Postindustrial Media magazine, Winter 2021

WINTER 2021

VOLUME 3 / ISSUE 2

~

CEO & EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

KIMBERLY PALMIERO

FOUNDER & EDITOR-AT-LARGE

CARMEN GENTILE

DESIGN & LAYOUT

ELIZABETH KANE JACKSON

EDITING

SANDRA TOLLIVER, ROBERT WEIBLE

CONTRIBUTORS

ZUBAIR BABAKARKHAIL, MICHAEL MADISON, KARIN NUNAN, MARTHA RIAL, TORY N. PARRISH, TOM SYNAN

ADVISORY BOARD

J.R. AMBROSE, KRISHNADEV CALAMUR, LETRELL DESHAN CRITTENDEN, MARTHA RIAL, TONY NORMAN, DAVID PEROZZI

OFFICE 2519 PENN AVENUE, 2ND FLOOR, PITTSBURGH, PA 15222

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CONTENTS

30

Editor’s Letter

The joy in a child’s smile

BY CARMEN GENTILE

Cafes with momentum

Diary of a worker’s town

A filmmaker wants to tell the story of one Pennsylvania town built a century ago as a worker’s utopia

BY KIMBERLY PALMIERO

How a Michelin star chef is spreading the gospel of cooking and education with restaurants that help troubled kids, throughout Postindustrial America

BY TORY N. PARRISH

Partner magic

Born, not made: How Kurt and Alexa Diserio’s partnership fuels a growing creative empire and their marriage

BY CARMEN GENTILE

Missed police reform in Louisville

The water always wins

How climate change is leading to dangerous erosion along Wisconsin’s shorelines

BY MARIO KORAN | WISCONSIN WATCH

AND

WPR, WISCONSINWATCH. ORG

Louisville portrayed itself as a city that would show the rest of the nation how to fix policing. What happened?

BY ELEANOR KLIBANOFF OF KYCIR AND CARRIE COCHRAN, KAREN RODRIGUEZ, MAIA ROSENFELD AND MAREN MACHLES OF NEWSY

56

Seriously, Get Out! A library that’s definitely worth the trip. A town in Ontario you have to see this winter. Plus more picks for seeing and doing from Postindustrial America.

Embracing a new homeland in Postindustrial America

He traipsed through fetid water and risked his life for his family. Now an Afghan journalist is finally home, in Postindustrial America.

BY KIMBERLY PALMIERO

Young Afghan soldiers trained to fight the Taliban, forced to leave it all behind BY

ZUBAIR BABAKARKHAIL

Khadija Babak, 10, holds the door open as their belongings are brought into their new apartment. For more — and why the family chose to move to Pennsylvania — see page 16, for a column by Zubair. // Photograph by Martha Rial

CONTRIBUTORS

We feature work from writers and photojournalists across Postindustrial America. Want to see your face on this page? Email us at pitch@postindustrial.com

ZUBAIR BABAKARKHAIL is an Afghan journalist who recently escaped the clutches of the Taliban amid the chaotic drawdown of U.S. forces in his country in August. During that violent period, Zubair managed to guide his pregnant wife and three children to safety. He and his family recently resettled in Pittsburgh, where Zubair has resumed his reporting career, writing about other Afghan arrivals to Postindustrial America. His work from Afghanistan has appeared in leading publications like Britain’s Daily Telegraph and USA Today, as well as Stars & Stripes.

MICHAEL MADISON is a professor of law, the John E. Murray Faculty Scholar at the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, and a senior scholar with the University of Pittsburgh Institute for Cyber Law, Policy, and Security. He writes about institutions and governance and is a co-founder of the emerging research discipline known as “knowledge commons.” Before becoming a law professor, he practiced law in San Francisco and Silicon Valley.

KARIN NUNAN is a former U.S. diplomat and current global risk consultant. She was instrumental in the effort to help Zubair Babakarkhail and his family get out of Afghanistan and resettle in Postindustrial America. She is the founder of the non-profit organization Team Zubair (teamzubair.org) which helps new Afghan arrivals in America.

MARTHA RIAL is an independent photojournalist and the winner of a 1998 Pulitzer Prize for her photographs of Rwandan and Burundian refugees. Among her many projects, she currently leads a citizen journalism initiative for the Center for Media Innovation at Point Park University, where she received an honorary doctorate in 2017.

TORY PARRISH is a reporter who covers retail and small business at Newsday in Long Island, N.Y. She is the former Region I director for the National Association of Black Journalists. She worked at the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review and the Observer-Dispatch in New York.

TOM SYNAN Jr. is the chief of the police for the Village of Newtown, in Hamilton County, Ohio. In 2015, he helped form the Hamilton County Heroin Coalition, now the Hamilton County Addiction Response Coalition. In 2017, he testified at a Senate Homeland Security Subcommittee on Investigations hearing about the impact that synthetic opiates have had on the country. His career and work with the opiate epidemic has been archived in the National Law Enforcement Museum in Washington, D.C.

EDITOR’S LETTER

Nothing better than a child’s smile, am I right?

Do me a favor. Flip back to the cover for a moment.

decided to step up our efforts to help those who made it to America.

But Zubair’s not the focal point of this inspiring, incredible image by our friend and Pulitzer Prizewinning photographer, Martha Rial.

Postindustrial is proud to announce we have partnered with former diplomat Karin Nunan (also a Postindustrial contributor in this issue) to create “Team Zubair” (teamzubair.org), a nonprofit organization that helps new “Afghan arrivals” (I shy away from the word “refugee”) to settle into their new lives.

Good folks from Postindustrial America and around the world already have contributed nearly $100,000 to help Zubair’s family and other Afghans. And we’re just getting started.

Many contributions to Team Zubair came from our loyal Postindustrial Community members, for which we are eternally grateful.

If you want to help, check out the Team Zubair website to learn more about this noble initiative.

In the meantime, we’ve got a helluva magazine for you to peruse.

Be sure to check out Zubair’s reporting on his and other Afghans’ experiences settling in a strange new land.

There are also important stories about how climate change is eroding shores along Lake Michigan in Wisconsin, and the failure to reform the police department in Louisville, Ky.

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Clearly, it’s Javeria, his 6-year-old daughter, who’s chasing bubbles with the carefree zeal that only a child can muster.

My heart swells with pride and joy seeing Javeria enjoy the simple pleasures of her new life, free from war and Taliban oppression that is especially harsh on women and girls.

It also breaks my heart knowing so many little girls like Javeria, who is similar in age to my own daughter, remain trapped in Afghanistan. Those girls won’t have the same opportunities to go to school, pursue careers, and follow their dreams.

While there’s little we can do to help those girls and their families who remain in Afghanistan, we

8 // POSTINDUSTRIAL

Be sure to check our new feature, “Postindustrial Partners,” highlighting the talented, dynamic, and stylish duo of Alexa and Kurt Diserio. Also in this edition, we encourage you to “Get Out” and take a trip north of the border to the hip city of Hamilton in Postindustrial Canada. Be sure to bundle up before exploring the natural wonders in and around this one-time industrial hub that has reinvented itself for the 21st century, and then head indoors for a delicious meal before cozying up in front of a roaring fire.

Thanks for reading — and enjoy.

CARMEN GENTILE, FOUNDER AND EDITOR-AT-LARGE

IN THE RUST BELT: Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cleveland, Buffalo, Detroit, Chicago, Columbus, Milwaukee

COMING TO AMERICA

BY KIMBERLY PALMIERO | PHOTOGRAPH BY MARTHA RIAL

America has long been a place of new beginnings.

It’s where journalist Zubair Babakarkhail and his family have found a new home, where his three young children will go to school, and where, finally, no one has to be afraid of a soldier behind them.

Zubair and his family arrived in Pittsburgh just before Thanksgiving, capping a journey from wartorn Kabul, to Qatar, to Germany, to Wisconsin, then finally: Pennsylvania.

Even in drizzly weather, they’ve been enjoying the region’s wide open spaces. At left, Zubair, with his son, Omair, and daughters, Javeria, center, and Khadija, left, in Pittsburgh’s Schenley Park.

But even as they grow into a new life, Zubair has been helping other Afghans in the Pittsburgh region he’s gone out of his way to meet — to one friend, he brought a television. For others, he’s helped arrange deliveries of furniture and household items.

He’s creating a support network here, and back in Afghanistan. And he worries about his homeland, which is spiraling into despair since the Taliban seized control of the country this fall.

“In Afghanistan, it is getting worse and worse, day by day,” said Zubair, whose extended family has been unable to evacuate. “They can feel the difference. The hopelessness is increasing and poverty is increasing.”

An estimated 22.8 million people — or more than half the country’s population — are expected to face potentially life-threatening levels of food insecurity, according to the United Nations World Food Program.

Over the next several months, thousands of families like Zubair’s will move into Postindustrial communities — places in need of fresh ideas and more people.

At least 9,000 Afghans are expected in a 13-state region of the Rust Belt and Appalachia, of the more than 50,000 the U.S. evacuated since August.

We hope you’ll go out of your way to meet some of your new neighbors.

Kimberly Palmiero is CEO & Editor-in-Chief of Postindustrial Media.

New Afghan arrivals leave their violent homeland for a (hopefully) better future here

Afghanistan’s elite soldiers ponder the fight — and family –they left behind

BY ZUBAIR BABAKARKHAIL

Editor’s note: The former Afghan Special Forces soldiers interviewed for this story asked that Postindustrial not publish their last names for fear of Taliban reprisals against loved ones still in Afghanistan.

PITTSBURGH — When Afghanistan fell to the Taliban this year, it wasn’t just civilians and politicians who were forced to flee for their lives.

Those who served their country in uniform were also faced with a hard decision: Stay behind and wage a losing battle without U.S. military support, a fight they would surely die waging, or escape with their families.

For members of Afghanistan’s elite special forces unit — soldiers trained by their American counterparts to fight the Taliban on the frontlines — abandoning their positions was particularly difficult.

