By Frank Blechman
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Nearly 60 years ago when I first studied biology, I marveled at the process by which undifferentiated lumps of tissue specialized to do specific functions. Some of those cells developed the structure to exchange gasses between the outside atmosphere and the bloodstream of the body. We call them lungs. Others became eyes, ears, and skin, giving us a way to sense the world around us. We called these specialized tissues “organs.” We called structures with these entities “organizations,” and we called the process of specialization “organizing.” At the time, I was never clear whether the musical instrument (the “organ”) was named after the biological function or the other way around. Either way, the evolution of these functional units fascinated me.
A few years later, I began studying social structures and found that most human institutions followed the same plan. Human, natural, and financial resources were brought in and converted to specialized purposes. Manufacturing businesses had specialized units to plan, finance, research, design, produce, assemble, test, market, transport, sell, and service. For service organizations, the divisions might be different, but the separations were equally sharp and defined. I tried to understand how these separate units, each with their own needs, imperatives, objectives, and measures, could ever work together to complete a complex job. How did real organizations adapt to changing external environments?
That led me to the study of leadership, and that, in time, led me into politics. If it was hard to get parts working together in a structure where the lines of authority (ownership in a for-profit) were stable and clear, how could national goals and objectives ever work in a tumultuous public arena when leadership and priorities could shift every few years?
The United States Navy provided my first formal lesson in organizing. After years of adolescent “aptitude testing,” I discovered that the Navy had a simpler approach: they wrote down how to do every task and told you to follow the steps in order. It didn’t matter if you were an engineer; if a report was needed, you would write it. Nobody would go search for an English major to do the job. And the reverse, somebody needed to run the engines aboard ship: you might be a poet, but you could do the job running the engines. Just follow the book.
The system recognized that there were steps to getting every job done, and that those steps could be broken down, described, and followed. Over time, units that did certain jobs a lot got good at them, and could do them without the book. Even better. But it all started with the clarity of job descriptions and the understanding that creativity was not Job 1.
After the Navy and a stint in journalism, I found myself in Appalachia, working for a social change community-building nonprofit that was as unstructured as the Navy was structured. Yet it turned out that the challenges were the same. I had to help people see that there was a better chance that they could get something done to benefit themselves by working with others, rather than moaning about a problem to themselves, or trying to fight the problem alone. And “working with others” meant that no one person had to do it all. Some people world make posters or flyers inviting people to get involved. Others could get a meeting place. Somebody else could bring cookies. Another could research the issue at hand. These were the nonprofit equivalents of a for-profit organizational chart.
The “Wizard of Oz” rule was also one I came to appreciate. You remember how at the end of the 1939 movie, the Wizard says to the scarecrow, “You wanted a brain, but you have everything you need except the diploma, so now, by the authority vested in me (the great and powerful Oz), I present you this diploma.” And to the lion, “You want courage, but you have everything except the medal, so I will present you with this medal for outstanding courage.” And so on. I discovered that as an organizer, I could give people titles and somehow they became imbued with the legitimacy to take actions they had been afraid to take before.
I learned the “Noah’s Ark” rule: working with volunteers, it was good to have “two of every kind.” Having two or more sharing responsibility meant that more knowledge and energy could to brought to any task. And, inevitably, when life interfered with one volunteer, someone else would be there to step in.
The “Wizard of Oz” rule was also one I came to appreciate. You remember how at the end of the 1939 movie, the Wizard says to the scarecrow, “You wanted a brain, but you have everything you need except the diploma, so now, by the authority vested in me (the great and powerful Oz), I present you this diploma.” And to the lion, “You want courage, but you have everything except the medal, so I will present you with this medal for outstanding courage.” And so on. I discovered that as an organizer, I could give people titles and somehow they became imbued with the legitimacy to take actions they had been afraid to take before.
I “organized” working groups and committees. I helped people with little education or confidence lead organizations that challenged powerful industries and prejudices. I marveled when I saw people taking ideas and skills from our work and applying them in other parts of their lives, at work, in church, at school.
Organizations are smarter and stronger and longer lasting than individual efforts.
And then I saw progressive political actors attack political machines that were closed and corrupt. I personally supported many of those attacks. Here in Virginia, I was proud to see the downfall of the segregationist, elitist Byrd network, creating air for new, diverse voices and interests. Yet at the same time, I recognized that the revolution was not building any new structures to bring people into public life, to train them, to support them. The “Party” and its committees tried to fill some of these gaps, but the confusion about the roles of “campaigns” versus ongoing structures just got worse over time.
“Can you come out and canvass this Saturday?” they ask. Recently, I told a campaign, “I can’t come out this weekend, but I will create a team of five people and assure you that three will come out every weekend until the election.” I thought I was making a pretty good deal. But it turned out that the deal was not in the “organizer’s” vocabulary. “I’ll have to get back to you,” she said.
Today, nearly every political campaign has staff called “organizers.” From what I can tell, they are mobilizers. They recruit people to take on jobs but are building no structures, and empowering no one but themselves. “Can you come out and canvass this Saturday?” they ask. Recently, I told a campaign, “I can’t come out this weekend, but I will create a team of five people and assure you that three will come out every weekend until the election.” I thought I was making a pretty good deal. But it turned out that the deal was not in the “organizer’s” vocabulary. “I’ll have to get back to you,” she said. Two weeks later, I got another call asking me to fill a slot. That campaign never got back to me about my offer to play an ongoing structural role.
Worse, that campaign lost narrowly. The staff left within a week of the election. The volunteers moved on. The candidate was left alone to start all over, considering what to do next, and if another run were in the offing, assembling the team to do the work. In slightly happier cases, I have seen candidates who won, and then tried to represent their “constituents” with no structure to keep them connected to or informed about community concerns, perceptions, or priorities.
I am not proposing that we recreate closed political machines. I am not suggesting that we build cults of personality, around candidates sucking all energy out of other community or advocacy organizations.
I am suggesting that a role exists for ongoing political organizations to recruit, oversee, support, and keep accountable candidates and campaigns. I am suggesting that real organizing still has a role to play. If not, the passions of the moment will always overwhelm our plans and tear us apart.
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