Politics roiled a community. It worked to rebuild trust with trash and flowers.
| Washougal and Camas, Wash.
Before the troubles started, Melanie Wilson believed she鈥檇 finally found paradise.聽
She and her husband had moved from Washington, D.C., to Washougal, Washington, in 2019. After the cacophonies of the U.S. capital, they immediately felt at home with tranquil views of the mountains, including the snowcapped peak of Mount Hood in the Oregon distance. Lewis and Clark once camped here on the banks of the Columbia River over two centuries ago. The pace of life here is as unhurried as the logging barges wending through its gorge.
鈥淚鈥檝e been looking for a home my whole life,鈥� Ms. Wilson says of the town of 17,000 people. 鈥淚 want to make friends here. I want to put down roots here.鈥�
Why We Wrote This
A story focused onIt鈥檚 an old story: The nation is politically divided. But one U.S. community is trying to rebuild civic trust one volunteer at a time.
That was five years ago. Then the pandemic hit in March 2020. Two months after that, George Floyd was murdered by Minneapolis police. And the Wilsons鈥� paradise, it seemed, suddenly erupted into the kind of rancor they thought they had left in Washington, D.C.聽
Protests sprang up in the conjoined towns of Washougal and Camas that summer. By August, pro-police rallies were attracting hundreds of supporters waving American flags in support of law enforcement. On opposite sides of the street, half as many counterprotesters hoisted Black Lives Matter signs in a clash of highly charged remonstrations.
The has been called the 鈥渃rossroads to discovery.鈥� Today both towns are at the crossroads of America鈥檚 deepening political and cultural divides. The bedroom communities are just a 30-minute drive west from progressive Portland, Oregon. A few miles to the east, however, horses, cows, and alpacas graze on gentle swells of verdant farmland, scattered with barns and houses displaying enormous signs supporting Donald Trump.
The protests in Washougal and Camas were mostly peaceful. Mostly. The police broke up a couple of push-and-shove scuffles. Demonstrators in pandemic masks chanted 鈥淚 see a racist鈥� at Trump supporters. In one instance, a man driving past the Black Lives Matter protesters threw coffee out the window, drenching an older woman. Some protesters displayed Confederate battle flags. One showed up with a semiautomatic rifle.
Ms. Wilson was getting increasingly worried. Then, at a school board meeting in 2021, the vitriol she鈥檇 been witnessing reached a tipping point, jolting the sense of home that had become so important to her life.
During the meeting, a man stood up and jabbed his finger at the elected officials sitting in front of them. 鈥溾�楥ivil war is almost here. We鈥檙e sharpening our bullets,鈥欌�� Ms. Wilson recalls the man saying. 鈥溾�楧o you people really think you鈥檙e going to win it, the war?鈥欌��
She was startled once again by the crowd鈥檚 response. 鈥淧eople around the room clapped and stamped their feet on the floor,鈥� she says. 鈥淚t seemed to me, that鈥檚 a flashing red warning in a community.鈥�
After the meeting, she began talking to others in the community about the violent rhetoric. She joined a group of citizens in Washougal and Camas to think about how to counter the civic vitriol that seemed to be tearing their community apart.
Over time, she conceived a simple idea: People would gather to pick up trash, together.
Today, Ms. Wilson is the co-founder and of the East County Citizens鈥� Alliance. Its volunteers don鈥檛 chant and shout. They don鈥檛 tote signs and megaphones, let alone AR-15s. What they do carry, however, are seedlings, paintbrushes, and trash bags. One volunteer even brings his tractor.聽
The organization engages in other projects, too, from feeding the hungry to mentoring students. It鈥檚 all in service of an underlying mission: Getting people out of their news silos and partisan bubbles to gather together outside 鈥� their outside, their gorgeous, scenic, pastoral part of the world 鈥� and make an effort to work together and get to know each other.聽
This idea, too, is simple: To fix our politics, we must first mend our culture.
There are groups like Ms. Wilson鈥檚 springing up all over America, in fact. From Wilkesboro, North Carolina, to Madison, Wisconsin, to Compton, California, small bands of volunteers are working to improve their quality of life, not only in their neighborhoods, but also in their hearts.聽
There鈥檚 little glory in it. Sometimes, volunteers may even wonder if they鈥檙e making any progress at all. But with each small act of kindness, they鈥檙e working to weave a social fabric of grace, stitch by stitch, and rooted in tolerance, respect, and faith in each other, as different as that other may be.
