 3 critical areas of an effective organization in their field:

The Heretic, or "9 Fellows Walk Into a Bar... (Pt.1)"

The air was crisp, and dark, and it bit at my fingers.

My fingers, as it happens, were decisively wrapped about the handle of a wheelie-bag filled with expensive clothing, while the rest of me just waited for a bus. My mind was sloshing around some part of my brain trying to avoid the idea of “morning”. It was succeeding splendidly, as there was certainly no sunlight to argue otherwise. And everything was damp.

And so, I sat at my favorite bus stop on a Tuesday morning with a valuable suitcase, slowly collecting dew, staring at a spot of coffee I had spilled on the bag and trying to avoid eye contact with the homeless man next to me as the digital display informing passengers how soon the bus would arrive counted upwards. I was concerned because the bag wasn’t really mine, per se, and because the generic, scruffy San Franciscan homeless man seemed more interested in the bag than anything else.

The bus eventually came 15 minutes late. I stepped through the doorway and thought of my poor little breakfast sandwich sitting on a plate in my apartment, all alone with no one to eat it, forgotten and abandoned by its creator. I frowned.

I swiped my MUNI card and trundled toward the back of the bus, and only then did I realize – despite the fact I had sneaked in just 3 hours of sleep before my alarm went off (thus denoting, obviously, that it was very, very early) – that this bus was inexplicably packed to the brim with strangers.

WHY?!!

This seemed nothing short of an insurmountable challenge as my eyes still squinted from the brightness of the lights. I turned back in the off-chance that a new seat had just appeared in the doorway behind me by some impossible magical means, but my eyes fell only upon the scruffy man, who had mysteriously produced an enormous orange in his hands. His eyes met mine and he gestured toward me with a piece of the orange, palm up, as though an offering. I waived my own hand passively and shook my head at the fruit. Scruffy was suddenly very upset, his eyes widening and disbelief filling his gaze. He had not been offering me the orange at all, I would shortly learn, but was gesturing for me to move forward; and yet I can only reason that my denial of this treat that he was not even offering to begin with was so audacious to this man that it was an affront to his very being. He exited the bus two stops later, shouting and cursing and glaring at me the whole while with shifty, focused eyes fit for a confrontation with heresy.

Thus began my journey to Sacramento. . . .