Rev. Harry Lehotsky
Sure they're dangerous. But they're clearly in the minority amongst all the other law-abiding, people-respecting citizens.
In my experience, the greatest impediment to urban renewal are the people with an "it's not-my-job� attitude.
You know what I mean. The people who watch the grief and don't seem to give a care. People more concerned with their own comfort and convenience than the circumstances of others.
In a goofy kind of way, that's exactly the attitude displayed in the accompanying photo.
The dead possum, lying in the middle of the road, was apparently right in the path of one of those machines that paints fresh lane lines. For some reason, however, the driver didn't bother getting out of his truck to remove the possum.
Instead, he painted a double yellow line right over the possum carcass.
Maybe he had a good reason.
Maybe there was lots of traffic. Maybe he was already late for his coffee break.
Maybe picking up dead possums wasn't part of his union's collective agreement.
Whatever the reason, this painting-over-dead-possum incident earned the �Not My Job� award for the Arizona Department of Transportation.
I figure this picture exemplifies an ugly attitude commonly found in all cases of personal neglect and urban blight.
It's impossible to examine the decay of communities without confronting the decay of compassion, revealed in the �not-my-job� attitude.
Revitalization requires more than giving money to the United Way on casual Fridays. It involves more than tossing some spare change in the guitar case of the busker at the Forks or some squeegee kid on Broadway.
If you've ever been on the receiving end of the �not-my-job� attitude, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.
Have you ever been shuffled in circles from one office or agency to another? And all the time you suspect that each person who sent you away could have done something more to help?
Have you every been transferred from one phone line to another by people who said, �You have the wrong department. Try someone else.� Then you finally get to leave a voice-mail which never gets returned.
I've called welfare workers complaining about the addict that's killing himself with the assistance of a government-issued cheque. I suggest that the addict's next cheque be issued to facilitate his treatment rather than his suicide. The worker apologizes and informs me �That's not within our mandate.� Translation: �That's not my job.�
Some landlords, when confronted about their drug-dealing, gang-member tenants, tell me, �It's not my job, Harry. I won't kick them out. If you have a problem, call the cops.�
There are neighbours to drug houses who don't file complaints because, �Someone else will call. I can't risk it. If the cops cared about us, they would already know about the place anyway.� Translation: "It's not my job."
Some political, philosophical, ethnic and religious "activists" never really seem to move beyond analysis, pronouncements or pontification. Weary of their chatter, we check if they've ever "walked their talk." Their defensive response could best be paraphrased as, "That's not my job."
Some lawyers massage legal technicalities and sacrifice facts to argue for the release of clients, despite the fact that they personally believe some of those clients are guilty. They assuage their conscience with the assertion that their duty to their client and fulfilling a legal process transcends their duty to the truth. "That's not my job."
Some family members feign ignorance of ongoing physical, emotional and sexual abuse of other family members. This is a particularly nasty form of the "not my job" syndrome.
Revitalizing communities can get awful lonely when so many capable people repeatedly tell me �It's not my job.�
But there are reasons for hope.
This week I had the opportunity to visit Regina and Vancouver to address civic leaders and community activists about the importance of collaboration in efforts for urban renewal.
It was exciting to see the variety of individuals and agencies acknowledging "it IS my job!" They started with the assumption that there must be something they could do to improve the situation.
Here in Winnipeg, I've met some bureaucrats, cops, health workers, business leaders, and university profs that took initiative to ask how they can help our community. It's like they were looking for an excuse to help us, rather than an excuse to pass us by.
The comfort and hope sparked by these people has helped me through some discouraging times.
My hopes for change are buoyed by folks whose desire to help transcends their capacity for excuses. This is the foundation of change, the cornerstone of revitalization.
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
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