鈥淭hey model what trust is. They show up,鈥� says Frederick Riley, of Weave: The Social Fabric Project, founded by columnist and author David Brooks with the Aspen Institute in Washington, D.C. The project seeks to mend the country鈥檚 shredded fabric of social trust, which it believes has left Americans 鈥渄ivided, lonely, and in social gridlock.鈥�
鈥淵ou don鈥檛 trust the government; you don鈥檛 trust big business; you don鈥檛 trust big NGOs,鈥� says Mr. Riley, whose project like Ms. Wilson鈥檚 across the country. 鈥淏ut this neighborhood person is out here every day, helping to till the community garden for no pay. ... They鈥檙e teaching you how to trust again.鈥�
Organizing an alliance to build trust
Barbara Seaman apologizes that her minivan smells like pork as she drives around the conjoined towns. Ms. Wilson, riding shotgun, plays tour guide to Monitor journalists along for the ride. A few days previously, the duo transported braised barbecue to ReFuel Washougal, a program that serves free meals to residents in need.聽The East County Citizens鈥� Alliance took a turn hosting a dinner in collaboration with Washougal High School鈥檚 culinary arts program.聽
鈥淚f you were in my car, it鈥檇 be full of traffic cones and trash bags and trash,鈥� Ms. Wilson says. 鈥淭his is what community-building looks like. It doesn鈥檛 look like fancy discussions about policy.鈥�
But the group鈥檚 members did get their start with discussions. About 90 residents, including Ms. Wilson and Ms. Seaman, held regular meetings in 2021 about the culture war issues roiling their schools. The topic of political extremism in the area started cropping up more and more.聽
The discussions soon grew into . People decided they were done focusing on politics as a community. 鈥淚鈥檓 so sick and tired of everybody labeling everybody,鈥� says Ms. Seaman, the group鈥檚 assistant executive director. 鈥淚 just want to get people together to build relationships.鈥�
As they drive, Ms. Seaman points out all the community gathering places that have closed in recent years.聽The bowling alley near downtown Washougal. The community pool in Camas. A once-popular family restaurant that served both. These were the places people would sit for hours and talk. These were the tendrils of community. Now they sit, abandoned and shuttered.
The emerging alliance needed a project that could both build community ties and be free of controversy. So it decided to start simply, getting people with opposing political views outside, working together for a common purpose in the offline world.
鈥淣obody likes trash,鈥� says Ms. Wilson. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e both picking up trash next to each other. They鈥檙e talking about, 鈥榃ho would leave a tire on here? ... And I鈥檓 sick of these beer cans out here. What are people doing?鈥欌�澛�
That could lead to conversations about drinking and driving, she continues. 鈥淲e鈥檙e all against drinking and driving. They鈥檙e finding what they鈥檙e against and for, together, in the moment. And if you have to start out small because everybody hates trash, that鈥檚 where you start.鈥�
In addition to picking up the detritus along State Route 14, which runs parallel to the Columbia River, volunteers also decided to meet to plant wildflowers. They decided to tutor teenagers struggling with postpandemic learning loss. They decided to paint murals on buildings in downtown Washougal, which, too, is still recovering from the pandemic.
While laboring together to help the towns they love, the alliance鈥檚 volunteers are indeed starting to trust one another to show up. Ms. Wilson hopes that the trust now taking root within the politically diverse group of citizens can grow and flourish and spread beyond those participating in this civic project of building trust.聽
A 鈥淭rust Index鈥�
Trust in institutions has taken a major battering in the United States, even before the pandemic. Today only one-third of Americans trust churches, Gallup finds. Just one-quarter trust the presidency. Big businesses are viewed with suspicion by 86% of Americans. A minuscule 8% trust Congress. Only small businesses and the military still enjoy the trust of a majority of Americans.聽
鈥淏ut what gives me hope for this are these stories, and these people that I get to talk to every single day,鈥� says Mr. Riley, who travels extensively for Weave.聽
He mentions how his project supports a Baltimore effort, led by two women, to build a stage in an alleyway previously littered with needles and dead rats.聽
鈥淲e helped them bring the Baltimore Symphony there for an evening production in this really rough neighborhood,鈥� he says. 鈥淎nd now they鈥檙e figuring out how they can build these stages [in] alleyways in neighborhoods all across Baltimore.鈥�
His organization has spent the past year creating a soon-to-be-released project called the Trust Index. It鈥檚 a neighborhood score of what trust looks like in American communities. Scores will be based on numerous factors. For instance, does the area have spaces where people can meet? Does the community exhibit trusting behaviors such as turning out to vote, participating in community meetings, or contributing to nonprofits?
