Otis White

The skills and strategies of civic leadership

A Reservoir for Civic Progress

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If you want to see how civic projects can move communities forward, take a look at the Bridge Center in Baton Rouge, La. Or, at least, at what it will be when it opens next year.

The Bridge Center will be a place for people suffering from mental illness or substance abuse, and, in particular, an alternative to police and EMTs taking them to jail or an emergency room. This “third option,” as advocates like to call it, should bring a cascade of benefits: relieving overcrowding at emergency rooms and the county jail while dealing with the region’s addiction and mental illness issues more humanely and productively.

It will even be easier for the cops. Processing a prisoner at the county jail can take an hour’s time or more; waiting at an emergency room can take even longer. The Bridge Center’s aim: Complete the handoff in 15 minutes. And did I mention that it will save money? One study estimated that the Bridge Center will save up to $55 million in its first decade over incarceration or emergency room treatment. Little wonder then that nearly every public official, from the mayor to the county coroner, supported it.

But it’s also an example of how hard such things can be. The project began five years ago when a group of law enforcement officials, mental-health advocates, public-health experts, judicial-system leaders, and elected officials met to study Baton Rouge’s problems and identify solutions. Experts from around the country were brought in. There were group visits to a center in San Antonio, Texas, that became the Bridge Center’s model.

A clinical-design team outlined a series of services the Bridge Center could offer and how they could work together. A study suggested how the center might be funded. A nonprofit board was assembled that included the district attorney, the sheriff, mental-health care advocates, physicians, and other stakeholders.

With this mountain of testimonials, documentation, near-unanimous political support, heartrending stories of loved ones lost in the jail, and favorable news coverage, supporters asked voters in December 2016 for a modest tax increase to get the center started. They said no. It took two more years and a massive citizen-engagement effort to get a different result. Last December, voters in East Baton Rouge Parish, where Baton Rouge is located, finally said yes to a 1.5-mil increase in property taxes. Looking back, local officials are convinced the Bridge Center was worth the effort. “It was absolutely a step forward,” says Mayor Sharon Weston Broome.

Then again, local government leaders could afford to be patient with the slow pace. They have an ally, an organization that managed the Bridge Center proposal from first meeting through months of research and two referendums and will stick with it through ribbon-cutting: the Baton Rouge Area Foundation (BRAF), a community foundation that has evolved into a kind of research and development center for civic progress. BRAF’s fingerprints are on numerous projects, from a plan for downtown Baton Rouge to a nature center that takes visitors into a Louisiana swamp. It is trying to launch passenger rail service from Baton Rouge to New Orleans. And this is just a partial list.

By managing so many civic projects, BRAF applies the lessons of one initiative to the next. (One lesson: Don’t take referendums for granted.) Along the way, it has gained a reputation for getting things done, which opens even more doors. As foundation President John Davies says, “When the Baton Rouge Area Foundation asks people to come to a meeting, they will usually come.” And these advantages grow over time. While elected leaders come and go, BRAF Executive Vice President John Spain notes, “we are consistently here.”

Mayor Broome is a fan. “We are extremely fortunate to have a strong foundation like BRAF in our community,” she says. Still, she’s careful to add that the foundation doesn’t dictate to local government; it collaborates. As she sees it, the city and the foundation are “co-creators” of civic progress.

I’ve seen other organizations play this R&D role in a community, at least for a while. Typically, it is a business group such as a chamber of commerce. Occasionally, a university will step up. But most communities have no organized way of learning how civic progress works. They depend on extraordinary leaders (some elected, most not) to figure things out. And here’s the problem with that: In a lifetime, an extraordinary leader may take on one or two big civic projects before drifting out of civic work. When she leaves, her knowledge, skills, and relationships leave with her.

So you may want to ask: How does my community pass civic knowledge from one leader to the next? How do leaders build relationships? How do good ideas find funding? How do they survive disappointments?

If there isn’t an organization or at least a process for learning from successful projects and storing civic knowledge, good ideas may come like rain striking parched ground. They make a splash, raise hopes and then evaporate. Is it time to build a reservoir?

A version of this posting appeared on the Governing website.

Photo by Charley Lhasa licensed under Creative Commons

How a Leader Assembles a Winning Team

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The Buffalo Niagara Medical Campus in Buffalo, New York is so successful today, it’s hard to imagine it didn’t always exist. But it dates only to 2002, when five institutions agreed to collaborate in planning their adjacent properties and recruiting others to join them on the 120-acre campus.

