Seattle, Island of Blue

The next four years will challenge Seattle, says Knute Berger. Are we up to the task?
| FROM THE PRINT EDITION |
 
 
  • The next four years will challenge Seattle, says Knute Berger. Are we up to the task?

On election night 2016, Seattle learned just how much of a national outlier it is. During the past eight years, the uplifting message of hope personified by Barack Obama led us to believe our own PR: that we were a national role model for social justice, the economy, reform and progressive politics in general. Our recent mayors have all embraced this message: Seattle is a national, even global, leader! Our arms never seem to grow tired of the back-patting.

The election of Donald Trump came as shock to the system, delivered not by our neighbors, but by people many Seattleites don’t even know. Seattle found itself needing to reassure itself again. Instead of feeling like the vanguard of a new America, we felt more isolated, even threatened, as we clung to our island in an archipelago of blue. On election night, as Trump won the Electoral College, Seattle went nearly 90 percent for Hillary Clinton and 8 percent for Trump. Even in the single Seattle precinct that went for Mitt Romney in 2012, Broadmoor, it was 75-25 for Clinton. Clinton had a mandate here, but it mattered not.

Except to us. Immediately, protesters hit the streets. Mayor Ed Murray and city politicians held a pep rally at City Hall to declare that Seattle would stay its course as a progressive city and a sanctuary for immigrants. Students left school after school to march in protest. Socialist City Council member Kshama Sawant, who lifted not a finger to elect Clinton, called for a national shutdown on Inauguration Day. 

This is not the first time we’ve felt isolated from the American political mainstream. In January 2001, my wife and I stood for many hours in a driving sleet storm in Washington, D.C., to protest the inauguration of Bush and Cheney and to vent our rage at the “stolen” election of 2000. Bush brought eight years of war and economic disaster. Our protests didn’t stop anything, but they did help us draw strength by drawing lines against outlaw politics: torture, undeclared war, Guantanamo.

Progressive Seattleites like to think that the arc of history leads ever upward as we perfect society, and ourselves. My mother turned 100 just days before the November election. She was born into a world where women couldn’t vote, let alone run for president, when progressive Teddy Roosevelt reined in the rich, and Woodrow Wilson hoped to achieve world peace through the League of Nations. The early 20th century offered new hope to many, but delivered two world wars, a Great Depression, narrowing economic and social visions, the revival and then the re-revival of the Ku Klux Klan.

It took half a century to see scientific, economic and social progress begin to hit their stride. Think about the presidential programs and slogans of the latter half of the 20th century: Roosevelt’s New Deal, Kennedy’s New Frontier, Johnson’s Great Society, George H.W. Bush’s Peace Dividend, Bill Clinton’s Bridge to the 21st Century. A century that stumbled into chaos began systematically to right itself.

Then came a war on terror, the Great Recession, the resurgence of white nationalism and a president who believes in torture, building walls and cracking down on the media. Clinton’s Bridge to the 21st Century led us to the reboiling of 1930s politics, yet with Americans playing footsie with fascism.

We can perhaps take heart from the winning philosophy of the Seattle Seahawks: It’s not how you start a game, it’s how you finish. Our new century isn’t what the dreamers of Century 21—those Seattle World’s Fair visionaries who saw our city as a launch pad to a prosperous tech future—hoped for, yet our passion for progress still burns within. Northwesterners are idealists. Our pioneers came here with the explicit purpose of building a better America. The Age of Trump will test us. Our leaders—Democrats all—will have to navigate tricky political waters; they will have to find federal support that we rely on for housing, for transportation, for jobs, all while offering a resistance movement to the leaders of that government. 

And the citizens of Seattle will have to find outlets for their rage, but also find paths forward for self-improvement. We are still a segregated city. We may be an LGBT sanctuary, but we must still deal with our institutional racism and its consequences. We have a long way to go in economic equality, education and producing a thriving city that doesn’t push out whole classes of residents. Trump or no Trump, these challenges exist. 

There is hope: A strong group of leaders steel us for the task. Jay Inslee, a climate warrior, was reelected governor. Murray, a social justice advocate of deep conviction and the first married gay mayor in the country, looks to coast to reelection in 2017. Patty Murray, one of the U.S. Senate’s most powerful Democratic leaders, was reelected. Pramila Jayapal won the 7th Congressional District seat as Seattle’s new, progressive “congresswoman for life.” State House Speaker Frank Chopp still commands a branch of the Legislature in Olympia. Our progressive political bulwark has been strengthened.

But as we look to the days ahead, we know that bulwark will be tested. 

