Last week Tim Redmond, my former editor at the San Francisco Bay Guardian, published on his excellent blog 48 hills an incendiary, comprehensive and whip-smart speech given at a business conference on the “Mid-Market Transformation” last week by the former CEO of Salon, David Talbot.
The piece is significant because it contextualizes the growing, palpable rage over everything from Google Busses to tech-friendly tax breaks that have dominated conversations on the future of urban planning in San Francisco, addressing what many see as an inexorable, shuddering earthquake sliding over the land — the subduction of a thriving and diverse city by a technophilic elite.
Talbot’s assertion that he is “no luddite” should be obvious to anyone familiar with the digital pioneer and his award-winning online publication, which frequently covers topics in tech, innovation and business. But it is nonetheless an important precursor to a discussion that, while granting the great potential of tech entrepreneurship to do good, also outlines a host of real and tangible negative effects directly attributable to the cult of digital capitalism, which promises to strengthen its hold on this city, and plenty of others, in coming years.
I’m a strong believer in the power of technology to liberate the human spirit. And I’m very proud that San Francisco is a beehive of this kind of buzzing innovation.
Talbot writes, and then continues
But over the years, the innovation bubbling up in the Bay Area has become much more market-oriented than socially driven. Vast fortunes have been created overnight by raiding the intellectual content that others have painstakingly built over the years. Other new empires have risen by convincing millions of people to give up their privacy and reveal their deepest thoughts and desires for free – a kind of Tom Sawyer business model based on persuading the public that it’s lots of fun to paint someone else’s fence.
The Tom Sawyerism to which Talbot refers applies to everything from the offering up of private information to a bevy of salespeople eager to pummel it back at us in the form of targeted advertising . . . to the relatively more glacial, but no less tangible, process by which populations create the "cool" that will later be rewarmed and served back to them -- at a fair markup, of course.
In San Francisco, this process is playing out on the physical landscape, as tech entrepreneurs flock to the city and its outposts -- not least of which is Burning Man -- to slurp up what's innovative, repackage it digitally, and use it to finance the very real "reinvestment" by which the city is becoming attractive and commercially viable for a certain set - to the necessary exclusion of others.
As I begin to contemplate my own move from the Bay Area and the art community I've been part of here (more on that later), it's a constellation of issues I'm struggling to reconcile all the time: my belief in the power of place and in the importance of using space to rebuild community, with my fear and mistrust of the bright-eyed and buzzwordy discourse of creative placemaking; my love for the way new forms are born and breed in the crevices of the city and the cracked desert landscape, with my skeptical mistrust of those who say it will "change the world"; my grudging acceptance of the superstructures of real estate and finance and politics and technology that govern what is likely to happen and what is even possible in the complex system we inhabit, with my intense, prideful, jealous, possessive, passionate and perhaps irrational love of the places I have built a home over the past few years.
If you want to struggle with me, perhaps start with Leaving the Garden, Part 1, or
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