How successful has BNMC been? Matt Enstice, its president and CEO, recites the numbers off the top of his head: from 4.5 million square feet in 2002 to 9 million today; from 7,500 employees to 16,000; from five institutions to nine anchor institutions plus 150 nonprofits and companies. Fueling all this has been $1.4 billion in private and public investment.

So when Enstice and others began talking about the campus idea in 1999, everyone could see its merits, right? Well, no. The five original institutions, which included a hospital, a cancer research and treatment center, a university, an independent research institute, and a large medical practice, didn’t exactly oppose the idea but weren’t convinced it would work, either.

“It took a huge amount of volunteer time,” to get the medical campus idea off the ground, said one of the founders, Tom Beecher, an attorney and veteran civic leader. Assurances were made to the institutions: This would not be a governance organization and would not replace existing boards. Skeptical neighborhood organizations had to be convinced that these institutions would welcome their ideas. Foundations and political interests had to be persuaded.

And then there was the sheer weight of cynicism. You see, the idea of a medical campus in Buffalo wasn’t a new one in 1999. It had been tried before. Several times. At one point Enstice gathered all the failed plans. “I had a stack of plans up to my waist,” he remembers, “and I’m six feet tall.”

So how did Enstice, Beecher, then-Mayor Anthony Masiello, and consultant Richard Reinhard turn the idea of a collaborative, entrepreneurial medical campus from repeated failure to success?

They did it the way great civic leaders always do these things: They saw the way forward, creating not just a plan but a strategy. That’s a critical distinction. Lots of people, it seems, are good at creating plans, but it’s a rare leader who knows how to move from plan to reality.

This was the case in Buffalo in the 1990s, where many could see the city’s needs. (A big one: What could replace our fading manufacturing economy?) Some could even see solutions. (How about building around one of our bright spots, the city’s medical and biosciences economy . . . perhaps by centering it in a campus?)

But only an experienced and respected leader could see how to put the pieces together by assembling a team of planners, advocates, and strategists, anticipating the objections they would face, shaping the arguments, finding money for starting the effort, identifying early wins, and building momentum.

Fortunately, Buffalo had such a leader in Mayor Masiello. His talents lay in three areas: He had relationships with the right people, he knew how government worked and what it could do, and he was a natural cheerleader.  He also had a good sense of timing. He recognized that, in 1999, there were changes at the top of the medical community, so there was a little more openness to trying something new.

His first step was probably the most important one. Masiello picked the right people for this project. Beecher had deep relationships in the philanthropic and health care communities (he had chaired one of the hospital boards). Enstice and Reinhard, who had been Masiello’s chief of staff, were natural organizers with a deep understanding of communities. And Masiello was comfortable leading from behind, as cheerleader, early funder, and remover of political obstacles.

Along the way these four made smart tactical choices. Example: How they invited people into the planning effort. Their rule: You could participate only if you brought money, which they called “skin in the game.” This built commitment to the project and cleared out the time-wasters and political hangers-on who had bogged down earlier efforts. Another example: When they created the BNMC board, they suggested each of the large institutions have two representatives, one of whom must be the institution’s chair. Their thinking: While the CEO would be focused on the institution, the chair would have a longer, broader view of the city’s wellbeing. Again, it built commitment to the idea of a collaborative campus.

There were a half-dozen other things the team did well, from finding and exploiting early “wins” to involving the neighborhoods in exactly the right way. Knowing that Buffalo was, as Masiello puts it, a “seeing-is-believing town,” they led leadership tours of successful medical campuses around the country.

But none of this would have been possible without the decisions made early on by Mayor Masiello: When is the right time to get started? Who are the right people to lead this effort? What obstacles will they face? And what can I do to help them succeed?

A version of this posting appeared on the Governing website.

Photo of the medical campus and downtown Buffalo, courtesy of the Buffalo Niagara Medical Campus.

A Better Way to Teach Civic Leadership

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If I could change things in cities . . . well, the list would be long. But one item in the top 10 would be making community leadership programs better at doing what they set out to do—train people in civic leadership.

I come to my criticism with respect for these programs and some knowledge. I’ve spoken to dozens of civic leadership programs in the last 35 years. I’ve studied them on behalf of a foundation. I’m an alumnus of two leadership programs myself. And I’m a member of the national Association of Leadership Programs.

I’m impressed by the people who participate in the programs and those who run them. The participants are exactly who you’d hope they would be: people in their 30s and 40s who are ready to step up to civic leadership and eager to learn how. The program managers often do their jobs with the skimpiest of resources.

And perhaps it’s too much to think people would emerge from these programs ready to lead. We don’t expect brand new college graduates to be fully accomplished in their professions. Surely civic leadership demands the same level of on-the-job learning as the law, medicine, or city planning.