Before the country’s fall, the special forces had greater success against the Taliban than any other branch of the Afghan Security Forces and were often tasked with taking the fight to armed extremists in remote, dangerous strongholds in southern and eastern Afghanistan.

Amiri, 32, a father of two, was a member of the Afghan Special Forces in southern Afghanistan before he left the country and settled in the Pittsburgh area.

His path from civilian to high-speed soldier was an unusual one, he told Postindustrial in a recent interview.

Now resettled in the U.S., members of Afghanistan’s elite special forces lament the loss of the country they spent years fighting to defend and those they left behind to start new lives

Former Special Forces soldiers Silab (left) and Amiri (right) at an Extended Stay Hotel in Coraopolis, Pa., where they await permanent housing in the Pittsburgh area. // Martha Rial

Amiri, 32, in his former role as a soldier working with the U.S. military to fight the Taliban. // Contributed photograph

“We continued to fight the Taliban in Kandahar city. It was a huge fight and we still could defend the city. I clearly remember that the mortars were falling around us like rain, but we resisted and were not giving up,” he said. “But then, all of a sudden, our leadership called us to retreat and to leave Kandahar city to the Taliban.”

On the day Kabul fell to the Taliban, Amiri said that his commander was making calls to almost every official at the Ministry of Defense, but no one answered.

“Almost every soldier I saw was panicking. Some were very emotional, because the government and Americans had invested a lot in us,” he recalled. “It was really hard for us to believe when we were leaving all our equipment and weapons behind.”

But the fight was over.

“That is why our commander told us to move towards the airport, where the American forces had asked for our help to secure the gates,” Amiri said.

Amiri and his fellow soldiers also knew then it was time to get out.

“When they [the Americans put Afghan special forces at the gate], we started calling our families to come. That is how we got inside the airport and came to America,” he said.

He and his family were part of a wave of Afghan arrivals who were housed at a Virginia military base for more than two months before coming to Pittsburgh.

Silab, 22, arrived alone to Pittsburgh in November. He hopes eventually bring his family to the U.S. // Contributed photograph

“I was a bus driver for a few months when I was in my 20s; then I decided to join the army,” Amiri said. “I later chose to become a special forces member, because they were the strongest, well equipped and well paid.”

Amiri lamented the loss of his country and his comrades in arms, many of whom died on the battlefield. Others, who like he managed to escape, are now scattered across the United States.

Afghan Security Forces once numbered in the hundreds of thousands and, over nearly 20 years, members sacrificed more than any other armed troops in the country, losing nearly 70,000 men and women.

Unfortunately, their ranks were regularly — and unfairly — criticized by American officials for not fighting hard enough. Even President Biden took an undeserved swipe at their effort as U.S. forces were drawing down during those chaotic days in August, leaving the Afghans to go it alone.

Once the Biden administration washed its hands of Afghanistan, the country quickly fell to the Taliban, and its soldiers were told it was time to give up the fight.

“America had provided us with all the needed weapons, equipment and vehicles. It was a strong force, but the reason the country fell to the Taliban was that we were told not to fight,” Amiri said.

Amiri says he hopes to start a new, peaceful life here so that his children will have better opportunities for a stronger education and a safer life.

AN AFGHAN SOLDIER GOING IT ALONE IN A NEW HOMELAND

Silab, 22, tells a similar tale about his ascendance to the elite special forces and eventual flight to the U.S. He joined the special forces three years ago. His unit fought the Taliban for several days and nights on KabulKandahar highway before the Taliban takeover — until his commander ordered a ceasefire.

“I was so angry. The Taliban had killed so many innocent Afghans. They had killed Americans, too, and all of a sudden the country was handed to them as a gift. It was a gift because there was no fighting in most of the provinces and Taliban took over Kabul without any resistance,” Silab said.

“We were able to capture and kill a lot of terrorists, but

finally the terrorists are ruling the country now,” he said. Silab is single and arrived in the U.S. alone to start a new life. His days are filled with worry about his family remaining in Afghanistan.

“I hope that my family reunites with me here in Pittsburgh. It is a nice city and I want to show this amazing place to my family,” he said.

He seemingly has developed a genuine affection for his new home.

“First I was worried what kind of place this would be. I thought it would be like a very rural area,” he noted. “But now I’m happy that they sent me here. It is such a nice place.”

Zubair Babakarkhail is a journalist and interpreter. He has written stories for Stars and Stripes since 2012 and covered the war in Afghanistan for 17 years. He also reported for The Daily Telegraph, USA Today, Christian Science Monitor, Al Jazeera English, and AsiaCalling. He arrived in the U.S. in September after fleeing his native Afghanistan when the Taliban returned to power. He has a degree in journalism from Pakistan, where his family sought refuge during the Russian invasion of Afghanistan.

An Afghan man gives thanks for his new home in Pittsburgh

BY ZUBAIR BABAKARKHAIL | PHOTOGRAPHS BY MARTHA RIAL

“A mountain doesn’t reach

a mountain

but a human reaches another human.”

That’s a proverb we have in Afghanistan and in short, it means: Humans, while small compared to a mountain, can help each other during hard times because they have the power to love and care for one another.

One of my goals was to get my family out of Afghanistan and settle in Pennsylvania.

Many Afghans and others have asked me why I chose to move to Western Pennsylvania when most new arrivals from my country go to California, Virginia, or Texas.

Let me explain why.

My family was evacuated out of a chaotic situation in Afghanistan with the help of a number of friends and colleagues from America, some of those with whom I had spent time in Afghanistan covering the war.

The first of many foreigners I’ve worked with over the years was a photographer from Pennsylvania. In 2000, he was documenting the lives of Afghan refugees living in Pakistan. He told me many great things about this state, about its wonderful people, and his hobby of raising horses and walking in the woods for hours.

I was impressed with all that he described and dreamed of living such a life one day.

Since then, I spent two decades reporting on the war until I was forced to flee with my family because the Taliban targeted those Afghans who had helped foreigners during the conflict. But even amid the fighting and destruction, I never forgot about how nice Pennsylvania sounded.

So, while my family and I were being processed at Fort McCoy in Wisconsin, we decided that Pittsburgh is where we would start our new lives, fulfilling a longtime dream of mine.

Javeria Babak, 6, (right) studies the groceries for sale while shopping with her older sister Khadija, 10, and family at Salem’s Market in Pittsburgh’s Strip District.

Javeria Babak, 6, puts on her shoes for a trip to the playground at the family’s new apartment. Javeria arrived in Pittsburgh in November with her parents, Zubair and Fatima, and two siblings, after escaping from her home country of Afghanistan.

My wife, our three children and I finally arrived in Pittsburgh in November and were immediately impressed with what we saw: so many bridges, the fresh air, hills covered with trees. I felt like I was finally seeing the place I’d imagined many times in my dreams.

So far, the welcome we’ve received from Pittsburghers has been amazing.

Everyone we’ve met has welcomed us, calling the city our “new home.” A new friend has already told my wife to text her if she needs anything. Because she doesn’t speak English yet, I told her, “She will text you when she learns the language.”

“A smile is the best language for all people in the world,” our new friend replied. I really like what she said. It is hard to believe how so many years of war have made us forget about these little things, which make a person happy and can make their day.

After leaving my country with my family during its fall to the Taliban, my aim was to think about the future for my kids, rather than thinking about what happened to my nearly two decades-long career, my property, and savings still in the bank in Afghanistan.

I have seen and tasted the sour reality of living in a war zone. A war gives nothing other than bloodshed, destruction, poverty, and an uncertain future.

But, I believe my family — and especially the kids — will have a bright future in the U.S, with some of the world’s best educational facilities. Here, they can enjoy a life free from the fear of war.

My wife and kids are excited about their new home.

The kids are thinking of what they would like to have: Khadija 10, one of my two daughters, wants to be a scientist and likes to ride bicycles in the parks of Pittsburgh. She could not ride a bike in Kabul, mostly because of the bumpy roads, which made her scared of falling off the bicycle. Now that there are proper roads, sidewalks and parks,

Zubair Barbakarkhail shows his new apartment in Pittsburgh to friend and Postindustrial founder Carmen Gentile on FaceTime while his daughter Javeria, 6, tries out a chair.

she learned to ride a bicycle in Fort McCoy. Since our arrival, we’ve seen a lot of Pittsburgh in a short amount of time. We’ve been to the top of Mount Washington (overlooking Downtown Pittsburgh), where we watched the Steelers play the Detroit Lions from afar during the first snow of the year. We loved seeing all the people cheering during the game from Grandview Overlook.

Too bad about the tie, though. And from up there, the view of Downtown with its numerous bridges is incredible.

I’m told that Pittsburgh is even better-looking in spring, when the weather will be warmer and the trees will have leaves.

So, when a friend asked me what I think about

Pittsburgh, I said, “We need to wait until spring and summer to see it at its best.”

But overall, I’m so glad to be part of Pittsburgh’s great community, where my kids can go to school without fear of attacks, as it was in Kabul, and can enjoy the freedom to become professionals and citizens of this country in the future.

Zubair Babakarkhail is a journalist and interpreter. He has written stories for Stars and Stripes since 2012 and covered the war in Afghanistan for 17 years. He also reported for The Daily Telegraph, USA Today, Christian Science Monitor, Al Jazeera English, and AsiaCalling. He arrived in the U.S. in September after the fall of the country. He earned a degree in journalism in Pakistan.

OUR COMMUNITIES

LEARN MORE AT TEAMZUBAIR.ORG

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Khadija Babak, 10, shows her mother and younger sister donated blankets in their new apartment.

