occupy san francisco is meeting in Justin Herman Plaza. The group is engaged in another long and painful consensus meeting, made more painful by a lack of skills on the part of our brave but inexperienced facilitators. I raise my hand and make a suggestion.
“Maybe instead of all of us trying to order the agenda, the facilitators could just take a few minutes and do that for us.”
Behind me, a young man so agitated that he appears to be jumping out of his skin turns and glares at me.
“I haven’t seen you here in the camp before! I don’t see you here at night! Why should we listen to you?” he shouts.
I bite back the retort, “Oh yeah? I haven’t seen you in the forty years I’ve been organizing in this town!”
It wouldn’t do any good. The meeting limps on in its painful way, so...