And, yet, I think community leadership programs could do better.

Their greatest limitation is their structure. Most programs are nine-month affairs with monthly meetings, starting or closing with a retreat. In these sessions, the programs try to shoehorn two massive courses of study. The first is what is called “community awareness,” which is an introduction to the community’s issues and processes. So a class of 40 might visit the courts to learn how the criminal-justice system works, a charity hospital to learn about health issues, or the mayor’s office to learn the ins and outs of local government.

On top of this, some programs layer a second set of courses dealing with leadership skills. They might include sessions on diversity, team building, group facilitation, or conflict resolution—all things civic leaders need to know to be effective.

That’s a huge amount of learning for nine sessions. At the end, graduates are given a certificate, a better grasp of the community’s issues, a new set of friends and contacts, and an exhortation to get involved. Then it’s time for the leadership program to choose the next class of 40.

What more could a leadership program do? After all, participants’ time is limited (most have demanding jobs). The fees they pay barely cover expenses. Few of these programs have other financial resources.

Answers: You could stretch the learning process and take on a third level of leadership training. To do all this, you need to create a graduate program that invites alumni to return regularly and deepen their learning.

What would they learn in these sessions? They’d learn about strategy. In the community context, this means where you get started with change, how you overcome the obstacles you’re sure to face, and how you assemble the team and resources for the journey.

Where could a cash-strapped leadership program find people to teach this? All around. In every city, there are veteran leaders who would be delighted to explain how they mounted a successful referendum, raised money for building a museum, or took on a major community problem like homelessness. Oddly enough, they’re rarely asked about these things.

Leadership programs are the natural homes of this transfer of knowledge. And by bringing graduates back on a regular basis for “how to” seminars, the programs could increase their worth to their communities, deepen alumni support, and offer new opportunities for philanthropic and business sponsorships.

More important, when you hear enough of these stories of successful change, you notice they have common elements. That’s because in every city there is a path to success, a way good ideas become reality. Collect the stories, mark the path, and in no time the leadership program could do more than educate would-be leaders and award them certificates. It could offer them guidebooks.

A version of this posting appeared on the Governing website.

Photo by Josh Hallett licensed under Creative Commons.

Return to Sender

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In February 1945, John Gunther sat at Fiorello La Guardia’s elbow for eight hours and 20 minutes and watched him work. Gunther was a famous journalist. La Guardia was New York’s mayor and was even more famous—a short, profane whirling dervish of energy and ideas.

La Guardia did not disappoint. As Gunther watched, the mayor made decisions in machine-gun fashion, riffling through letters and reports on his desk, barking at his three secretaries, interrogating subordinates. He even found time to hold a press conference while seated at his desk.

No item, it seemed, was too small for La Guardia’s attention. When the president of the New York Board of Education dropped by, he grilled her about lunchroom decorum, personnel transfers (he told her he would handle one of them personally), and pay raises. They argued a while about whether an administrator should get a $500-a-year raise . . . or a $1,000 raise. At La Guardia’s insistence, he got $500.

Gunther was stunned. As he wrote later, “Mr. La Guardia really runs the entire machinery of New York City, in all its dazzling complexity, singlehandedly.”

Some regard Fiorello La Guardia as America’s greatest mayor ever. Maybe, but he was a terrible manager. If you are a mayor, agency director, or someone managing a complex civic project, think carefully about La Guardia’s management style—and then run from it as fast and far as possible.

That’s because La Guardia was what we would call today a “micromanager,” and by inserting himself into so many decisions he undermined those who worked for him. In short, we don’t need mayors or top administrators to be involved in minutia. We need them to make strategic decisions that bring major results.

So consider this two-part test next time you’re handed an issue: Can this decision be made at a lower level by those who will be directly involved in its implementation? And if the decision is made at that level, is it likely to affect other interests? If the answer to the first question is yes and the answer to the second is no, then your response should be, “That’s for you to decide.” If the answer to the second question is yes, your response should be: “Pull together a group to make this decision and make sure these people are involved.” Have a nagging sense that something might go wrong? Then add: “And when you reach a decision, run it past me.”

Pushing decision making to the appropriate level is one of the most important things a manager can do for three reasons. First, all things being equal, it will result in better decisions. Believe it or not, teachers and cafeteria workers know more about lunchroom decorum than mayors. It makes sense, then, to have those closest to decisions—especially those who’ll implement them—involved in the solutions.