As Lake Michigan shoreline vanishes, Wisconsinites try to fight waves with walls

Bo and Mindy Ellis knew that they needed to act to keep their house from sliding into Lake Michigan. With their home perched 8 feet above the waves and 20 feet from the shore of Whitefish Bay in Door County, Wisconsin, the couple first watched with fascination last year as the lake’s waters rose, changing their beach each day. Crashing waves undermined a stone revetment meant to protect the shoreline. A creek cutting across their property compounded the erosion. The beach used to gradually incline into the water. Now it sharply drops. But curiosity turned into anxiety as nature whittled away the shoreline.

“At first, I was going to wait and see how the water level played out,” Bo Ellis said. “But the high water was present for such a long time that I realized I needed to do something.”

The Ellises had to wait for a fix. As other northeast Wisconsinites watched their beachfronts shrink in 2020, they overwhelmed contractors with bookings, requiring the Ellises to wait seven months for a professional to fortify their stone barrier to block the waves. At around $250 per linear foot, the sticker price for protecting 150 feet of shoreline eclipsed $37,000. The waters have since eased, but the Ellises know they will rise again.

High waters have sped erosion along Lake Michigan’s shoreline, swallowing beaches, damaging public lands and draining homeowners’ savings. Wisconsin cities from Milwaukee to Green Bay and small communities in Door County are confronting erosion — a key portion of climate impacts that Wisconsin’s shoreline communities expect to cost at least $245 million over the next five years.

Scientists expect erosion to worsen as climate change brings more volatility to Great Lakes water levels, particularly as warm temperatures interplay with more frequent, intense storms. While that may yield extremely low waters in

some years, experts also expect dramatic shifts to high waters — with heavy rains and wind adding power to waves that punish shorelines. Between record-low waters in January 2013 and a record-high in July 2020, Lakes Michigan and Huron collectively swung more than 6 feet.

That has sent lakefront homeowners scrambling to protect property by adding seawalls or riprap — slopes of rock or concrete that absorb force from waves. The Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources is seeing a surge in applications to construct such barriers in Door County.

But artificial barriers can accelerate erosion downstream, blocking sand from naturally replenishing beaches elsewhere. Ellis said he hasn’t heard such complaints from his neighbors. But nearly all of them now have revetments — many constructed in 2020. In Ozaukee County, a $12 million structure finished in 2007 stabilized an eroding bluff that separated Concordia University Wisconsin from Lake Michigan, but it also altered the beaches of downstream neighbors — leading to litigation and expensive repairs of the collateral damage. Experts call that episode just one example of how shoreline armoring can trigger a domino effect along the coast.

Eying such consequences, water experts and environmental advocates are calling on Great Lakes communities to find new ways to confront erosion and protect shorelines for future generations.

‘FIGHT AGAINST NATURE’

Lake Michigan’s levels have tended to fluctuate in cycles throughout its recorded history, swinging up or down roughly every three to 10 years. Shoreline residents call those ebbs and flows a part of life. But ferry boat captains, contractors and park superintendents told Wisconsin Watch that they’ve never seen the water swing as wildly as it has over the past decade.

Unlike oceans, which are steadily rising with global temperatures, water levels on the Great Lakes largely depend on the weather — rising with deposits from rain and snow, waning as water evaporates. But experts said new climate trends are altering cycles that the Great Lakes have followed throughout recorded history.

More intense storms are adding water to the Great Lakes. But the region’s temperatures are also rising faster than elsewhere in the United States — accelerating evaporation. These opposing forces are creating an increasingly powerful “tug of war” effect, scientists said, causing more dramatic fluctuations of lake levels and accelerating erosion, particularly during

high-water years.

Relatively speaking, the Great Lakes are new features, carved by the last glacial retreat a few thousand years ago — an instant in geological time, said Guy Meadows, a professor at Michigan Technological University and director of its Marine Engineering Laboratory.

The retreating ice left a deep basin with steep sides, particularly in the case of Lake Michigan. Absent human intervention and new climate trends, Lake Michigan’s shoreline has traditionally eroded by an average of about a foot each year as the basin naturally broadens, said Meadows.

But increasingly frequent storms are strengthening winds across the lake, energizing waves that pummel shorelines with greater force. In 2020, waves carried up to 25% more energy compared to the low-water year of 2013, Meadows said.

“The natural process is for people to try to fight against nature,” by building stone or concrete barriers, Meadows said. “When we go through episodes of extremely high water levels, like we just went through in 2020 for Lake Michigan, that erosion rate goes up catastrophically, from one foot per year to 10, 20 or 30 feet per year, depending on where you are on the shoreline.”

FLOOD OF PERMITS SHOWS URGENCY

One reflection of Lake Michigan’s volatility: The deluge of DNR permit applications from property owners installing shoreline protection.

As Lake Michigan’s waters climbed between 2018 and 2020, those applications jumped from 61 annually to 149 — a 144% increase.

Meanwhile, requests for “emergency selfcertifications” — a temporary DNR permit to protect homes or other structures facing imminent danger from accelerating erosion — soared more than 830%, from fewer than 30 applications in 2018 to 280 in 2020. Those figures offer only a partial glimpse of Lake Michigan shoreline. The DNR issued most permits in Door County, which it considers an “area of special natural resources interest” — a sensitive habitat where permits are required.

Property owners to the south are not required to seek permits for new barriers, so long as they meet DNR’s standards.

As a result, the DNR does not track structures built along most of Wisconsin’s Lake Michigan shoreline. That lack of data makes it tougher to monitor the downstream impacts from such structures, the agency acknowledges.

Kyle McLaughlin, waterway team coordinator with

Wisconsin sees a surge in barriers to slow lakefront erosion. But such structures are temporary and may harm downstream beaches.

the DNR, said the agency introduced emergency permits in recent years to make bureaucracy easier for DNR officials and property owners facing urgent threats from erosion.

Increasing threats from erosion and demands for intervention in Door County “rapidly increased and strained the department’s ability to be as responsive on the front end,” McLaughlin said.

The DNR grants emergency permits on the condition that applicants apply for a more formal review within a year. If a project fails to meet state standards, the agency works with the landowner and contractor to fix it, said Crystal von Holdt, a DNR water management specialist.

RESIDENTS WEIGH IN

The growing demand for barriers prompted the DNR to begin a strategic analysis of the Door Peninsula to better understand the impact of shoreline erosion, how the department responds to it and what the intervention means for the environment.

The agency expects to complete the analysis in 2022. Shoreline stability is top of mind for the majority of those who responded to a DNR survey during that process.

How could federal agencies limit damage from shifting water levels? Opinions vary. Crack down on the greenhouse gas emissions speeding earth’s warming, build homes farther from the lakeshore or let landowners protect property however they can, some survey respondents answered.

“Increase and enforce setbacks, limit shoreline development, increase vegetation and native plantings,” one commenter said.

Wrote another: “Leave it alone. Stop trying to save rich people’s property. Water levels change. I have watched it my whole life. Let nature do its thing.” But letting nature take its course can be tough for property owners to stomach as waves encroach.

COASTAL DOMINO EFFECT

And protecting one property can damage another, sparking conflict.

The dispute that played out at Concordia University Wisconsin, a private college just north of Milwaukee, illustrates how armoring a shoreline can set off a domino effect.

In 2007, the university finished fortifying a 130-foot bluff and building a 2,700-foot-long rock wall to buffer waves. The $12 million project was among the largest built along Lake Michigan in Wisconsin. Neighboring landowners soon noticed changes to

their property.

While barriers like seawalls can protect the property immediately behind them, they can cut off downstream beaches from replenishing sands, accelerating erosion by further exposing sand and bluffs to wind and water, Meadows said.

Meadows, an expert in shoreline dynamics, identified Ozaukee County as a hotspot for bluff erosion. In 2011, two neighboring couples sued Concordia, claiming that the massive seawall worsened erosion on their properties and washed away public beaches. Owners of at least 13 neighboring properties built or reconstructed barriers in the years following Concordia’s construction, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinelreported in 2015, resulting in a $1 million-plus price tag for neighbors.

Chin Wu, a professor in University of WisconsinMadison’s Department of Civil and Environmental Engineering, has studied the Concordia project for years. He authored a 2014 Journal of Great Lakes Research article finding that the Concordia project may have worsened bluff erosion south of the project, the same direction the current travels along the shore.

A jury agreed in 2014 that Concordia’s seawall caused “significant harm” to neighbors. But the jury found that Concordia was not negligent in its construction, and it awarded no damages. Still, the university said it paid for at least five repair or reconstruction projects downstream.

Concordia did not offer comment for this story. In court, it did not deny that its wall affected neighbors, according to media coverage of the lawsuit. The university successfully argued that it had the right to protect its land — like any property owner — from sliding into Lake Michigan.

“We were experiencing significant erosion of our shoreline — one that was causing us to see acres upon acres of our property falling into the lake,” Rev. Patrick Ferry, the university’s president at the time, said in a video touting the project.

On its website, SmithGroup, the project’s designer, says the work “successfully stabilized and beautifully restored” the bluff and “dramatically transformed the University’s relationship with the lake and surrounding community” — allowing for the restoration and addition of trails, an amphitheater, a beach and habitat areas for

education and research.

But the project has accelerated erosion on downstream properties from around 9 inches to more than 7 feet per year, Meadows said. “So there are just enormous losses on the downdraft side of that structure.”

When waves hit seawalls, water reflects back toward the lake, pulling sand farther from the shoreline. The force gradually pulls the sand deeper into the lake until it can no longer replenish the beach.

The walls don’t last forever.

When enough sand in front of a seawall washes away, the wall will fall forward or otherwise fail, Meadows added. Aerial maps of Lake Michigan show bands of sunken structures once built to protect the shoreline. Now beneath the water, they lurk as hazards to people and wildlife.

The lake will inevitably claim whatever structure was built to alter its waves, Meadows said.

“You can look to see where structures were added to combat the high water level in 1986 and where they are located now. And most of those are out in the water, because they failed.”

‘PARADOX OF BEACH DYNAMICS’

Richard Norton has noticed that shoreline residents get stuck on one concept as he urges them to consider lake levels in their planning: The lakefront properties they own today will look much different in 30 years.

