Community Conversations

Winter Conflicts

A position paper by Dr. Deland S. Anderson regarding Community Conversations held at the Pratt Museum on 17 January 2003.

Alaskans have an opinion about everything — especially in the winter. Cabin fever leads to feelings of monumental boredom, grumpiness, and whining. Fractiousness and muckraking emerge in the community. Ordinary citizens become rumormongers and snipes. Why do we do this to one another, year in and year out? How are we to sort out genuine issues to fight for from those better left alone? Twenty-five people came to the Pratt Museum to explore this theme. Right away one pioneer pointed out that this is not a phenomenon unique to Homer and Kachemak Bay: throughout Alaska one can find long-standing personal feuds, a general distrust of government, and an alarming incidence of domestic abuse. Despite this rather ponderous entrée, healing prevailed, as old axes were buried, conflict avoidance techniques were shared, and a few chuckles were had over long ago flaps that now seem just plain silly.

Initially our task was to sort out winter conflicts from others. As facilitator, Deland Anderson outlined various sorts of conflicts that are woven into the warp and woof of our community fabric. Some clearly are seasonal, recurring yearly. Others represent onetime crises, coming and going without predictability. Still others seem to worm their way into our hearts and create long-standing rifts in the community. And then there is that special class of conflicts that some locals refer to as the “February Follies.” These seem to be triggered by darkness and cold and inactivity.

We surveyed examples of each of these types, and reflected on their causes and effects in the community. Instances of passing seasonal conflicts include those between moose hunters and landowners—issues of trespass and access to game bristle with harsh value judgments, each side claiming the high moral ground. Clearly, increasing development along the Homer bench infringes on traditional hunting grounds. But so too does the establishment of game reserves or corridors. On the other hand, blatant disregard by hunters of the wishes of landowners result in public displays and much name calling.

Serious disputes arise during the summer months between four-wheeler enthusiasts and local landowners. Legal cases are filed over the rights to established trails that pass through the middle of someone’s property. Instances have occurred where frustrated landowners have strung cables or other hazardous obstacles across trails to discourage use or even to mete out punishment. One local man remains a paraplegic after running into a cable strung across the opening to a gravel pit. Fortunately for him, he landed across the cable, pinching off blood vessels. Otherwise he would certainly have died. The case went to court.

Another annual conflict is that between snow machiners and skiers. These two groups get into emotional tussles every year when the snow flies. Skiers label snow machiners as uncouth brutes: they drive their gas-sucking, exhaust-blowing, peace-disturbing petro-toys everywhere without regard to the rights of others. Snow machiners, for their part, dismiss skiers as irredeemable killjoys. While generally this conflict does not become too heated, it can turn ugly. And it has. A couple of years ago, a local madman declared open season on snow machiners, and blazed away for hours with high-powered weapons. Miraculously, no one was injured. Mercifully, the shooter has been relocated behind bars.

Every year in Kachemak Bay we experience a conflict that starts as a slow grumble and ends as an existential moan — its occasion is the coming of the tourist horde. Initially visitors are welcomed with open arms. New faces, fashions, and money help sweep the cobwebs of winter away. We share openly and enthusiastically with these people. We extol the many virtues of our fabulous bay, telling tall tales and even sharing a few local secrets. But by the thousandth visitor we begin to withdraw. By the ten thousandth, our eyes become glazed and our nerves frayed. Road rage in a town of 4,000? Documented! Locals become rude even to one another. And to be a local and to be treated poorly by another local carries a unique sting. Eventually we all begin to long for an end to the season, when we will get our town back, when our bays and coves won’t be filled with fish molesting Outsiders, when our berry patches won’t be overrun with oblivious Cheechakos. When the last motor home disappears over Bay Crest Hill, we rest a while. Often we go Outside. And then we prepare to do it all over again—with gusto.

Finally, one seasonal conflict in recent years has centered upon the process of developing the city budget in Homer. Budget hearings begin in the fall. People prepare to make their cases to the city government. The city manager prepares to inform the people what they cannot have. Lately, the procedure has been a doleful one, as revenues are short and needs great. Competition between city departments, between the city proper and local non-profits, and between various pet capital projects leads to a tense and cynical citizenry. Every year for the past several years, debates have emerged over whether given services or projects are necessary or merely desirable. Should funding, for example, go to a new animal shelter or a new library, to the local college or to hire more city employees, to the Port and Harbor for improvements or to Parks and Recreation for a covered hockey rink and ball fields? A favorite argument is whether plowing snow should take priority over funding some of the more than 55 local area non-profits. Does this suggest that such service organizations should expect a windfall this year, as we have had precious little snow?