鈥淚鈥檓 optimistic, because I don鈥檛 believe that a government can help us out of this issue that we鈥檙e in,鈥� says Mr. Riley. 鈥淏ut I do know these people in neighborhoods that I鈥檝e traveled to all around our country who have the power to corral people to come together in their community.鈥�
Cross-pollinating within a community
On a drizzly and gray Sunday afternoon, the sun is more elusive even than Washougal鈥檚 celebrity resident: Bigfoot. A team of 14 assembles, undeterred by the inclement weather, to tend to the wildflowers it planted near the highway earlier. Ms. Wilson and Ms. Seaman are delighted at the larger-than-expected turnout. Most of the volunteers are people that Ms. Wilson doesn鈥檛 know.聽
鈥淲hat happens when you cross-pollinate like that in the community?鈥� she says. 鈥淐an you build or create something that didn鈥檛 exist before?鈥�
Wearing fluorescent yellow safety vests, the team branches out along the roadside as cars and trucks whoosh past. Some plant seeds. Others wield weed trimmers to repel an encroaching thorny thicket of Himalayan blackberries. Volunteer Lukas Johnson takes notes on a clipboard about the progress of flowering California poppies.聽
The millennial English teacher became aware of the alliance via its blog, East聽County Voices. He appreciated how its essays highlighted the good within the聽community at a time when everything felt bleak.
鈥淭here was so much negativity surrounding that whole COVID era,鈥� says Mr. Johnson, whose family lineage in the area dates back to 1852. 鈥淭here was a lot of division.鈥澛�
When the alliance tilled the land next to the highway in July, a retiree named Mitch Patton showed up with a tractor. 鈥淗e鈥檚 one of the upriver folks,鈥� says Mr. Johnson, describing him as 鈥渒ind of the right-wing persuasion.鈥�
For his part, Mr. Patton describes his politics as 鈥渒ind of in the middle.鈥� Though he鈥檚 not registered to vote, he says his friends range from right-wing Republican 鈥渨ack jobs鈥� to left-wing Democrats. He recalls the invective during the pandemic against those who didn鈥檛 wear masks or get vaccinated. It made everyone distrust each other. Mr. Patton blames local county measures for exacerbating tensions. A friend was fined during the lockdown for walking alone with his dog on a trail, which felt outrageous.聽
鈥淕ranted, it was a mess. And there were people dying left and right,鈥� Mr. Patton says. 鈥淏ut when you live out in rural areas like we are, I think they went a little too far.鈥�
The larger tragedy, he says, was the mental impact on children when the Washougal schools closed for a little over a year. During lockdown, his granddaughter 鈥� once a聽happy-go-lucky kid 鈥� cried day after day. Now, the ninth grader frequently misses school. Once the head of her class, she鈥檚 now in the bottom four or five.聽
鈥淢y oldest granddaughter is still a mess today,鈥� says Mr. Patton. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know if she鈥檚 ever going to come out of it.鈥澛�
He鈥檚 more optimistic that the neighbor-versus-neighbor tensions were a temporary phenomenon. When Mr. Patton saw a post on social media about the alliance鈥檚 highway cleanup activities, he reached out to help. He鈥檚 already involved in several local environmental endeavors, including serving on the advisory board of a Superfund site at the nearby Bonneville Dam. The amiable retiree was unaware that the East County Citizens鈥� Alliance core mission is repairing a politically riven community. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a great idea,鈥� he says.
Mr. Johnson, the young teacher, says the retiree鈥檚 selfless donation of his tractor sped up the big job of tilling the soil for the wildflowers.聽
鈥淚t was an opportunity to not see somebody for their political persuasion 鈥� as we so often have in these last several years 鈥� and just to see, 鈥榃hat good can I do for the community?鈥欌�� Mr. Johnson says.
Conversation tables
This summer, Camas will stage its annual parade. Spectators lining the sidewalks will cheer on marching bands, clowns on stilts, and people racing each other in bathtubs fitted with wheels.
It鈥檚 a stark contrast to a very different kind of parade on these streets four years ago. When a peaceful march mourning the death of Mr. Floyd passed a gun store in Washougal, it was stared down by armed men.
鈥淭he mere presence of an armed rooftop sniper 鈥� wearing ear and eye protection, clad in all black, and brandishing an assault-style weapon toward the peaceful marchers 鈥� constituted a true public threat,鈥� a Washougal resident complained to the City Council. (Washington allows citizens to carry firearms openly.)
The gun store, which features large signs with Bible verses on the building, recently posted ominous warnings on its website about the imminent arrival of 鈥淲orld War III.鈥� (The owner refused to talk to the Monitor.)
Members of the alliance are acutely aware that although the pandemic is over, fault lines remain throughout Clark County. So they asked a professional mediator, Ryan Nakade, to help launch a bold new endeavor: talking together about controversial topics.聽
Mr. Nakade is a trainer for Cure: PNW, that addresses political violence in the Pacific Northwest and promotes conflict resolution. On a recent Saturday morning, 12 of the citizen alliance鈥檚 volunteers attended a training workshop to learn how to set up conversation tables in the community.
