After moving from Somalia to Portland 30 years ago, Musse Olol made a commitment to help the cityâs burgeoning Somali community feel well-represented by their local government.
Olol began by attending neighborhood association meetings, one of the best ways Portlanders can get the ear of city council.
âBut every time I tried to participate, it felt like all of the chairs were taken,â he says. âThe system existed only to serve the groups of people it was initially designed forâand those people didnât look like us.â
Decades later, little has changed.
âWe still donât feel welcome in those spaces,â says Olol, who helped found the Somali American Council of Oregon in 2010. He now serves as the director.
âI know weâre not the only ones who feel this way,â he says. âIf people feel uncomfortable, theyâre not going to show up.â
The city is aware of this concern as well, which is why, in 2018, Olol was asked to join a volunteer committee tasked with rewriting the 40-year-old guiding principles for the Office of Community and Civic Life (OCCL), Portlandâs bureau that oversees civic engagement. The committeeâs goal was to update city codeâa document defining the function of each bureauâto reflect the needs of all Portlanders, not just those in upscale neighborhood associations. In mid-July, the 25-person committee finalized these updates, and revealed a set of OCCL guidelines that barely resembled its predecessor.
Most notably, the committee erased any mention of the longstanding special privileges the city grants neighborhood associations and neighborhood-based business districts.
For many Portlanders who have felt ignored by the cityâs outsized focus on neighborhood groupsâorganizations whose memberships are often dominated by white, home-owning, middle-class residentsâthis is good news. But for those who believe neighborhood associations are the backbone of civic engagement, the sweeping changes feel like government censorship.
Itâs too soon to know how Portland City Council will vote on the proposed code update, which will be considered during an October council meeting. But their upcoming decision has forced Portlanders to reconsider how civic engagement is measured in a rapidly diversifying city.
âPortland is changing,â says Kristen Gallagher, a local small business owner who sat on the committee to rewrite the code. âThis code language expands the privilege to all Portlanders to have a say in how the city changes.â
The decision to rewrite OCCLâs code was the result of a shakeup that began after a 2016 city audit concluded the office was relying on outdated and inequitable rules.
The audit was particularly critical of the bureauâs code, which currently includes details on the ways neighborhood associations and business districts can influence city decisionsâwhether thatâs through appealing the construction of a new building, making recommendations for the city budget, opposing a transportation decision, or giving feedback on proposed parks and public facilities. The city also gives annual budgets to neighborhood associations to fund events, outreach, or special projects.
The 2016 audit noted that the OCCL code doesnât promise this kind of influence to any other community group, âcreating the risk that some organizations or residents do not have the same access to city decision-making.â
Itâs that risk that the OCCL committee worked to eliminate. In their final draft, committee members axed any mention of neighborhood associations and business districts, and instead expanded the bureauâs mandate to serve âall forms of groups, including, but not limited to identity-, affinity-, business-, community-, issue-, and neighbor-based groups.â
Suk Rhee, director of the OCCL, says the rewrite simply allows other groups the same privileges that neighborhood associations currently hold. While these groups arenât explicitly listed in the proposed code, Rhee gave examples of community organizations like Anti-Displacement PDX, Living Cully, Portland United Against Hate, or Albina Vision that could fit into the new model.
âThis is not a referendum on neighborhood associations. Itâs asking, âWhat other groups havenât been invested in by our city?ââ says Rhee. âWhen communities have not been named in policy and others have, that has had devastating impacts on their ability to be represented in this country. We have a moral obligation to remedy this.â
âThis is not a referendum on neighborhood associations. Itâs asking, âWhat other groups havenât been invested in by our city?ââ
Along with the ability to influence city decisions, Portland neighborhood associations are allowed access to grant funding, technical support, help with filing grievances against the city, and notifications about pending policy decisions that affect neighborhood âlivability.â
That means that, traditionally, neighborhood associations have almost single-handedly decided how âlivabilityâ is defined. But in a rapidly changing city, the decisions of some neighborhood associations donât necessarily represent the realities of all its residents.
âCrime prevention and safety looks different if youâre talking to a Black community instead of a white community,â says Winta Yohannes, policy advisor for Chloe Eudaly, the city commissioner who oversees the OCCL. âThe same goes for a group of houseless people, renters, or the disabled community. All communities deserve livability.â
Yohannes points to a contentious debate that took place earlier this year over where to place a bike route in Northeast Portland. After the Portland Bureau of Transportation opened up the conversation to bike advocates and the Black communityâalong with local neighborhood and business associationsâthe city was able to draft a plan that catered to the entire communityâs needs.
Many Portlanders, however, insist that neighborhood associations already represent their communities fairly.
In July, during a public comment portion of a committee meeting about the proposed code change, John Laursen, a board member of the Mt. Tabor Neighborhood Association, put it bluntly.