A second order of conflict is made up of onetime battles. Though sometimes quite serious at the time, these tend to fade over the years, even bringing a bit of a chuckle, but not all of them. For example, a few years ago a consolidated effort was made to ban jet skis (personal watercraft) from Kachemak Bay. Many reasons were marshaled for this injunction, chief among them being preservation of critical habitat and peace and quiet. The opposition, less well organized, but backed by major industry and local representatives, argued that the other side was attempting to destroy the Constitution. Because this issue was broached at the first sightings of jet skis in the Bay, the ban prevailed, finding the backing of then governor Tony Knowles and other important political leaders and agency heads. The squabble has died down, but one still hears bitter remarks about those who backed the ban. Perhaps this one will never be laughed off. But it is over.

Another flap emerged over a plan to transplant wild Canada geese to the wetlands surrounding the Homer airport. Appeals to common sense, the physics of flight, and the rights of humans over waterfowl were used to flush out the assumptions of zealous bird lovers. Ultimately the initiative was defeated, much to the relief of those who fly in and out of Homer.

Then there have been the occasional battles over artistic expression. Once upon a time, the owners of the Homer Family Theater censored love scenes by placing the lens cap over the projector during the steamy parts! Art is displayed regularly in local businesses around Homer, as for example in the Pratt Museum’s annual kids art jubilee. Openings for adult artists are both formal and informal, the latter popping up just about anywhere--but not in the local post office, not since the debacle of the “pyramids”. Images once displayed in the new post office were deemed to be “satanic” by a local citizen. The artwork came down, and a policy of No Art in the Post Office was announced. Then things began to fall apart. Local youngsters protested by draping blue tarps over a pyramid shaped formation on the bluff on the north side of the bay. Threatened by the symbolism, some residents refused to take dollar bills in trade, as they display the hated image of a pyramid on the reverse. A local purveyor of fine cigars had to discontinue a certain brand because the image of a pyramid on the band caused offense to some vocal residents. Needless to say, during this period, one did not even mention the name of Pythagoras unless one wanted to fight! Another very serious dispute regarding art arose over an outdoor mural. The Club Bar on Pioneer Avenue exhibited an abstract expressionistic piece on its façade depicting male and female figures, both clearly nude. Mild complaints quickly grew into something else. A conservative-minded believer spearheaded local opposition. Hateful words were slung about, including racial slurs. The offender was run out of town — not the artist but the minister! Longtime residents still speak in hushed tones when remembering that incident.

Other conflicts are chronic. They’re not seasonal. They are historical. That is to say, they’re supposed to happen just once. But they keep happening just once over and over again. Issues over resource sharing are of this order. There will never be a final allocation of fish, for example. As long as there are fish in the sea, there will be conflict between the commercial, sport, and subsistence fisher. And this despite the habitual promises of fish managers that they have the final solution. In the past year controversy arose between fish managers and fishers. The issue was a reduced allocation of sport-caught king salmon in Kachemak Bay. The managers’ method was to henceforth count winter kings against the total number of king salmon allowed each year. The response from the fishers was furious: those winter kings had always been for free — they were Canadian fish, not destined for our local spawning streams. It wouldn’t hurt to catch them, they argued, and besides they support a small but vital winter sport fishery. Eventually a compromise was sorted out, but the point should be noted that it is not a final solution, just one more instance of a recurring conflict.