“In order for the beach to stay the same, it has to be able to change. It has to be able to move and shift and grow and decrease over time as lake levels go up and down as conditions change,” said Norton, a professor at the University of Michigan’s Taubman College of Architecture and Urban Planning and a community planner and lawyer by training. “That’s the paradox of beach dynamics.”

Armoring the shoreline attempts to “pin” to a precise location, disrupting sand’s natural movement and possibly losing beach, he said. But without protection, homes built too close to the lake face threats from water.

“You can save the beach or you can save the beachhouse. You can’t save both,” Norton said. The dilemma prompts thorny conversations about balancing property rights with responsibilities to protect the public shoreline for future generations.

“Part of the message that I give to local officials is you have more authority to act through your zoning than what you may think you do,” Norton said. “You have the ability to regulate land use throughout your jurisdiction.”

For cities and townships, that could mean adopting and enforcing setbacks — or revisiting plans every five to 20 years as shorelines move over time. For homeowners, this could require physically moving houses farther from the shoreline — an expensive process, Norton acknowledged, but often no more costly than building and repairing large seawalls. Some landowners have moved their homes multiple times, he said.

“Those concepts are really hard for local officials to understand because it’s a painful thing to acknowledge,” Norton said. “Property owners want to have certainty. They want to know they can build a house and they want to know that it can be there forever, and that the zoning isn’t going to change underneath them.”

Norton has worked closely with about a dozen shoreline communities on Lakes Huron and Michigan — yielding mixed results.

One community barred new seawalls altogether. Another adopted a setback. By measuring past erosion and applying that to a forecast, the community created standards for how close developers can build from the

shoreline. Leaders of an adjacent township, however, did not follow suit — with town board members reluctant to regulate property rights, Norton said.

Norton is sympathetic to people who invested time and money into their shorelines only to see homes edging closer to a bluff or toppling into the lake. But he said the problem extends far beyond their property lines.

“They’re fighting a natural process and forces that are ultimately going to prevail,” he said. “And it’s going to have consequences for a very long time, in terms of the character of the shoreline, and how viable and ecologically functioning it is.”

BUILDING RESILIENCY

Experts told Wisconsin Watch that Lake Michigan’s shoreline needs managing, but the specifics depend on location.

Large stretches of shoreline, particularly around urban centers, keep cities from flooding and protect highways, boardwalks, commercial centers and more, said Drew Gronewold, a University of Michigan associate professor of ecosystem science and management and expert on weather’s impact on the Great Lakes.

“Those are environments where turning it back to a natural state or giving it back to the public trust is really not an option. That ship has sailed,” Gronewold said.

Less-developed communities should adopt setbacks while preserving public park land, he said.

“I think we need to make sure that those areas stay in the public trust and everything is done within our power to make sure that those public lands stay public and that they’re not ultimately developed,” Gronewold added.

Wu, who studied how Concordia’s seawall affected the surrounding environment, endorses an alternative approach to shoreline management: nature-based coastal solutions — harnessing resources like sand, vegetation or coral reefs to create natural barriers that also benefit fish and wildlife while allowing for some shoreline movement.

While natural barriers may not offer the same protection as steel or concrete barriers, they’re often cheaper to build. And they help shorelines rejuvenate faster after stress from storms or high water, Wu said.

The Dutch took a similar approach when it formed the Zandmotor — or Sand Motor in English — the world’s largest experiment in coastal storm and flood defense. So far, it’s a remarkable success.

As climate change and rising seas threatened the

Netherlands’ coastline, the Dutch strategically dumped onto the beach about 28 million cubic yards of sand, which could fill the Mercedes-Benz Superdome in New Orleans six times, the Times-Picayune and Advocate newspapers reported. Nature did the rest.

Over time, the wind has spread the sand, adding about 3,500 acres of new beach to protect The Hague and a wider inland area. New sand and dunes coated roughly 5 miles of coastline after nearly a decade. Fish, shellfish and birds have thrived in the new environs, the New Orleans newspapers reported.

The Wisconsin DNR said it encourages nature-based solutions, including use of vegetation and brush to buffer shorelines under certain conditions. Dumping sand on public lake beds requires a waterway permit and a DNR review of environmental impacts.

“As citizens of the great state of Wisconsin, we want to see a fundamental change to the way we do things. Otherwise we’ll keep going farther and farther downstream until we see all our shoreline hardened and lose our beaches,” he said. “I don’t think that’s what any of us want.”

Jack Kelly contributed reporting. This story was produced as part of the NEW (Northeast Wisconsin) News Lab and in partnership with the Door County Pulse. The nonprofit Wisconsin Watch (wisconsinwatch.org) collaborates with Wisconsin Public Radio, PBS Wisconsin, other news media and the University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Journalism and Mass Communication. All works created, published, posted or disseminated by Wisconsin Watch do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of UW-Madison or any of its affiliates.

Mario Koran reports on education, immigration and issues affecting communities of color. Most recently, Koran was a 2021 Knight Wallace reporting fellow at the University of Michigan. Previously, Koran served as a west coast correspondent for the Guardian US and spent five years covering education for Voice of San Diego, where he was named the 2016 reporter of the year by the San Diego Society of Professional Journalists. Since leaving an internship with Wisconsin Watch in 2013, Koran’s work has appeared in The New York Times, The Appeal, and the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, among others. Koran holds a BA in Spanish literature and MA in journalism from the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

Erosion along the shoreline of Lake Michigan in Wisconsin.

Company town comeback?

BY KIMBERLY PALMIERO

Vandergrift once was the kind of town where any Industrialage worker would love to live.

With its Victorian homes, and undulating hills, this speck of a city 30 miles from Pittsburgh was, during its inception in the late 19th century, the first planned, industrial town designed to sell land to workers of a specific company.

With so many of us reimagining work in this century, filmmaker Stephen Seliy is turning his attention to this Postindustrial town’s former glory and its quest for a new direction in the modern age.

Designed by the Olmsted Brothers, perhaps the most renowned landscape architectural firm of its era, Vandergrift was envisioned as a workers’ utopia — call it the “Google campus” of its day.

The president of a nearby steelworks paid the brothers to create a city that would not only attract new arrivals to work, but to also entice them to stay.

More than 100 years ago, Vandergrift was designed as an ideal community for workers. One filmmaker is searching for ways in which a new chapter could be written for a small town looking for a brighter future, like so many others in Postindustrial America.

“It’s a little town with big ideas, and it’s a unique American community,” said Seliy, who is working out of a storefront on Grant Street, the town’s main drag, where he films residents and works on the storyline of the film he’s making about Vandergrift.

So far, the filmmaker has chronicled stories of town leaders, business owners, and others.

The Vandergrift residents he’s interviewed so far are bullish on the hamlet that has admittedly seen better days.

At its peak in 1940, the town was home to about 11,000 people. Today, some 5,000 live there. And much of the industry that drove its local economy is long gone.

However there are signs of renewal. A handful of new businesses have sprung up in the commercial district. And then there’s the historic Casino Theatre.

Owned by the city, its restoration and operation have been led by a core of volunteers since the 1990s.

“If Vandergrift doesn’t survive, then what town can?” Seliy said. “There are people moving in who are entrepreneurs,” he said, noting some of his favorite commercial amenities like a chocolate shop, and winery. “But the fly in the ointment is, even though the area has been recognized, other areas use enforcement techniques to make sure things are saved. This town can’t necessarily do that.”

Log in with your library card number and PIN, browse for passes by date or venue, and make your reservation. Then print or download your pass to your mobile device shortly before your visit and bring it with you to the venue. It’s that easy!

Kimberly Palmiero is CEO and editor-in-chief of Postindustrial Media.

Filmmaker Stephen Seliy, right, opened a storefront in Vandergrift, where he’s doing interviews for a planned documentary. // Photographs by Jody Pounds / Bella Luma Photography

Filmmaker Stephen Seily is recording interviews at businesses in Vandergrift for a planned documentary.

COP PROBLEMS

Louisville’s police force fails to reform

When hundreds of people took to the streets in Louisville, Ky. in May 2020, they were protesting the police killing of Breonna Taylor — and a police department they felt unfairly targeted and mistreated Black residents.

The protests stretched for months and helped launch a national reckoning about race, policing and public safety in America.

This wasn’t supposed to happen in Louisville.

These protests reflected the chasm of distrust between the Louisville Metro Police Department and the people they police, and followed five years of broken promises, unheeded warnings, and failed efforts to build a better relationship.

In 2015, Louisville embarked on an ambitious plan to reform its police department. The Department of Justice offered Louisville concrete recommendations, grants and coaching. The LMPD said it had overhauled training, changed policies and completed hundreds of reform initiatives. City leaders were honored at the White House in 2016 for these efforts.

Louisville portrayed itself as a model city that would show the rest of the nation how to maintain public safety while building community relationships and trust.

In May 2020, that facade came crumbling down as the nation learned what many in Louisville already knew: LMPD had not meaningfully changed how it policed the city.

The Kentucky Center for Investigative Reporting and Newsy spent the last year reviewing thousands of pages of documents and interviewing dozens of people to understand how Louisville went from a national leader in policing reform to the face of a national movement protesting the police.

The investigation found that Louisville took a “checkbox” approach to reform, focusing on attainable or easily documented reforms rather than actually changing how they policed. The LMPD claimed to have implemented some changes that never happened, or made little difference. At the same time, the department invested in controversial violent crime units and encouraged officers to aggressively patrol certain Black neighborhoods.

When demonstrations broke out last May, the department relied on tactics that they’d specifically been warned against using. By the end of that first weekend of protests, another Black person was dead

after a shooting involving LMPD and the National Guard.

Longtime LMPD Chief Steve Conrad was fired after that shooting in June 2020 when it came to light that the LMPD officers who fired their weapons hadn’t activated their body cameras. Conrad did not respond to requests for comment and LMPD did not make current department leadership available for an interview. In a statement, they said the department successfully implemented reforms in some areas but faced challenges in others, due to changing demands from the community, economic issues and evolving technology.