Seattle Neighborhood Director Kathy Nyland, Accidental Activist

Seattle Neighborhood Director Kathy Nyland, Accidental Activist

Neighborhood councils may abhor her, but Seattle’s new neighborhood director Kathy Nyland is determined to make more voices heard as Seattle reshapes itself for the future
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Department of Neighborhoods director Kathy Nyland (pictured in SoDo) began as an activist who kept strip clubs from overrunning her Georgetown neighborhood

One hot August night in 2015 at the Leif Erikson Lodge in Ballard, Kathy Nyland, the city’s new Department of Neighborhoods (DON) director, struggled to be heard above the shouts from people who showed up to oppose a new, sanctioned homeless encampment in the neighborhood. Over boos, catcalls and cries of “How about we put it in the mayor’s neighborhood?” Nyland struggled to explain that, like those in the room, she had been through her own battles with the city as a neighborhood activist in Georgetown. “We want this to be a successful operation,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “We’re trying to make it work.” Then she hustled off to the sidelines of the hall.

A year and a half later, Nyland isn’t on the sidelines anymore. But as the person on Mayor Ed Murray’s leadership team charged with upending the traditional balance of power in neighborhood planning, she’s still in the hot seat.

Last July, Murray had Nyland at his side when he cut formal and financial ties with 13 neighborhood district councils, which had served as informal advisory bodies since the 1990s. The homeowner-dominated councils typically argue against allowing more density (for example, townhouses and apartment buildings) in and near Seattle’s single-family neighborhoods.

Murray has charged Nyland with bringing underrepresented communities into the inner circle of neighborhood planning, including people of color, immigrants, newcomers and renters (with tenants making up about half the city). 

District council leaders feel blindsided by the move, and see downgrading the councils as an effort to cut them out of neighborhood planning. Many blame Nyland. 

“It was a surprise attack,” says Dan Sanchez, chair of the Central Area Neighborhood District Council. “Nobody knew about the mayor’s decision until [less than] 24 hours before his press conference.” Sanchez also criticizes Nyland for canceling her appearance at a City Neighborhood Council meeting. “How could she say, ‘No, I can’t answer your questions about this dramatic thing that’s going to affect your lives?’”

Nyland has come a long way since the night she stood nervously in front of angry Ballard residents, afraid to speak. A diminutive woman who is partial to simple, crisp collars, black-and-white patterns and Toms flats, she is gregarious and prone to sudden laughter. And although she’s no fan of confrontation, she’s getting used to it. “My voice doesn’t quiver as much. I haven’t passed out. I just have to remind myself that I know this stuff. I’ve been part of it. I’ve got some credibility,” she says.

Nyland started finding her voice as a neighborhood activist after she and her partner, Holly Krejci (now the mayor’s operations manager), moved into their new house in 2003. A neighbor showed up at their door and asked, “Hey, did your Realtor tell you there’s 20 level-3 sex offenders who live down the street?”

The county had just put neighboring SoDo on the list of potential locations for transitional sex offender housing—and just like that, Nyland and Krejci were sucked into the world of neighborhood activism.

After that first effort—when she learned, among other things, to put all neighborhood representatives in matching T-shirts for maximum visual effect—Nyland went on to organize the opposition to a “red light district” for strip clubs, a new trash transfer station and a proposed expansion of Boeing Field. “I’ve worked with this department for 10-plus years, so it’s dear to me,” Nyland says.

An overachieving middle child raised in the San Francisco Bay Area by a single mom, Nyland graduated from the University of California, Berkeley, and quickly became disenchanted with her onetime dream of becoming a designer at a high-powered New York City ad firm. Adrift after a year of travel to Europe, Nyland illustrated a few greeting cards for a friend who owned a San Francisco card shop. Within a day, all her cards had sold. Soon, she had national clients, including Nordstrom and Papyrus. “I truly was self-employed—I would work three months at a time. In September, October, I’d be painting hearts for Valentine’s Day, and then take six weeks off.” 

Eventually, San Francisco got too expensive, and she relocated to Seattle, ending up in a two-bedroom apartment on Capitol Hill, doing marketing and communications for Pacific Science Center and the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. In 2003, she and Krejci opened a gift shop and gallery called George, where they sold work by local artists, jewelry and T-shirts that read, “Georgetown: It’s not just for hookers anymore.” George closed in 2009 when Nyland took a job as a legislative aide to Seattle City Council member Sally Bagshaw. Murray snapped her up to work in his Office of Policy and Innovation in 2014.

Nyland doesn’t draw much anymore—“I don’t even recognize that part of my life,” she says, laughing—but she does channel her creative spirit. She recently suggested doing a Shark Tank–style challenge for the neighborhood matching fund—small grants for neighborhood projects such as park benches. But on tough days, she says, she still seeks out nice paper. “That’s one of my coping mechanisms—I go into Paper Source.”