The prime example of recurring conflicts that masquerade as one time occurrences is that between the populace of Kachemak Bay and the state and federal government regarding lease sales for oil and gas development in Cook Inlet, including Kachemak Bay. Hundreds of people have assembled on numerous occasions to protest the sales. The last two hearings have been extremely emotional, grief riddled affairs, as they have post-dated the disaster of the Exxon Valdez oil spill. Many people living here today are as traumatized by that horrendous event as the survivors of the ’64 earthquake were by that cataclysm. They’re changed. They’re marked. It’s like they grew up in a war zone. They are easily shocked by occurrences that trigger memories of the past trauma. Oil and gas lease sales in Cook Inlet are the occasion for these people to relive those awful days. They are the occasion to realize that the damage is still present, that the wounds are still unhealed, that the threat of living it all over again is all too real. And so they fight. They fight the state government. They fight the federal government. They fight the multinational corporations who want to exploit the resources for their own profit. They fight their neighbors who speak out in favor of the corporations, the governments, and eventual degradation of the environment of Kachemak Bay. And they don’t feel hale because of it. And they will never forget that in the long run.

Development issues always cause a ripple around the bay. Obviously, some of them are bigger than others. Currently in Homer a debate is being waged over the relative value of big box stores. Generally consumers welcome the competition and anticipated low prices, while retailers in the area shun them for exactly the same reasons. Meanwhile the City Council can’t make up its mind whether it’s worse to be perceived as anti-development or spineless. However, while retailers and consumers are trying to bend the ear of city government, others are experiencing a growing sense of despair. The Town Square Project, a volunteer-driven attempt to establish open space, parking, and a cultural gathering point for what is now a strung out and ill-planned urban zone in Homer, is facing the prospect of an 80,000 square foot, warehouse style grocery store being plopped down smack dab in the middle of its hopes and dreams.

Homer is also still in the throes of conflict regarding a recent annexation of outlying areas by the city. While annexation is never a smooth process, this one has been horrendous. The city chose a less than fully democratic approach to the need to increase its tax base in the face of declining state revenue sharing. It also made a lot of promises regarding future services to the new areas that people felt it wouldn’t keep. Lastly, it employed thinly veiled threats, saying it would take away services or deny them to non-city residents, though they had customarily made use of them for years. As the number of meetings and hearings mounted, faith and trust eroded. Enemies were made. Power coalitions were formed. People in the middle were in a daze. The Governor and Legislature were called in. Lawsuits were lodged. The City Manager resigned under pressure. And we haven’t heard one good word about any of it, not even if it helped meet the stated objective of increasing the city’s revenues.

In a place where people are free with their opinions and hail from all over the country, differences are bound to become manifest sooner or later. Sometimes these differences are worked out constructively through open debate in public meetings or in the local media. Leo Rhode, a deceased homesteader and State Representative from Kachemak Bay, wrote of a town meeting once held in Homer that had more than 90% of residents in attendance! Longtime local residents recall an interchange in the local paper between a Methodist Minister in Homer and an avid member of the ultraconservative John Birch Society. The debate was carried for some time by the press, and readers throughout the region followed it closely. This sort of debate has become a mainstay of community life in the area. One local media source, the Homer News, is known far and wide for having extremely lively opinion columns and a vital letters section.

But there’s a rub: some people abuse the privilege. Allow me to explain. Someone at the Community Conversation remarked afterward that the dialogue had not been spicy enough. Indeed most people spoke very calmly and quietly with a focus on how to “avoid the drama” of these conflicts. There were no attempts to grind axes or to foment revolutions. Past conflicts were spoken of deferentially, in hushed tones with considerable modesty. Where then were the voices of extremes? We all know they are out there. We even know the short list by heart. Perhaps they had the good manners to stay home and not come out and breed controversy. Perhaps they were all out of town at the same time. Perhaps they were all at a meeting together. But we might suspect something else. Are these recalcitrant letter writers, these call-in chronics, these covert pamphleteers hypocrites? Do they wrap themselves in the First Amendment freedom of speech only to refuse to speak to their fellow citizens face to face? It is probable that they are so deeply anti-social that they can’t get along with anyone, but yet (paradoxically) they expect everybody else to do things their way. But they don’t take the time to build consensus. They lack genuine initiative, vision, and determination. Hence they lack power to merge their will with the will of the people. So they rant and rave, and that is their only outlet: no constructive criticism; no projects; no ideas; no understanding; no tolerance — just a lot of whining, and griping, and hot air. This is how they stand apart, rather than come together. But though they are granted the right to publicly air their empty opinions under the Constitution, we don’t have to like it. Indeed perhaps it is our responsibility to point out to these loners that it is in poor taste to use the First Amendment to bludgeon your neighbor.