âNeighbors might not know they are being represented by us,â he said, âbut theyâre being represented by us.â Laursen, an older white man, was one of many neighborhood association members in attendance who expressed indignation over associations being erased from OCCLâs code.
Stanley Penkin, the president of the Pearl District Neighborhood Association, also believes his board accurately represents his neighborhood.
âWe are a neighborhood of owners and low-income renters,â says Penkin, who has sat on the board for nine years. âThere are very few people of color in the neighborhood, so thatâs reflected on our board.â
He says the 17-member all-white Pearl District board includes at least five renters. But while Penkin believes his board reflects his neighborhood, he agrees that any policy thatâs been around 40 years should be subject to review.
âBut they could have come to us and asked our opinion,â says Penkin. âInstead, theyâve created a contentious environment where itâs us versus them.â
OCCL held a series of listening sessions and workshops over the past year to gather the publicâs input on a new code. They invited all neighborhood associations to participate. Penkin said he wasnât aware of these meetings.
Timothy Crawley, president of the Powellhurst-Gilbert Neighborhood Association, thinks the code update will actually worsen the cityâs equity issues. Crawley says his neighborhoodâs board accurately reflects the East Portland communityâs diverse population, which includes people of color and low-income renters.
If the city financially divests from neighborhood associations, spreading funds among a wider number of groups, Crawley fears his current neighborhood association wonât be able to function.
âThose who donât have discretionary time or money wonât be able to help,â he says. âIt will become less inclusive if you have groups competing against each other for money. And those with bigger incomes will rise to the top.â
Portlandâs neighborhood associations are currently funded through âneighborhood coalitions,â seven city-funded organizations that oversee regions of the city. Neighborhood associations can request funding or apply for specific grants through their coalition and can use these dollars to bankroll numerous projectsâanything from organizing an annual street fair to printing a monthly newsletter.
The OCCLâs Rhee has stressed that the neighborhood coalitionsâ current annual budget wonât be impacted by the code change. But sheâs unsure if conversations inspired by the code change will impact the next budget cycle. Rhee wants to guarantee that any changes wonât impact the cityâs financial support of the changing bureau.
âWe have to ask, âIs what weâve built capable of doing more and different things?ââ Rhee says. âWeâre asking coalitions those questions right now.â
Some neighborhood coalitions are already expanding their budgets and financing more groups than just neighborhood associations. Since 2013, Southeast Uplift has offered grants to non-neighborhood groups like the Portland Street Art Alliance, Voz Workersâ Rights Education Project, and the Laurelhurst Queer Students Alliance.
These are the types of groups that could see equal representation under the OCCL code change.
Not all Portlanders whoâve sat on neighborhood association boards believe the current model is without flaws.
Sam Stuckey, a member of the Mill Park Neighborhood Association, says that including other groups in OCCLâs code wonât only improve inequality issues, but will also help strengthen neighborhood associations like his.
Stuckey points to his boardâs recent attempt to get the city to improve Mill Parkâs crumbling sidewalks. He says it would have helped to have other community groups, like pedestrian advocacy group Oregon Walks, to join the neighborhood association in advocating for safer sidewalks.
Stuckey, a white man who owns a home in the Northeast Portland neighborhood, says itâs âsillyâ to think a neighborhood association could fairly represent an entire geographic swath of the city.
âIt worries me,â he says, âto see seven people that all look like me sitting around a table and making decisions for 10,000 people living in Mill Park.â
The fact that neighborhood associations have been the most vocal opponent to the code change is unsettling, Stuckey says.
âI think when the city provides evidence that thereâs inequity in neighborhood associations and suggests bringing more voices to the table,â he says, âand the response from neighborhood boards is âYouâre killing us!â that should be enough for the mayor to understand somethingâs wrong with the current setup.â
Chrystal Brim joined the Richmond Neighborhood Association board in 2018. She was intent on helping the Southeast Portland neighborhood embrace the cityâs newcomers, many of whom are young families who lack the financial means to own a house. She quickly realized, however, that this ideal wasnât shared with longtime board members.
Brim says she watched those board members use the neighborhood associationâs appeal process to delay the construction of apartments and condosâwhich are often more affordable options than renting or buying a single-family homeâand file petty grievances against board members who supported plans that prioritized bike and bus lanes.
âIt was almost like they were a homeowner association,â says Brim. âThey were so focused on delaying projects for their own benefit that we couldnât get anything substantial accomplished. That kind of power struggle didnât serve our neighbors.â
Earlier this year, Brim and ten other members of the Richmond board resigned in protest of their fellow board membersâ tactics.
âI realized I couldnât waste my time trying to change the neighborhood association,â says Brim. âWe need to be able to share, not shut people out. Thatâs why I strongly support the code changesâso other groups can have a voice.â
âIt worries me to see seven people that all look like me sitting around a table and making decisions for 10,000 people living in Mill Park.â
Katy Wolf has no interest in leaving her position on the Boise Neighborhood Association board but is discouraged by the cityâs lack of engagement with her dwindling group.