LMPD spokesperson Beth Ruoff noted the department’s current command staff is “committed to evolving and improving in those areas where it readily acknowledges improvement is needed.” FOR MORE ON

Louisville police officers and protesters in late May 2020 // J. Tyler Franklin

ELEANOR KLIBANOFF OF KYCIR AND CARRIE COCHRAN, KAREN RODRIGUEZ, MAIA ROSENFELD AND MAREN MACHLES OF NEWSY

Longing (the bridge)

There’s art all around us

BY KIMBERLY PALMIERO

Watching the steel industry collapse in Western Pennsylvania influenced the artistry of Aristotle Georgiades.

“I grew up in Pittsburgh in the 1970s and I watched the whole steel industry disappear,” said Georgiades, a professor of art/sculpture at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.

He also grew up with an appreciation for reuse. His childhood spent on the family farm, Georgiades says he is always looking for materials to build his work.

“I remember passing a 100-foot barn when I came home from work one day, about 10 years ago … so I started salvaging a lot of those materials,” he said.

“I have no more places to put things,” he added. His work ranges from issues of male identity, labor economics, and more recently, the changing American landscape in a post-industrial economy.

Georgiades, who has a master of fine arts degree from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, works in wood, metal, and architectural materials. He has exhibited his sculptural works nationally and internationally in both curated group and solo exhibitions.

He is also part of Actual Size Artworks, a company that produces large-scale permanent and temporary public works.

Right now, they’re working on the design of a greenspace in Middleton, Wis. He has also led public art installations in Illinois, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Germany through Actual Size Artworks.

The sculpture is located in Tenney Park lagoon in Madison, Wis.— visible but not close enough to touch — “suggesting a way to cross to the other side that is desired but never attained; we all seem stranded on our own shores.”

How do you select materials?

I used a ton of reclaimed materials for various reasons. For one, I’m interested in reducing what’s in the landfill. Also, you can’t get a lot of those materials anymore. They’re rarefied and I’m interested in using materials that have a history. We go through life with a job and everything changes — the job goes away and we have a new direction. For example, the bridge in Wisconsin (“Longing”) was constructed with reclaimed materials from a silo.

What influences you in your work?

In my studio sculptures I primarily use reclaimed materials. Underlying much of this work is my concern about wastefulness and the exploitation of labor in the production of our built environment.

These issues are part of my research and my life experience, yet not often obvious in the completed artwork.

What do you hope people take from your art?

I believe in beauty. I hope the work is beautiful in some way. I emphasize craftsmanship. If nothing else, people can take that from it, I hope they start to read the history of these materials, of the ideas that are in it and of those time periods.

The art world is kind of weird and exclusive in a lot of ways. I think art can be smart and speak a broader language.

Viewpoints

“You’re facing a door that doesn’t go anywhere, and you are facing someone who is coming up a different set of stairs. That could be a class division, or a division of politics, but you are engaging the viewer. get interested in divisions in our country. You can drive outside of Pittsburgh and it seems like a different country. In Wisconsin, the Legislature won’t let the governor do anything.”

Kimberly Palmiero is CEO and editor-in-chief of Postindustrial Media.

Old School (the desks)

“It’s about education and how it’s prioritized. K-12 teachers are incredible. I’ve used a lot of those materials again because they are imbued with history and because, sometimes I am quite moved when I see these pieces.”

Georgiades

How one Postindustrial artist uses reclaimed material from the region to inspire his art

Cafes with momentum

Transforming lives, inside the kitchen

BY TORY N. PARRISH

Chad Houser knew he wanted to do more.

In May 2008, then a chef and restaurateur, he was volunteering to teach eight teen boys in a juvenile detention facility how to make ice cream on a Thursday afternoon. It wasn’t long after meeting them — and talking to them about their paths in life — that he felt ashamed about the preconceived notions he, a white man, had about the teens, all Black or Latino, he was teaching, said Houser, 46. Houser thought about classism and racism, and how they can be tightly woven together to create barriers to access for marginalized people — for poor people, for people of color and others — and how a lack of second chances can exacerbate disparities, he said.

“I was reflecting on myself at their age … I was allowed to fail as many times as I wanted. Society picked me up and brushed me off and said, ‘Keep going,’” he said.

By 2015, Houser was doing more.

He founded Café Momentum, a Dallas-based nonprofit restaurant that provides 12 months of paid restaurant training to teens and young adults coming out of juvenile detention programs. In addition to paying young employees who work in various jobs in the restaurant, Café Momentum also provides education; social services, such as housing and food assistance; legal advocacy; resume writing assistance; mental health care; and other services.

The program will expand to the Postindustrial cities of Pittsburgh and Nashville in 2022, said Houser, who runs Café Momentum full-time now.

Chad Houser, founder of Café Momentum. // Photograph provided by Cafe Momentum.

The Pittsburgh operation will open in two former restaurant spaces being leased in a Downtown building, in the historic Market Square, in the second quarter of 2022, Houser said.

The community services center will open in the former Wolfies Pub space on Forbes Avenue.

The Café Momentum restaurant will open next door, in the former Pizzuvio restaurant. The two spaces will be combined and total about 7,900 square feet, said Richard L. Beynon, senior adviser at Three Rivers Commercial Advisors, the Downtown real estate firm that represented Café Momentum. About 150 teens ages 15 to 19 in Dallas participate in Café Momentum’s program annually, or about 35 at any given time, Houser said.

Some of the biggest challenges they face to getting their lives back on track are accessing what many consider to be basic resources, such as a high school diploma and stable housing, things that seem out of reach to many of the program participants, he said.

Youths involved in the criminal justice system are three to four years behind academically, he said. More than half of those who go through the program are high school dropouts.

Also, 42 percent of the young people that Café Momentum serves are homeless.

All youths in the program have graduated from high school, are being homeschooled through the program’s curriculum or are attending public high schools, Houser said.

Chef Chad Houser, center, demonstrates food prep techniques at Café Momentum in Dallas.

Students prep chocolate shells as part of food service training through Café Momentum, in Dallas.

Jedarrian Jones, 21, of Dallas, served six weeks in a juvenile detention center as a sentence for burglarizing a home in 2015, he said. While on probation, he entered the Café Momentum program, where he worked in the restaurant.

“I feel the program opened my mind, gave me confidence to speak and just the confidence to know that I can do a lot more,” he said.

Jones will earn his high school diploma through Café Momentum in December, and then plans to enroll in a community college.

He now is a restaurant associate who trains teens and talks to diners about the benefits of the program. He sees a lot of himself in the teen workers and clients he meets at Café Momentum. When he was a teen making unwise choices, he saw himself as trying to establish independence from his mother and to relieve her of some financial burden, Jones said.

“As the oldest [child], as the man of the house, I wanted to go out and do my own thing and make my own money, so my mom wouldn’t have to worry about

me,” he said.

But things didn’t go as planned.

Often, participants stay in Café Momentum longer than the intended 12 months because they fail to meet benchmarks, or have to restart for personal reasons, Houser said. So, the average length of time in the program ends up being 18 months, he said.

“It is a 12-month program, but we believe in accountability. And we also believe in grace and meeting young people where they’re at,” said Houser, who said many are working to overcome trauma.

The Dallas program has 18 support staff members, including chefs, service managers, case managers, education coordinators and a mental health clinician.

Its 2021 operating budget is $2.2 million. Revenue from the restaurant accounts for 30 percent of the budget. The rest comes from three sources: donations that restaurant customers leave instead of tips, private donations and foundation grants.

Meanwhile, fundraising for the Nashville facility is taking place now.

As for the Pittsburgh edition, $1.65 million has been collected through donations from the Richard King Mellon Foundation, Pittsburgh Downtown Partnership and Allegheny Foundation. The money allowed a lease to be signed, an architect to be hired and some staff who will work in the Pittsburgh site to be hired. Fundraising continues, Houser said. But Pittsburgh and Nashville will not be the last stops for Café Momentum.

“Our goal, ambitiously, is to launch 25 programs over the next 10 years. But you know, more importantly, the programs are an opportunity to build conversations around the country around what juvenile justice looks like and what it should look like,” he said. It can’t be a one-size-fits-all model, Houser said.

What works in Dallas might not work in Pittsburgh or Nashville, he said.

So, in 2020, Houser and his Café Momentum team launched the Momentum Advisory Collective, which is a nonprofit umbrella organization for Café Momentum. The collective, who are seven paid staff members living across the country, will provide fundraising, marketing and programmatic training to help Café Momentum programs to operate locally.

Tory N. Parrish is a reporter who covers retail and small business at Newsday on Long Island, N.Y. She is the former Region I director for the National Association of Black Journalists. She worked at the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review and the Observer-Dispatch in New York. Parrish is a native of Woodbridge, Va.

A young cook in Café Momentum’s program in Dallas prepares to serve salads.

Chad Houser, center, with students at Cafe Momentum in Dallas.

What makes Alexa and Kurt Diserio so damn

SUPER COOL

BY CARMEN GENTILE PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE OBERPORTS

Alexa and Kurt Diserio are a collective force of creativity.

Separately, they have their own artistic endeavors in which they shine.

But when they combine forces, watch out. There is a palpable electricity in what they produce.

Kurt is a marketing whiz who also creates hand-drawn, psychedelic illustrations that often depict his second, greatest love: custom motorcycles. Meanwhile, Alexa is a photographer whose services are sought out by betrothed couples and others in search of soulful, exquisite images.

Together, they form Wild Native (wildnativeusa.com), a company that produces events, publishes periodicals, images, and more. Its motto — “Creative ambition with a touch of mischief” — is a better descriptor of who they are as partners than I could conjure.