Second, it forces you to think about decision making as a process and not just an act. And the more you think about the process, the better you can teach it to others. As you push decisions down, remind your managers of how good decisions are reached: with the right information, the right people, the right decision-making processes. Show them how to keep discussions open and frank, to consult widely about possible solutions, and to consider testing solutions before fully implementing them.

Finally, pushing decisions down puts the emphasis where it should be, on hiring and training the right people. You cannot run a driver’s license bureau, a downtown redevelopment project, or the entire government of New York City by yourself. But you can, over time, staff it with good managers who’ll make good decisions because they learned how to do so . . . from you.

A version of this posting appeared on the Governing website.

Photo by Bill Smith licensed under Creative Commons.

The Loneliness of the Courageous Leader

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Of all the things required to be a good leader in a community, here’s the one that is least discussed: courage. One reason is that it sounds so wildly out of proportion. Courage is what soldiers and fire fighters have; it’s not something we normally expect of mayors, council members, city managers, business leaders, and concerned citizens.

But should we? Courage is the mastery of fear in the service of something worthy. Physical courage in facing enemy fire or entering a burning building fits the definition. But so does social courage, which involves facing the disapproval of those we care about. This is the kind of courage that is important to communities.

That’s because, on occasion, we need respected leaders, motivated not by anger or vanity but by love, to tell us things we don’t want to hear. When time proves these leaders right, we have a special place for them in our civic memories. These are the people for whom statues are erected and streets named.

There are times when courageous leaders come forward in groups. Here in Atlanta, it was the 1950s and 1960s, when the city confronted racial segregation and, with great difficulty, defeated it. Some of these leaders became national figures—Martin Luther King, Jr., Andrew Young, Ralph Abernathy—while others are remembered mostly in Atlanta: William B. Hartsfield, Ralph McGill, Donald Hollowell, Jacob Rothschild, Eugene Patterson, Ivan Allen, Jr.

Most times, though, courageous leaders step up alone or in twos and threes, which makes their work especially lonely. Where do you see this courage?

One is in the lonely advocate, the person who sees the future more clearly than others and withstands ridicule or censure in pointing it out. The leaders of Atlanta in the 1950s and 1960s were examples. But so was Victor Steinbreuck, an architect who became in the 1960s a clarion voice for saving the buildings that made Seattle special. He became a writer and organizer, but he was also unafraid of leading protest marches. If you’ve enjoyed Pike Place Market, you can thank Victor Steinbreuck. He was instrumental in saving it from the wrecking ball.

Then there’s the opposite of the lonely advocate, the lonely opponent. This is the leader who asks us not to step forward but to step back from some action that is popular and emotionally satisfying but wrong. Take 15 minutes to read the extraordinary story of Greggor Ilagan, the young Hawaiian county council member who could not give into something his most vocal constituents wanted—and you’ll see what I mean.

Finally, there’s the lonely leader, a person who takes on a nightmare issue with no clear solutions because it’s important and no one else is stepping forward. Cook County Board President Toni Preckwinkle has done this several times in her remarkable career, including in 2013 in dealing with jail overcrowding in Chicago.

I can’t tell you where the courage of these leaders comes from. Probably from somewhere deep inside. But I can tell you what separates them from the obstinate, for which they are sometimes mistaken.

First, as I’ve already mentioned, courageous leaders act out of love, not egotism. They genuinely want to help their city with a problem that needs solving or help citizens avoid a terrible mistake. And they act reluctantly. Compare this to gadflies and political mavericks. They have no reluctance to stand against the majority; that’s their “brand.” And their actions aren’t expressions of love; they are part of their branding.

Second, the courageous ones are those who’ve studied the issue thoroughly and listened to people respectfully. That, too, is a sign of love. They are not going to put their community through the stress of controversy if it can be avoided.

Finally, time proves the courageous right. This may be a comfort to those who’ve lost their jobs because they stood for the right things, stood against the wrong, or shouldered the burdens the rest of us shirk.

Then again, perhaps these remarkable leaders don’t need comforting. After all, they have courage.

A version of this posting appeared on the Governing website.

Photo by jridgewayphotography licensed under Creative Commons.

About Otis White

Otis White is president of Civic Strategies, Inc., a collaborative and strategic planning firm for local governments and civic organizations. He has written about cities and their leaders for more than 30 years. For more information about Otis and his work, please visit www.civic-strategies.com.

The Great Project

Otis White's multimedia book, "The Great Project," is available on Apple iTunes for reading on an iPad. The book is about how a single civic project changed a city and offers important lessons for civic leaders considering their own "great projects" . . . and for students in college planning and political science programs.

For more information about the book, please visit the iTunes Great Project page.

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