âMy neighborhood association is in an area thatâs been gentrified, so I think itâs important to have discussions that bring people together,â says Wolf. âWe try to have events that empower people to communicate with each other. But itâs been hard to find people who have the time to arrange those events.â
Wolf wants to see more support from the OCCL when it comes to connecting with other neighbors. But, unlike Brim, Wolf doesnât think upending the OCCL code is the right answer. Instead, she asks: Why not just update the current neighborhood-based structure instead of dismantling it?
âI donât understand why we need to strike neighborhood associations from code,â she says. âCouldnât we combine the great new language with the existing language?â
Penkin, with the Pearl Neighborhood Association, agrees. OCCL, he says, âshould be connecting us with identity groups, not making us separate entities. Why canât they give us the tools to be more inclusive instead of pitting us against each other?â
According to OCCLâs Rhee, the city has repeatedly tried to do thatâand failed. The systemic barriers that keep minority populations from feeling welcome or heard at neighborhood association meetings are difficult to remove.
âWe have to acknowledge that weâve been trying to fix these programs for 10 to 20 years,â says Rhee. âAs leaders, we have a responsibility to acknowledge inherited problems and make real commitments to change them. We canât just keep tinkering around the edges.â
Unlike neighborhood associations, many of Portlandâs business districtsâwhich are also being removed from code languageâhave expressed indifference to the change.
Todd Struble works for the Asian Pacific American Network of Oregon (APANO), where he manages the Jade District program, a business alliance that advocates for shops near the intersection of Southeast 82nd and Southeast Division. Struble believes the code change will have little impact on the Jade Districtâs ability to be represented at the city level.
Strubleâs more excited about how the change could allow more community groups like APANO to have the kind of decision-making power thatâs already allotted to neighborhood associations.
âBusiness districts arenât working,â says Gallagher, the local business owner on the OCCL code change committee. Gallagher, who also sits on the board for local business advocacy group Business for a Better Portland, says her past experience as a member of a business district was disappointing.
âMembers who had more progressive ideas about working within a community were looked down on,â Gallagher says.
Business district decisions often lean conservative. The Central Eastside Industrial Council, for instance, used city dollars acquired through the OCCL structure to fund private security teams to patrol sidewalks often occupied by homeless Portlanders.
In some parts of Portland, however, the decision to slash a business district from city code feels deeply discriminatory.
Take John Washington, president of the Soul District Business Association, whose work includes helping Black-owned businesses thrive in gentrified North Portland. Washington fears that by giving North Portlandâs majority-white neighborhood more ways to appeal new construction or make community decisions, his neighborhoodâs shrinking Black communityâcurrently represented through his business districtâwill be silenced.
âThe city says it wants more inclusion,â says Washington. âBut when a small population of people are fighting to preserve a historically significant place theyâve become the minority in, inclusion means the white people will have more control. Itâs a green light for gentrification.â
He compares the code change debate to a 2014 controversy when the City of Portland offered supermarket chain Trader Joeâs a steep discount on a piece of property on Northeast Alberta. At the time, Black Portlanders accused the city of attempting to profit from the systemic displacement of African Americans, a suggestion that inspired Trader Joeâs to drop out of the deal.
âAs long as our minority communities are fragmented over an issue, the city has control.â
âAs long as our minority communities are fragmented over an issue, the city has control,â says Washington. Heâs particularly frustrated that the city is entering this conversation shortly after a plan to revitalize the Black economy along NE Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd. got off the ground.
âIt seems like once [Black people] learn the game and start playing it well,â he says, âthatâs when then they become concerned.â
The code change is far from final and is still missing crucial details on what the aspirational overhaul will look like in practice. OCCL has yet to propose how, exactly, new groups will gain formal recognition from the cityâthe kind of recognition that will grant them the same rights as neighborhood associations. Also unknown is how the city will keep hate-based groups from forming and demanding equal recognition.
One idea, proposed by OCCL committee member Gallagher, is to create an advisory council that approves groups who want the cityâs recognition.
In Seattle, which gave a similar overhaul to its neighborhood system in 2016, community groups apply to be listed on the cityâs website through an online application thatâs evaluated by a city employee. Once listed, those groups can apply for city grants and broadcast their events on a city website.
Rhee says these details will be ironed out after the code change proposal goes before City Council. If commissioners approve the updated language, Rhee says, âThatâs when we look at all our existing programs to see how they can better reflect the code.â
In the meantime, other city bureaus are preparing to shift their own code language to meet OCCLâs proposed new standards.
âThe role [the OCCLâs] code has always played is to signal to the other bureausâwhen it comes to civic engagementâwhose voices matter,â says Yohannes, with City Commissioner Chloe Eudalyâs office.
âThatâs the question at the heart of this discussion: Who is allowed to make decisions about our cityâs future?â