POSTINDUSTRIAL PARTNERS

Alex and Kurt produce Pittsburgh Moto magazine, a chronicle of the custom motorcycle scene in Western Pennsylvania. Kurt writes the words and Alexa makes the images. As a magazine publisher myself, I’ve taken a keen interest in their evolution and am inspired by their work.

(Full disclosure: Kurt and Alexa featured me in a recent issue of Pittsburgh Moto, despite the fact that the only “custom” thing about my motorcycle is the duct tape covering the rip in the saddle.)

They also produce “Glory Daze” (glorydazepgh.com), an annual custom motorcycle show (2020’s show was cancelled because of COVID-19, though it resumed this year) featuring painstakingly restored and modified bikes from all over the country against the backdrop of Carrie Blast Furnaces (riversofsteel.com), just outside of Pittsburgh.

Their partnership dates back many years. Alexa is 29; Kurt is 36. The couple grew up in rural West Virginia and both suffered the slings and arrows of being artists in a place where their creativity wasn’t always appreciated. Alexa, particularly, says she felt the sting of being “different” because of her multiracial background and the often less-than-enlightened attitudes of some who attempted to degrade her.

She has risen above it to outshine them all with the help of her always-supportive partner, Kurt.

These photographs, taken by the Oberports (theoberports.com), exemplify their bond as both husband and wife and creative partners whose collective ambition and imagination feed off the strength of their love, friendship, and mutual admiration for one another’s talent.

We asked them each to tell Postindustrial what makes the other a good partner and how their union has fared during these trying times.

PI: What makes Kurt a good partner?

Alexa: He may seem a little tough on the outside, but ultimately, he’s the most honest and loving person I know. He’s committed, patient, and has been nothing but supportive in and of my growth. I believe we’ve made each other better. Yin and Yang. We balance each other out.

PI: What makes Alexa a good partner?

Kurt: In addition to being unbreakably loyal and always having my back, the one characteristic about Alexa that makes her the greatest partner is that she encourages me to be myself. I have felt like an outsider my entire life, and the struggle to fit in with any particular group has made me continuously question my existence. From the start, Alexa appreciated me the way I was, and for the first time ever, I felt as if I didn’t have to repress my personality or emotions.

PI: You two grew up together in rural West Virginia. What was that like?

Alexa: There were pros and cons. More cons than pros, but West Virginia will always have a piece of us. It was rough being an artist in a small town. We both relate to that feeling — that of being sort of an outsider. Even before we were technically labeled as artists in our younger years, we both relate to not ever fitting in wherever we were. I wouldn’t change anything when it comes to growing up in West Virginia, because the roughness and not growing up with a lot definitely contributed to who we are as people today. I still can’t believe we found each other in that little old town and make certain to express that every time someone asks me, “How did you two meet?!”

POSTINDUSTRIAL PARTNERS

Kurt: There were positives and negatives. Outside of a handful of supportive people, the environment wasn’t very friendly with originality or diversity. For creatives, towns like ours really made you examine yourself, your interests, and your dreams. You had to be tough. On the flip, Alexa and I learned a lot about how to navigate difficult personalities and uncomfortable situations. There weren’t many opportunities available, so we were forced to make the most out of what resources we had. I feel as if those struggles helped us become more resilient and adventurous as both individuals and as a couple.

PI: COVID-19 has put its share of stress on lots of partnerships. How have you two fared?

Alexa: Kurt and I have pretty much lived together since 2012, and have rarely spent more than a week or two out of that time away from each other. Being around each other even more with the pandemic actually brought us closer. It was a relief having someone by my side through one of the strangest, most tragic times in history. After being very careful for an entire year, we unfortunately contracted the virus along with some family members at the beginning of 2021. This was one of the most stressful times of our entire lives — taking care of each other and my family combined. It was a lot, but we made it through, like we always do.

Kurt: As far as our businesses, we were both coming off of the best year of our careers before the pandemic. We had hoped to continue building on that in 2020, so to say it was a major bummer would be an understatement. Fortunately, we grew even closer during the time off, and it forced us to step back and reevaluate the speed and absurdity of our schedules. After having to double up on gigs in 2021, we decided to scale back heavily on work and focus more on what we feel is most important to us.

PI: As both of you are creatives, how does the other’s creativity inspire your own?

Alexa: It’s hard to separate him from his projects because he puts so much of himself into each one. I’m just inspired by him as a person and always have been. I’m inspired by his work ethic and determination to always create new things. He’s always trying to better himself and he never gives up. We lift each other up and learn from each other; plus, we’re not afraid to tell one or the other when an idea or something we’re working on could be improved. There are no waters to be disrupted. We rise together.

Kurt: Alexa’s photography and understanding of art improve every year. She has an incredible eye for light and knows how to evoke genuine emotion, no matter the circumstance. Her determination to deliver the best work possible inspires me to continually seek new perspectives and higher creative standards. That aspect of our relationship keeps things fresh and allows me to stay open to bold ideas I might not have considered otherwise.

Carmen Gentile is founder and editor-at-large of Postindustrial Media.

Get Out goes international

Head north of the border this winter to Postindustrial Canada and partake in a literary pilgrimage

For the vaccinated and boosted, the world is yours to explore this winter.

Though the Omicron variant might hamper the movement of some this winter, those of you wise enough to already have your shots and boosters, the world is a much safer place to explore and enjoy.

And while we want everyone to embrace the reality of vaccines, until then, those indoor attractions and events will likely be less crowded, especially if they require masks, which the deluded and misinformed won’t wear.

But you can be confident that your vaccines and mask will keep you safer while checking out museums in Indianapolis and Hamilton, Ontario, or attending other indoor events.

As for the outdoors, it’s gonna be cold. No getting around that. But like we always say: The right clothes make your adventure fun no matter what the thermostat reads.

So don those wool socks, your toastiest long underwear and other layers, and start tromping some trails. Postindustrial America takes on a magical, crystalline glow when its forests are covered in snow and frost. Make sure you layer up, so when it comes time to head indoors, you can peel off your protective wear and be comfy there too.

As always, read carefully, take note of times of certain events and availability of rockets as needed, then put down your copy of Postindustrial and Get Out!

TENNESSEE Tips down, Bottoms up!

Where to ski in Tennessee, then throw back a few Ober Gatlinburg

Ever thought to ski in Tennessee? We’re guessing “no.” While neighboring West Virginia is better known for its slopes, the Volunteer State features Smoky Mountains runs that will challenge and amuse skiers and snowboarders alike. Oh yeah, and snow tubers. There are runs to accommodate all skill levels and a snowboard park with all the rail and ramps you need to stunt and soar. Be sure to check the Ober Gatlinburg calendar online for discounted theme days like those for college students or “Ladies Night” ski sessions.

The resort amusement park also has plenty to do for those not keen on hitting the slopes such as ice skating and other familyoriented activities. For those who brave the winter chill on the mountain, be sure to head to the Ober Loft Longue after a long day on the slopes and enjoy one of the better selection of beers and Kentucky’s finest spirits around.

There are seven different dining options ranging from formal and pricey, to simple favorites you know the kids will like.

Just a quick note before you book your trip: Be sure to check to see what’s available in terms of eateries and other attractions due to the ongoing labor shortage and supply-chain issues that have hampered many businesses nationwide.

ONTARIO, CANADA

Oh Canada! Cross the border for a spell and take in all that Hamilton has to offer.

Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

As of publication time, the pesky Omicron variant hasn’t prompted the U.S. to close its border with Canada, or vice versa. That’s good news considering border crossings like the ones at Niagara were only recently reopened.

That’s your best bet for entering Canada (again, Omicron permitting) to get to Hamilton, Ontario, less than an hour’s drive from the falls.

This marks the first time that Postindustrial’s Get Out has recommended sites outside the continental U.S., but with so much to see and do there, we couldn’t resist finally adding it to our list of favorites.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “You want me to go to Canada — IN THE WINTER?”

Umm …. yeah.

The reason being, plain and simple, is that Hamilton is cool no matter when you visit.

There’s loads to see and do in this waterfront city on Lake Ontario that once produced loads of Canadian steel that has since transitioned to other industries though some coke works and steel finishing production continues in the area.

As such, Hamilton fits quite nicely among the pantheon of Postindustrial cities to its south, though its French-Canadian community is a twist we don’t have down here in “the south.”

Hamilton has nine city-owned museums offering historic, artistic and kid-friendly attractions to keep you entertained for hours and days.

Postindustrial-minded visitors will get a particular kick out of the Hamilton Museum of Steam & Technology National Historic Site.

There you’ll see earliest examples of the mechanism that helped forge and expand Canada’s own industrial revolution. The collection is housed in a 160-year-old Waterworks, containing two 70-ton steam-powered water pumping engines, which the museum claims is “perhaps the oldest surviving Canadian-built engines.”

Once you’ve compared Hamilton’s industrialized past to that of its American brethren, head outside and check out the natural wonder in and around Hamilton.

The city is best known for its waterfalls; there are more than 100 in the area. Whether they are flowing free or frozen solid, the Hamilton falls are a wonder

worth beholding. One of the favorites in the area is the Albion Falls, a cascading rush of water over magnificent rock formations resembling natural stairs carved into the side of the mountain. Be extra careful trekking in these parts when the thermometer dips below freezing, as the rocks become exceptionally slick.

Much like Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, and Nashville, there are plenty of green spaces to enjoy within the city limits and surrounding area. Hiking trails and tranquil bodies of water make the ideal idea for exploring on foot or by canoe. And of course you can’t overlook the largest attraction of them all, Lake Ontario, not to mention all the natural beauty of the Niagara Escarpment, a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve. Upon arrival in Hamilton, get your bearings with a birdseye view of the lake, the Dundas Valley, and parts of Hamilton, from Sam Lawrence Park, which sits atop the aforementioned Niagara Escarpment.

The Royal Botanical Gardens nearby is a more “manicured” outdoor experience. It is Canada’s largest botanical garden, containing 2,400 acres of nature sanctuaries, more than 2,000 plant species, and 181,000 individual plants.