Nyland’s focus these days is on rebuilding the Department of Neighborhoods. Her signature line is “New Day, New DON!” That means figuring out ways to connect with residents who can’t be reached through the channels developed 30 years ago. 

“My mantra is, people would like to participate on their own timeline and from their own location,” she says. So instead of relying on community council mailing lists, postcards and leisurely neighborhood meetings, she looks into town hall meetings via phone and Skype, and sending DON staffers with interpreters to meetings of immigrants and refugees. “It’s broadening those access points,” she says.

Traditional neighborhood meetings, which tend to take place in the early evening and are not widely advertised, exclude people who aren’t on neighborhood mailing lists: renters, night-shift workers or people who don’t speak English fluently. Those people, Nyland says, “are not making a choice not to come—they can’t come! I want to turn those obstacles into opportunities.” 

Some have resisted Nyland’s changes at DON, which hasn’t had a major shakeup since founding director Jim Diers retired in 2002. 

“There are so many programs at DON that were kind of parked there over the years,” says Tom Van Bronkhorst, a strategic adviser helping to revamp the department’s community outreach process. Besides neighborhood planning, Nyland’s 50-plus employees administer grants for neighborhood improvement projects, P-Patch and historic preservation programs, outreach and engagement services for other city departments, and the popular “Find It, Fix It” program. “They’ve been successful individually, but I think what Kathy wants to do, and what the department needs, is a bigger sense of what the overall mission is. Maybe DON has had more issues with change because it’s so program-focused,” says Van Bronkhorst.

“I remember the first meeting after I was selected, saying, ‘I don’t know if you guys are ready for me,’” Nyland says. “DON has been in existence for almost 30 years, and it has a lot of really important programs, but I think the mission and its purpose has gotten lost. We haven’t kept up with change.”

Van Bronkhorst first met Nyland during the battle over the proposed Georgetown transfer station back in 2005, when he was a staffer for then City Council member Jean Godden. He says Nyland immediately “struck me differently because she was very, very strategic and politically savvy from the beginning. That came up again later when [then council member] Peter Steinbrueck was talking about strip clubs,” and whether they should be dispersed or concentrated in one area, in 2007. 

“I think one of the reasons we bonded so quickly is because we both tend to think that way—she’s constantly three or four steps ahead,” Van Bronkhorst says. Plus, “She knows more about politics, about legislation, more about just getting things done than most anyone else that I’ve ever met.”

Another thing that sets Nyland apart from a stereotypical activist: She isn’t reflexively opposed to development—or, for that matter, to strip clubs. “I had no problem with strip clubs. I live in a city. That’s part of urban life,” she says. “I just thought it was bad policy to have them all concentrated in one area.” Ultimately, in no small part due to Nyland’s willingness to lead her neighborhood toward a compromise, the “red light district” proposal fizzled, and the city dispersed the clubs throughout the city.

Van Bronkhorst and council member Bagshaw describe Nyland as a borderline workaholic who puts in longer hours than anyone—the consummate straight-A student. “She would have been your nightmare in school, because you’d be thinking, ‘Maybe I’ll go out tonight,’ but you’d know that Kathy would be home on Friday night getting her homework done,” Bagshaw says. “I don’t think the girl ever sleeps. She’s the kind of person who loves to give people credit—she never wants to be out front.” Bagshaw adds, “From the time when I first saw her speaking [as DON director] to today, I have seen her become more settled and more confident.”

Nyland says there’s only one thing she absolutely cannot abide: People speaking ill of her dogs. Earlier this year, after she single-handedly overturned the decision of a city preservation board and approved the construction of an 11-story building in Pioneer Square, someone called her to say he was glad her dog had died. 

“That crushed me,” says Nyland, whose office features a large black-and-white photo of her late border collie/Lab/terrier mix, Fannie Mae. “You can say whatever you want about me, but don’t wish death on my dogs, because those are untouchable.”

Nyland, like all department directors, serves at the pleasure of the mayor—in this case, a mayor given to firing and reassigning staff with little notice, and one who seems unusually sensitive to criticism. Ask Deputy Mayor Kate Joncas, who reportedly got the silent treatment from Murray for a few weeks, then suddenly was reassigned to a lesser role. By all accounts, though, Murray is fond of Nyland, and trusts her political instincts and efforts to shake up DON. 

“Since his first day in office, he’s been very clear that the status quo was not an option,” Nyland says. “DON has great programs, but the department has not evolved with the changing demographics of the city.” Nyland claims she has never seen Murray lose his temper or lash out unreasonably at high-level staffers. “I think the mayor’s really passionate and he wants to get things done, and my job is to help that agenda,” she says. So, does she think she’s above the fray? “I don’t even know if there is a fray,” Nyland says. “I think I’m in the mix.”