The Benevolent Order of Decent Neighbors Hanging Out Together And Building A Better World

Wish-casting a nation of Elks Lodges For All

Elks Lodge, Twin Falls, Idaho

Bear with me, because I’m going to ask you to do some mental work here. I’d like you to picture a physical space that I imagine exists not far from where you live. An abandoned building perhaps, or an empty lot. I’m talking about actual spaces, though we’ll get to the fantasy element shortly. Depending on where you call home, you may be imagining a Rockwellian Main Street or the first floor of a massive tower or retail frontage in an under-utilized strip mall. Personally, I’m picturing a crumbling down commercial property not far from my house. It used to be a glass repair store, though you wouldn’t know it from the kaleidoscopic cracks in its windows. It’s on two bus lines and opens up to a walkable streetscape. Long ago, it anchored a bustling streetcar interchange. Today, it’s one stiff wind away from collapse. But it could be something. Oh man, it could be something.

Keep thinking about that space. Ideally, you’re imagining some place that wouldn’t be hard for people in your community to find. “Remember the old Albertson’s?” you could say, and your neighbors would nod. How big does it need to be? Well, that depends, but not enormous. When we get done with it, accessibility will matter more than aesthetics, but the finished product should be a place that people enjoy spending time. We’re not trying to win Architectural Digest awards, but the chairs should be comfortable.

Now that you have the space in mind, let’s get to work filling it with your neighbors. There should be a big room where people gather regularly. Like a sanctuary, though it won’t be affiliated with any religious group. There should be classrooms as well, some of them well appointed for babies and toddlers and kids of all ages, others standing ready for adults to gather around tables with pastries. Oh, there should be a kitchen, and all the appliances need to work. The pantry should be well-stocked, and not just with decades-old Coffeemate canisters. No permanent bar, as that would leave out a folks who need the space, but I imagine that some gatherings would allow carry-ins. A good time should be had here, you see, in so many ways. If it’s a really big building, there might be a gym, but that’s not a requirement.

At this point, you may be wondering whether this space already exists in your community. Perhaps it does, and if so I’d love to hear about it. I suspect not, though. I’m not talking about a nonprofit that talks a big game about renting its office out for others. I’m not talking about a “wraparound social services hub.” To be honest, I’m not talking about anything with an annual report. I’m talking about a common answer to the question, “what’s the best place in this town?”

Back to the imagining. I don’t want to put too many parameters on you, but it’s important that there be a front desk, and that it be staffed by some absolute heroes. People who have dreamt of a job like this. People who light up when they see new and old faces alike. People who know the ins and outs of your town— where to get help, from whom to get it, how to problem solve when the usual solutions aren’t working.

Speaking of people, a few months ago, I posed another hypothetical. That one was about what could be true if the most caring members or your community all knew each other. Here’s who I wished might find each other, at long last…

…the high school teacher whom all the queer and trans kids come out to/the Grandma who keeps an eye on the street that outsiders decry as too dangerous, too hood, too far gone/the domestic violence center’s most committed volunteer/the mom or dad from your nearest elementary school that the other parents text on their lowest days/the music-obsessed kid putting on the basement punk shows/everybody’s favorite colleague at the local factory, nursing home, Taco Bell and call center/the elders who show up every week at the soup kitchen/the watchdogs who attend all of the boring, non-incendiary city council and school board meetings/the person in your nearest faith community that the imam, rabbi, minister or priest identifies as the “true soul” of their congregation/the clinic escort who shows up on the rainiest days/the owner of the small business that everybody in town would be most heartbroken to lose/the person that new immigrants turn to when they first arrive/the neighbors who organize the beloved annual block parties/the gardener who tends to an otherwise vacant lot/the elected official who actually follows up with attendees at public meeting/the person you first texted when the results were final…

One of the many reasons these people often don’t all know each other, at least right now, is that it’s hard— given the blurry concentric circles of their lives— for them to ever find themselves organically in the same physical space. And so we’re back in our imaginary social hall again. What would it take to draw those folks in, not just once, but over and over again? What space would be so magnetic that it would feel like home for those who offer that feeling to others?

No really, keep imagining the answer to that question. What would it take for the space to feel like a joy rather than a chore? Those child care rooms would have to be staffed by people who your and your neighbors’ kids absolutely adored, the food would have to be plentiful and ready right around supper time, the checkers and chess sets in the cupboards would need to have all their pieces. The technology would have to work well and consistently enough to truly integrate those for whom the physical space itself wasn’t an option, but who crave community just as badly. The gatherings would have to happen at any number of hours.

What would the space be for? Would it be political or social? Closer to an Oddfellows Lodge or a Democratic Socialists meeting? Would the job of the space to elect dream candidates to City Council or to simply make people feel less lonely? Why can’t it be both? Or, better put, how can the most beautiful version of the social club which I now very much hope you’re imagining not help but be both?

I’m not avoiding the “what should the space be about?” question, I swear. But forgive me, if you will, another hypothetical. Let’s say that, a few years into its new life as a community hub, a newcomer asked “so what’s this all about?” You answer, without hesitation, “it’s a space for belonging, in every sense of the word— we want everybody to belong inside its walls, and we want to transform our town so that we all belong everywhere.” For that answer to be true, what would be happening every day in that space? Likely so much. DJ nights and AA meetings and woodworking classes and spades games, sure, but also direct action trainings and base camps for deep canvassing shifts.