After all that time spent outdoors in the crisp Canadian air, you’ll want to retreat someplace warm and cozy. The Osler House bed and breakfast, features warmly appointed rooms within a historical setting and has room rates that won’t break the bank.

Another favorite is the stately, stone-walled Barracks Inn. Don’t let the name fool you. There’s no communal living among uniformed soldiers. The inn’s aesthetic is a combination of English manor home and Swiss ski lodge.

Once warmed up by the fire, head back outside (remember those layers we mentioned!) to one of Hamilton’s many celebrated restaurants.

This is where Hamilton’s “French connection” really shines, as its culinary scene is dominated by the French-Canadian culture of the region.

Favorites include Bon Temps, a venue serving dinner and brunch. As with any of Hamilton’s favorite dining haunts, be sure to check ahead for availability or hours, as COVID-19 protocols may affect the hours, and availability of certain dishes.

Looking for something perhaps a little more familiar to your American palate? Try HAMBRGR King William, known for its aforementioned beef patties, poutine, and milkshakes.

INDIANA

Literary Learning: Check out the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library

543 Indiana Avenue • Indianapolis, IN 46202

Kurt Vonnegut, the literary genius whose work is an amalgam of hard-truths, sci-fi and the sometime-absurdity of the human condition, was a native son of the Indiana capital.

Born in 1922, Vonnegut’s path toward immortality in letters meandered for a time through Postindustrial America. He studied at New York’s Cornell University, before dropping out in 1943 to serve in World War II.

The writer also matriculated for a period at Pittsburgh’s Carnegie Institute of Technology (now Carnegie Mellon University) and the University of Tennessee as part of his Army training, making him one of the greatest authors ever to come out of Postindustrial America. And like so many others from our region, he served and sacrificed in World War II, enduring one of the most horrifying moments of a war replete with too many atrocities to count: the firebombing of Dresden in Germany.

Vonnegut was a prison of war captured and interned in Dresden when allied forces unleashed a bombing campaign so furious and devastating it marred the consciousness of Vonnegut and served as a major plot point to the novel we all read in high school: “Slaughterhouse Five.”

For some of us, that book kicked off a long-running fascination with Vonnegut’s ability to lash together personal memories with flights of fancy, which when woven together, somehow create a “truer” story than any tale based on just the facts.

The museum and library dedicated to his life and legacy only opened a few months before COVID-19 began spreading around the globe. It’s almost a shame Vonnegut, who died in 2007, didn’t live long enough to train his keen and satirical eye on the current state of humanity.

Oh, the fun he would have had making fun of us!

The library and museum’s treasures haven’t been seen by as many folks as expected up to this point, likely making you the first of our friends to check out this Hoosier state gem.

You’ll see letters written by Vonnegut and to him, most notably all the rejection letters he received, something every aspiring and published writer will appreciate considering how much rejection they face.

One of the letters by some sclhub of an editor who probably soon after lost his job states that Vonnegut’s Dresden firebombing account was “not quite compelling enough.”

There are also other items that belonged to the late author including books and a variety of personal photos of Vonnegut with family and friends.

Before you go, check the hours and dates the library and museum are open and for special events on the calendar so you can time your Vonnegut “pilgrimage” (that’s a ham-fisted reference to protagonist “Billy Pilgrim” in “Slaughterhouse Five,” if you missed it) just right.

Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library | Shutterstock

Rural revitalization starts with trust

What happens when outsiders discover a bucolic West Virginia town?

BY KARIN KITSMAN NUNAN

WARDENSVILLE, W.Va. — Ours is a family of travel fanatics — we’ve traversed the globe for work and pleasure — always on the lookout for our next, great adventure.

However, the earlier days of the COVID-19 pandemic prevented us and millions of others from boarding flights to faraway destinations, prompting our family to explore new locales near our Virginia home.

Armed with our insatiable appetites for culture, outdoor experiences, and new friends, we knew our chosen destination would have to be someplace special.

That’s when we discovered Lost River Valley and neighboring Wardensville, W.Va.: a town of 270 people with a growing fan base among those in the Washington, D.C. area, some 90 minutes away.

Setting out for the weekend in the Mountain State, we also planned to visit Lost River State Park, where we could experience some of the region’s best hiking and rugged, unspoiled terrain. We never made it there.

That’s because before arriving, we’d stopped at a recentlyrenovated cabin in George Washington National Forest near the Trout Pond Recreation Area.

This cabin, lived in for 15 years by once-D.C. suburbanites who started the Lost River Pride Association, was about to go on the market. We spent the day at the house and the surrounding community of Lost River.

Then we placed an offer to buy it.

Karin Nunan is a former U.S. diplomat and current sustainability consultant. She lives between Washington, D.C., and Lost River, W.Va.

Something about West Virginia had drawn us in. Maybe we didn’t need to travel the world for the best hikes or most relaxing evenings, boutique shopping, new artists or farm-to-table food. Maybe it was within driving distance. It just took a pandemic to give us the perspective to find it.

We were intrigued how a rural community of generations of West Virginians — many flying “Biden is not my President” flags — could co-exist with a mass of D.C. weekenders, many gay, proudly flying Pride flags and donning Joe Biden bumper stickers.

“Here the motto is ‘Live and let live,’” Realtor Donald Hitchcock told us as we signed for our new house. “It hasn’t always been easy, but it works.”

Donald, a native of D.C., and his partner Paul Yandura are locally famous not just for buying weekend property here but for starting the trend to permanently relocate. They have been helping to rebuild the community that, for years, some may have considered little more than a pass-through, not a destination.

Donald and Paul first bought the Lost River Trading Post, which sells local products and gifts that puts Rose’s Apothecary on “Schitt’s Creek” to shame. They have worked with a family foundation to create a nonprofit social enterprise that launched a 100-acre organic farm, market bakery, and a glass blowing workshop. The nonprofit’s mission is to create discovery opportunities for local youths so they see themselves and their futures in new and exciting ways.

They started a trend.

On the weekend of the Wardensville Fall Festival this past October, Gabriel Ross and his business partner Stephen Page opened the Lost River Works, a framing shop and art gallery featuring local painter, Art of Seth. Gabriel is also from Washington. The hope is to turn part of the gallery into a shared working space for artists.

Across the street, the nonprofit social enterprise that Paul and Donald work with is slated to open a teaching kitchen and restaurant in 2022 featuring a sought-after chef. Next door is Word Play, an independent bookstore that could rival some of my favorites in Europe; it just celebrated its one-year anniversary. It is owned by West Virginia native Marlene England and her husband Tom, who split their time between Wardensville and Frederick, Md.

“There is so much revitalization going on now in this area — we really wanted to be a part of it fulltime,” Gabriel says.

He and his husband Sean, who commutes to his job in D.C., are renovating a house in nearby Baker, where they intend to remain full time and start other business ventures.

“There is so much potential in small towns if locals are willing to trust new residents and take a chance on new ideas, but we have to give them something to trust us about,” Gabriel says.

Mistrust of newcomers, especially from cities, is sometimes engrained in communities across the region. They’re long-promised benefits from industry but often left with little in terms of jobs or community investment once factories and mines close, so it makes sense why some people may shun those who aren’t from the community.

Later that night at the Lost River Grill, owners Kevin Willner and his husband, Tim Ramsey, said they took a chance on the area in 2003 when they purchased the motel and restaurant before renovating. Today it’s a popular destination for locals and out-of-towners, serving local fare and pink martinis.

After a day at the Fall Festival, I spent the rest of the evening under the stars in our cabin plotting what business I could start that would enable us to relocate here full time.

I hang my new piece of Art by Seth on the wall of the house we never intended to buy but now dread leaving at the end of each weekend … all thanks to this community of old and new, living in a town that charmed us.

Gabriel Ross, owner of Lost River Works in Wardensville.

The author and her daughter enjoying a fall festival in October.

Michael Madison is a professor of law and John E. Murray Faculty Scholar at the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, and a senior scholar with the University of Pittsburgh Institute for Cyber Law, Policy, and Security. He writes about institutions and governance and is a co-founder of the emerging research discipline known as “knowledge commons.” Before becoming a law professor, he practiced law in San Francisco and Silicon Valley. Madison received his J.D. from Stanford University and his bachelor’s degree from Yale University. He is a regular contributor to Postindustrial.

Beyond Innovation Theater

BY MICHAEL MADISON

The phrase “postindustrial” Pittsburgh implies that Pittsburgh has entered a new phase, in which the key players, resources, challenges, and opportunities aren’t the ones that characterized its 20th century material past — steelmaking. Postindustrial implies a 21st century immaterial future, one that’s all about information.

The truth is that this metaphorical back-and-forth is misleading. Hidden in plain sight, in between the look back at heavy industry and giant integrated companies and the look ahead to tech startups, there’s a different phenomenon in Pittsburgh that clouds the skies of its possibly sunny future. I call it “Innovation Theater.”

For 60 years (yes, that long!), Pittsburgh’s leaders have publicly insisted that the region’s future rests with building and using innovative technologies. That’s the show. The producers of the show have long been hard at work trying to replicate Pittsburgh’s 20th century industrial ethos: They think that the future of Pittsburgh requires giant tech enterprises.

Today, they talk a lot about startups and new businesses, but they work hard to generate new, publicly-assisted versions of the old mills. Amazon! The Pittsburgh Robotics Network! The promised BioForge!

Years ago, a key Pittsburgh tech leader told me that Pittsburgh has only so much capital to invest. In advising tech startups on how to find investors and customers and how to get deals done, his job was to “pick winners.” That’s a direct quote. That’s Innovation Theater.

Truth be told, very little comes of Innovation Theater and its endless emphasis on giant projects. Yes, Pittsburgh today is in many respects brighter, cleaner, younger, more tech-centric, and more energetic than it was 20 or 25 years ago. But a Pittsburgh economist named Ben Chinitz explained way back in 1961 why the “big enterprises” strategy wasn’t a formula for success. His insights are just as relevant today as they were 60 years ago.