鈥淲e recognize that people feel like they don鈥檛 have a voice, like nobody cares about what they think,鈥� says Ms. Seaman, who is a librarian at Washougal High School. 鈥淎nd that was causing so much unrest.鈥澛�
A conversation table, set up in a public space, invites members of the community to sit down with someone and share what鈥檚 weighing on their hearts. The point of a conversation table, or 鈥渆mpathy booth,鈥� isn鈥檛 to extract information so much as to build relationships. The alliance avoids publicly calling them empathy booths, however, because it worries that 鈥渆mpathy鈥� sounds like a left-leaning term, and it doesn鈥檛 want to scare off conservatives.
During the workshop, Mr. Nakade demonstrates how to ask questions that aren鈥檛 loaded, judgmental, or ideologically biased. Instead, questions should inspire deeper reflection. In typical conversations about politics, people often begin simply by parroting familiar talking points from their political tribe.聽
鈥淚n mediation, there鈥檚 a difference between what鈥檚 called 鈥榯he interest鈥� and 鈥榯he position,鈥欌�� Mr. Nakade tells the Monitor. 鈥淭he position is the surface thing that someone says they want. The interest or value is what they really want. But sometimes you have to dig in order to unearth that value, that core value.
鈥淥nce you unearth it, for me, it feels like striking conversational gold,鈥� he says. 鈥淭here鈥檚 almost a cathartic release in the conversation where I feel like, 鈥極h, this is what the issue is really about.鈥欌�澛�
People have different interpretations of values such as justice, liberty, equality, equity, and parental rights. A conversation-table facilitator can ask questions such as, 鈥淗ow did that idea become important to you? What are the personal life experiences that shaped how you think about this?鈥�
Ms. Wilson envisions the East County Citizens鈥� Alliance setting up conversation tables in public settings such as a farmers market, a coffee shop, or a library. She floats the idea of possibly even setting up a conversation table outside the gun store.聽
The alliance isn鈥檛 interested in changing people鈥檚 minds. The point is authentic conversations with others.
鈥淥nce you unleash or unlock the value, you can then come up with solutions that fulfill that value, or satiate that value, that are outside of the box,鈥� Mr. Nakade says.
鈥淲e can be actors in our own public life.鈥�
The first time Ms. Wilson stood on the cliff overlooking the Columbia River Gorge, she wished her son could see the view.
鈥淚鈥檓 not very religious, but I texted him saying something like, 鈥楾he fingerprints of God are still visible in this part of the country,鈥欌�� she recalls. 鈥淭he great geological forces, the eons of time. It鈥檚 all here.鈥�
She鈥檚 lived in the Northeast, the South, and the Midwest. But here, in the Pacific Northwest, she felt like she鈥檇 found her forever home. Now that the onetime single mother is nearing retirement, her focus has shifted from caring for her immediate family to having a broader awareness of the wider world.聽
鈥淚 started thinking about, 鈥榃hat is home? How do I make this my home?鈥欌�� she says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 where you invest your time, talent, treasure. It鈥檚 where you鈥檙e plowing yourself into the ground.鈥澛�
It鈥檚 been a little over two years since the social worker helped found the East County Citizens鈥� Alliance. The organization is still not too well known in the conjoined towns. But seemingly everyone knows about the yellow-jacketed volunteers who are beautifying Route 14. During Sunday鈥檚 work with wildflowers, passing vehicles honked encouragement. The alliance hopes to expand even as some members of the community continue to feel pessimistic about the possibility of a more harmonious community. An , Rob Anderson, says what鈥檚 needed is a reckoning with pandemic policies such as vaccine mandates, which he says were an authoritarian overreach into personal liberty.
鈥淭here has to be clarity; there has to be a recognition of mistakes made in order to really find true healing,鈥� says Mr. Anderson, who鈥檚 been gathering signatures for a Restore Election Confidence Initiative. 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 have healing without repentance.鈥�
He鈥檚 not the only member of the community who feels cynical about the community becoming even relatively harmonious. Outside the local hardware store in downtown Washougal, one person says he鈥檚 moving to Idaho because he was so tired of local politics.
Members of the alliance鈥檚 leadership committee don鈥檛 assume they鈥檙e right about everything. The initiatives they鈥檙e piloting are instinctual. They realize their mission is ambitious.
鈥淲e don鈥檛 know if it will work,鈥� Ms. Wilson says. 鈥淏ut I don鈥檛 think anything else will work. ... It鈥檚 not just about the wildflowers. We鈥檙e showing people they don鈥檛 have to be resigned about things. We can be actors in our own public life.鈥�
Editor鈥檚 note: This story has been updated to correct the timing of local business closures. Both the swimming pool and bowling alley closed shortly before the pandemic. Additionally, the explanation of ReFuel Washougal鈥檚 services has been clarified. The program provides meals to residents in need from many walks of life.