I’m sharing those two poles— the social and the political— as if they are dichotomous. They aren’t, of course. As the recent documentary Join or Die points out, the group that hosted Frederick Douglas for his famous “what to the slave is the Fourth of July?” speech was the Rochester Ladies Anti-Slavery Sewing Society. None of us are just one thing. But I hope, as you imagine this space, that you keep the front door open for people who don’t yet share your politics. Sure, for recruitment, but not just for that. We all deserve a home base. If your building’s Fellowship Hall is large enough, I would love for it to host your nearest high school’s Gay-Straight Alliance and its junior prom.

If it’s not already clear, I want you to imagine a space that you’d flock to, and that you can imagine others flocking to as well. I want you to imagine crowds of people so in love with your Elks Lodge For All that the fascists are left scratching their heads.

“I thought we’d win if we kept preaching fear,” I want the fascists to bemoan. “We never thought that the people might want to love each other instead.”

They wouldn’t say that out loud, the fascists. Not even in our imaginations. That’s too much self-reflection from that lot. They’d feel it though. Oh God they’d feel it. In the sparseness of the crowds, and the overflow of ours.

Speaking of which, imagine ordering more chairs. You’ll need them before too long.

Oh my God, I am sure you have questions. Even when we’re day dreaming, it’s impossible to keep the practical implications at bay. You’re wondering “if this really is a new thing, how do I get people to understand that it’s not just another nonprofit?” Good question, and likely one that, if you were to answer it thoughtfully, would make the space even stronger. “But how can I be sure to keep the space safe from conflict or drama or neglect?” You won’t, I can assure you. We’re building a real shared project between human beings, not a fairyland. But if we do it right, it’ll be a space so beautiful and important enough that— even in its toughest moments—- will inspire people to puzzle through its messes together.

But what about money? All this sounds expensive, right? Oh yes, most definitely, and the honest answer is that if these places ever exist they’ll have to be funded in all sorts of ways. On one hand, it’s important for us to imagine membership spaces that— like so many of the strongest third spaces through history— thrive thanks to dues and tithing. A space like the one you deserve will likely require more than just a few annual passes of the hat, though. And yes, part of writing this half-baked provocation in public is to plant a quixotic flag in the ground. Do I believe that there are far worse ways that left-leaning philanthropists, foundations and bleeding heart rich people could be spending their money right now? Yes, especially if the alternative is those soulless Democratic consultants keep preaching the gospel of reactionary centrism and moral equivocation. But if big funders want to support a space like this, they’ll be taking a risk. We’re not in performance metric land here. We’re experimenting out loud.

So yes, I’m trying to spur all sorts of people’s imagination here, including people with access to money (as well, of course, people with access to time or voluminous networks or the kind of smarts and elbow grease to take abstract sketches and make them into blueprints). But I don’t mean it just for the well resourced and connected. It would be a great tragedy if any of you read all this and conclude “that sounds great, but I’ll wait until somebody does the work for me.” That’s not the point.

Let’s say you had a space. And a crew. And enough cash and time to make it happen. What would you build? And then, once you’ve imagined all that, let’s scale it back. Let’s say you don’t have the space or the crew or the cash. You just have your living room, or the park down the street, or a pilfered Zoom login. Let’s say you don’t have an expansive network of rabble rousers at your disposal, just a few friends. Let’s say you’re super broke. Or way too busy. But you still can’t quite shake this idea. A clubhouse, but without a closed door. A benevolent society, except truly benevolent. A home base that you can’t wait to share with the world.

I’m not writing this to pitch you on my idea. I’m writing it to hear what it makes you imagine.

What would your space be? What would we be so lucky if it were to exist? And what help do you need to make it a reality?

Miners Union Hall, Virginia City, Nevada

End notes:

1. Speaking of dues, I don’t pretend that anything I do here— the writing or the organizing or the coaching— is as meaningful as the kind of spaces you deserve to have in your community. But, I hope it’s a step towards that. And if that is the case, even though I know these are not easy times financially for so many of us, if you do have a few bucks to kick in to keep this space running, it means a ton (not just to me, but to those who can’t afford to support themselves).

2. I mentioned this last week, but because I really appreciate the support, I’m experimenting with new ways to say thanks. One of them (coming soon) is a raffle for paid subscribers. A limited number of t-shirts and totes (mugs too? maybe mugs, but definitely shirts and totes). Here’s the design. I’m biased, but I think it’s rad. Paid subscribers hang tight; details coming your way soon.

3. One promise I’ll make to you: Don’t worry, President Trump. I will always be a good steward of readers’ donations. I won’t buy myself 30 dolls, and will keep my pencil stockpiles in check. Two dolls, that’s all I need. Maybe three max.

4. New Barnraisers cohorts (which will be a bit different— less a class than a smaller accountability/support/work group for people trying to sustain community spaces) coming soon. If you’re on the interest list, you’ll get all the details right quick.

5. This week’s “Trump and Musk don’t care about you sticker in the wild” comes from Georgia, where it was placed on a dumpster that (like so many dumpsters) spends a week or so in one place before being moved to another. I love imagining it trekking between Georgia construction sites. I’ve been calling it the “stickerhood of the traveling dumpster” and no I won’t apologize.

   Also, I finally worked my way through most of the sticker requests, so I’m dropping the link again. Want a free sticker? Promise to put it up somewhere where people don’t already share your politics? Don’t mind being patient with me if I take a while getting it out to you? Cool!

5. As far as song writer’s go, John K Samson is way overrepresented, both in White Pages songs of the week and in my own heart. But listen, it’s a good week for Winnipeg. The Jets won their first round series, in spite of themselves; Leah Gazan held her seat; and this song remains the best depiction of a communal organization put to music. Manitoba readers, how’s that for representation in a U.S. based newsletter?

   Oh, the song? “Psalm for the Elks Lodge Last Call” by the Weakerthans.

   The full song of the week playlist (which I need to update) is on Apple Music and Spotify.