I used to think that the right response to this sort of thing was to tear down Innovation Theater, to criticize its efforts until its producers undertook a renewal of Pittsburgh’s innovation ecology. I was wrong about that. Innovation Theater won’t go away. But it’s time for Innovation Theater to yield the stage.

Official Pittsburgh — public Pittsburgh, elected Pittsburgh, and their counterparts in Harrisburg and Washington, D.C. — should leave Innovation Theater alone. There is no reason and no need to sponsor Innovation Theater,

no reason to encourage it, and no need to celebrate it. Most importantly, there is no need any longer to give it a seat at the table where accountable decision-makers are making public policy. Innovation Theater is bloated and unaccountable. So load it out, turn it loose, and spin it off. What should come next, once Innovation Theater is put in its place? Here’s a short game plan, free for anyone to use however they might wish. Set the right goals

Start with goals. Innovation is not the goal. Innovation is not even a goal. Innovation is a strategy, a pathway, and sometimes a spillover effect. It’s not always a good thing, and sometimes it’s a bad thing. The right goals for any city are wealth, health, security, opportunity, and equity. Those are processes, not destinations. Cities are people, not gross regional products.

Rally around the right leaders

Leadership is a question, not a given. Pittsburgh has a real and resilient culture of CEOs who talk only to CEOs. That “status culture” slows things down. The formal leaders of Innovation Theater spend too much time persuading its members that they’re a productive community of innovation players. But that community is much too small, much too exclusive, and much too static. Broaden and deepen the numbers and types of people who have voices in the future of Pittsburgh. Find and follow positive deviants

Build on difference, not on sameness. People who study organizational and cultural change often point to “positive deviants,” individuals who are out there starting and leading ventures that aren’t simply following the status quo; they’re rallying partners and finding investors who respond to passion, vision, and energy. For Pittsburgh, the lesson is this: Find these people and encourage them. They bring “productive trouble” to the fore. Make Pittsburgh attractive and welcoming for people who don’t think the same things that people have always thought.

Turn things over as well as around Promote churn. Energy, ideas, and positive change come not simply from putting the nose to the grindstone. They come from turnover — people and their ideas come in, and people and their ideas move out. Pittsburgh should be a people processor. People grow up here. People come here. Then people get heated up — via studying and training, working, or simply living in the community. Then people go. More people come. Repeat. Don’t discourage people from leaving. Instead, make Pittsburgh attractive as a talent accelerator.

Build community resilience

Encourage healthy, loosely linked population clusters, not tightly linked industry clusters. Pitt economist Ben Chinitz predicted both Pittsburgh’s late 20th century collapse and the resilience of New York, its mid-century

peer. His basic message is still true today: Community health is based on economic resilience, and economic resilience depends on networks of loosely linked interdependent firms and neighborhoods, not on big, tightly clustered, hierarchical industrial organizations. New York is far from problem-free, but it never put all of its urban eggs in a single basket. Pittsburgh today doesn’t need a giant tech entity to anchor its postindustrial economy. It needs clusters of talented people, some of whom work in tech.

Measure and reward the right results

Measure the right results and reward people and support processes that produce them. “Right results” means “areas where Pittsburgh performs poorly and needs to improve.” “Jobs” isolation isn’t the right result. “Big entity comes to Pittsburgh” isn’t the right result. What are better metrics? How about “new jobs that last,” rather than “jobs that might come and go”? How about “jobs with income and benefits that can sustain a person, or a family”? How about “jobs that are accessible and available across the community,” rather than concentrated in a few neighborhoods? How about “jobs that don’t require a graduate degree”? How about new businesses formed, of all sorts?

Measure and reward the right inputs

Invest in infrastructure. A lot of Pittsburgh’s postindustrial future depends on things that matter to everyone, which means all sectors across Pittsburgh should be investing in and measuring success in things like safety, education, connectivity, and health, not only roads and bridges. How many people can access good public transit when they need to? How many people have affordable broadband access and the training needed to make that access meaningful? How many people have pathways to education that can lead to better jobs? How many people can access childcare options that will help them get into the workforce if they want to? Count those things. Then measure the multiplier effects that follow investing in good infrastructure. Tell better stories.

Tell new forward-looking stories, steering away from steel-based metaphors such as “BioForge” and toward things that will make Pittsburgh attractive and inviting, even magnetic, for the new people that Pittsburgh absolutely must attract in order to thrive. Innovation Theater is in thrall to the backward-looking stories of “authenticity” and, yes, rust, that came to define industrial Pittsburgh. That history can’t disappear, but it needs context. Pittsburgh may still make steel, but the steel era is over.

Pittsburgh needs to stop picking winners. It needs to create opportunities for success.

No respect, no justice

BY TOM SYNAN

I have been thinking about justice a lot lately. I know, I’m a cop; I should always be thinking about it. Actually it has been less thinking and more questioning. What is justice? Where do we find it? And why are there so many looking for it?

Justice is such an important word. It ends the Pledge of Allegiance, a promise that every American is deserving of “justice for all.”

Our Founding Fathers believed justice was a principle so worthy it helped to frame the Constitution, guaranteeing that each person is equal in her or his membership in the human species.

High-profile cases such as those involving George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery and Kyle Rittenhouse echo the words of justice, as did the Jan. 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol.

As I wondered how such a simple word could be so slippery, I turned to my most reliable source of wisdom … Batman.

I know what you are thinking. Wait, the last time this cop wrote about the Lone Ranger and Andy Griffith and now it’s Batman — does he police on the Island of Misfit Toys? That would be a cool place to police ...but no, I don’t. And second, fiction is not so removed from reality. We often look to fictional characters, wanting to be them, or for us and others to be more like them. As a young boy, Bruce Wayne witnessed the murder of his parents. He vowed to seek justice by ridding Gotham of all its evil. In his quest for justice, he eventually struggles, wondering if it is justice he administers or revenge.

As a young cop, I believed that every “bad guy” I put in jail was served platefuls of justice that, by the end of my career, would save the world and rid us all of evil. Maybe it wasn’t platefuls or ridding the world of trouble completely, but I wholeheartedly believed my work was just and serving justice.

I have learned that laws don’t enforce morals and what’s legal does not always equate to justice. I realized that even as a cop, I had never looked up the word justice. I was convinced that my mission and cause were defined enough.

When I did look it up, it read: Just behavior or treatment. “A concern for justice, peace and genuine respect for people.”

That last part, “a genuine respect for people,” hit me hard. It was a realization that I, and we as a society, have not untangled the ropes of justice because we have not been able to let others know what it is we actually seek: respect.

Justice is not an idea that’s unique to one, unattainable, to be hoarded by the few, or undeserving of those deemed to be unworthy. No, justice is what we Americans pledge, for all.

A protest can read “no respect, no peace” while driving institutional change, so that those who enact and enforce the laws do so from a place that gives respect, and doesn’t demand it from others first.

An ideology can be respected when it is heard and not forced upon another.

Although we can’t ignore that there are some whose behavior, beliefs or attitudes never will be just, and they will not give the genuine respect deserved, we must seek justice as fervently before a tragedy occurs as we do after one.

Justice is not found in laws, courts or morality. Justice is not something to be sought; instead, it is to be given — by each of us to each of us. If we are to seek a just society, a just cause, then let us not look for justice but give justice as it was meant to be, a genuine respect for people.

If we seek revenge, our desire is payback or a wish to fulfill the biblical “eye for an eye”; let us not conflate and make the path of revenge and justice clear.

When we fight for the justice that demands respect, let us do it from a position of respect so that when justice is achieved, it is on equal ground.

Tom Synan Jr. is the chief of the police for the Village of Newtown, in Hamilton County, Ohio. In 2015, he helped form the Hamilton County Heroin Coalition, now the Hamilton County Addiction Response Coalition. In 2017, he testified at a Senate Homeland Security Subcommittee on investigations hearing about the impact that synthetic opiates have had on the country. His career and work with the opiate epidemic has been recorded and archived in the National Law Enforcement Museum in Washington, D.C.

Families have sought justice in court for victimizing their loved ones. Protests demanding “no justice, no peace” are an effort to hold institutions accountable. Others affirm that justice is found in a not guilty verdict, an election that was alleged to be stolen or an ideology. Political rhetoric from each party boasts their actions of gotchas, put-downs and demeaning comments — all done for the sake of justice that somehow, if only they ruled and their ideas were implemented, would bring us all to the Promised Land.

Justice seemingly is so elusive for some, yet declared given by others.

It’s as if justice was two ropes we threw from the edge of a mountain to reach the bottom. The ropes become entangled, knotted and twisted, conflated between legal and moral, right and wrong, good and evil. The fibers of the rope fray as so many people pull on it, and we become stuck halfway down the mountain, each demanding our own piece of justice. Eventually the rope snaps, sending us all tumbling to the bottom, only to look up and wonder if we ever will get the justice we seek.

A mother’s struggle and pain of losing a child to the hands of another does not negate with a conviction. Justice alone cannot achieve this, but it does hold one accountable for the respect another’s loved one deserved.

Let us make clear to our leaders, that they should exemplify justice with every action, word, debate and decision made from a foundation of respect for people — a respect that justice triumphs over racism, poverty, genocide, corruption, hunger and inequality. Justice should be found in each business, making respect for people a priority over profits.

I have come to realize that for many years, I got justice backwards. Justice should be freely given, not left dangling on a rope hanging over a mountain for one to try to find their way after a wrong was committed. This meaning of a genuine respect for people reinvigorates my mission as a police officer to seek more justice, be an example of justice, and spread justice around the world.

We should not seek justice from another; instead, we should be the justice that others deserve.

After all, we could all use a little more genuine respect for each other.

Justice is a two-way street

Podcast presented by POSTINDUSTRIAL MEDIA

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