Northwest Institute for Social Change: The Blog

Portland: Bow Down to The Process

Humility: a concept discussed in most American circles in an antithetical context. Did you even understand that? Exactly what I’m talking about it.

‘If it wasn’t for the hard work and support of blah blah blah blah, I never would have . . .” Translation: I’m amazing and so is the stuff I was awarded for doing and now I have to endlessly thank these people despite my lack of sincerity.

That may be taking it a notch too far, but I find the concept of humility underrated and well. . . humbling. And wise, too. The more I reflect upon the post-production process that each of our documentary teams are currently entrenched in, the more humility’s purpose comes into focus.

During the pre-production stage of our film, our team envisioned a piece aimed at a select audience and specific subset of policy makers. Up until the latter half of today, I lobbied within the group to frame the film in a particular way, shying from the complexities of a particular character I deemed to be a distraction from the documentary’s purpose, convincing our target audience of the merit in urban chicken keeping.

What I failed to see is the insincerity, and in the end, incompleteness of cutting a character’s story or personality down to small sound bites. Hiding what makes the character unique or eccentric takes away from the story that she is trying to tell us, and in the end, what the audience would be most captivated by.

That’s where humility comes in. I’ve learned to trust the process, go with the flow, and attempt to let got of framing the entire work around my own narrow ideas of a persuasive piece. The power of stories lie in the genuineness of their tellers, and through that connection, the audience will listen.

Portland: Power of The Story

Twitter. YouTube. Facebook. There will be others. Some will succeed, others will fall off the face of the earth well before a billion post a picture on their profile. A common thread runs through the new media boom and it’s no secret what it is.

From religious texts to the trail of tears, events and knowledge have been passed down through the power of story. At the heart of stories are plots and characters and suspense, yes, but a story would not be, without a person telling it.

While societies will continue to divide based upon varying sources of information, it will be individuals and the stories they tell that will captivate and move diverse audiences. This century isn’t just about how flashy, erotic, or accessible information is, but how credible and captivating people are when they tell stories. In the end, it is individuals who make and end wars, oppress and break free, and it is their ability to tell a story which makes them memorable.

The ironic part of this reality is that we all have amazing stories, but most remain inside.

The Nwisc program has taught me to dig for those stories and to paint a picture capturing the essence and beauty of that person’s experience. A good film editor can make a boring story interesting. A great journalist can write well with little to go off of. These skills will remain to be sought after and will continue on, but it is the stand-alone story, the person speaking from their heart, without Final Cut Pro behind them, that will have the most impact, and have the potential to carry their message forward through word of mouth. It is these individuals and their personal stories that will shape history more than anything else. Yes, even more than facebook

-Colin

Portland: Mohpster City

While I’ve visited Portland on a few other occasions, my timings have consistently correlated with thirty foot walls of snow lining the road around Government Camp on the way to Hood. In the summer, the scene shifts, with people escaping the confines of their dwellings early in the morning and only returning to their bike-lane rich residential streets later on.

However, despite the transition from rainy to dry season (it’s like India, without humidity and cows in the streets or anywhere for that matter, since I’m pretty sure the vegans recently pushed a beef ban through the Council last March), it’s evident to me, an outsider, that seasonal affective disorder in the Northwest has been running a tight race with its brother, the Nordic version, in pursuit of the World Mopey Cup. While some may argue that the Sami of Norway are shed hundreds of fewer hours of sunlight than Portlanders, I would argue that the indigenous Norski can’t quite compete with the 1980’s road bikes and indie rock bands that Portland’s Mohpsters are so proud of–of course celebrated quietly in honorable Nordic fashion. Remember, they too are decendents of the great vikings of the North Sea. “What’s a Mohpster” you still may be wondering? . . . Smudge together ‘Mopey’ and ‘Hipster’ and you get ‘Mohpster’. If you don’t know what I’m talking about yet, you’ve either never been to Portland or you’ve got some cognitive challenges ahead of you.

Not relevant to Nwisc, eh? On the contraire. The Mohpster mentality which seeps through many aspects of Portland culture has in fact incubated a nearly perfect environment for myself and other Nwiscers to thrive in. We’re here to learn about print, radio, film, and their impact on society, and the city is oozing with resources. Everywhere. What else do you plan on doing when it’s 47 degrees and raining 7 months of the year? Naturally, writing, reading, and incubating whacky ideas, and of course with the help of our good ol’ friend seasonal affective disorder (the Northwest kind, not it’s brother). Try naming more than a handful of great writers, artists, or activists who led a peachy, trouble-free, brilliantly happy life? The rain helps. Trust me.

We Nwiscers didn’t venture to Portland for July and half of August to feel good about ourselves, make life-long friends, or get a tan. No. While we certainly came for different reasons, learning/honing technical skills and framing them through affective media choices and ascetics have dominated our experiences in the two weeks since we began our journeys at the Institute. And we’ve managed to do it all with an uncanny ability to avoid the Mohpster plague. I guess you just have to visit in the summer.

Love from North Portland,

Colin

In honor of the Mohpsters, I’ve exercised my editorial capacity and omitted any pictures or color. simply black. and white.