"This contributes to a climate that is becoming more and more untenable in the city. People are hauling their personal belonging in those carts, and that's untenable," explains Newsom, who brought the cart stats up at last Monday's meeting of the Board of Supervisors. "Without getting into a philosophical discussion, I'll say I don't think it's advantageous to use other people's property to transport their own personal property."
While I'm not entirely clear how one examines property rights, private enterprise, and poverty without getting into a philosophical discussion, I have to grant our Pat Riley-haired supervisor one thing: San Francisco is heading into a severe crisis of branding.
A week ago Friday, the Associated Press moved a feature headlined "In "Paris of the West,' renewed calls to clean up city streets" that gave readers in Salt Lake City and elsewhere a view of scenes such as this: "A block from City Hall on a recent day, a disheveled man stood next to a pay phone, gripping the receiver for hours on end as passers-by strolled by, pretending not to see the gaping hole in the crotch of his pants ... [T]here is a growing headache that isn't advertised in the guidebooks: The sidewalks are full of homeless people."
In the Cleveland Plain Dealer, meanwhile, letter-writer Brian P. Davis described last week how he "just returned from the tourist city of San Francisco and was shocked at the number of people who live on the streets every night in that progressive city."
San Francisco cannot afford this kind of assault on its already-battered image. Our once-swaggering dot-com industry is now a joke; our once-burgeoning tech-publishing empire all but dissolved last week with the closure of the Industry Standard. Now, worst of all, the poor live out in the open, where the tourists can see them.
San Francisco, a city known as Madison Avenue West for the ad agencies located here, is seeing its brand name roll into the gutter like an abandoned shopping cart. As it turns out, in fact, San Francisco advertising agencies are faltering just as their home city needs them most; according to the advertising industry trade press, S.F. agencies are laying off employees in droves.
Concerned, I sought the advice of SF Weekly marketing consultant Brittany Walker, principal of Walker Consulting (www.walker-consulting.net). She assured me I was right to be concerned. "Brand managers speak in terms of operationalizing the brand," Walker explained. "These managers have a vision of what they think this company should be. So you have to live up to the vision of the city if you are going to create a strong brand."
In short, San Francisco has to successfully be itself, if it's to protect its brand.
In an apparent brand-protection effort, Newsom told me he plans to work on figuring out a way to make grocery stores pay for rounding up shopping carts that the poor have appropriated and then somehow relinquished. The $600,000 per year the city would save on shopping-cart retrieval could be spent on, say, methadone clinics, Newsom said.
"Callous I am not, but critical of the status quo I am," Newsom said, slipping into a rare form of Cat in the Hat speech, "though some might think otherwise."
Actually, what some people think is that Newsom doesn't care much for the poor. They say he does not like them in a house. He does not like them with a mouse. He does not like them in the park. He does not like them with a cart. He does not like them here or there. He does not like them (these folks say) anywhere. (1)
This opinion has been bolstered by Newsom's objection to proposed legislation, drafted by Supervisor Tom Ammiano, that would require police to warn the homeless before seizing their shopping carts and confiscating their belongings. But the shopping cart data Newsom has unearthed may help the supervisor with his own image problem. That the city picks up 900 carts a week is the perfect piece of marketing information; it is astonishing, yet carries no specific portent. It might as well be a statement that 73 percent of Americans wish they had whiter teeth. Accordingly, Newsom apparently plans to play the cart problem both ways.
The city ought to crack down on illegal-shopping-cart users, Newsom says, and it ought to crack down on supermarkets that don't "monitor their own property."
"I can tell you that if at one of my businesses, I was allowing my property to become a nuisance," says Newsom, a restaurateur, "I would be hearing from the authorities."
Image-making at its best: a shopping-cart plague that calls for anti-corporate populism -- against the poor!
A journalistic fashion seems to be emerging in San Francisco of blaming the most impoverished among us for our city's woes. The fashion is played out in articles that offer fairly standard recommendations to heartlessness: Poor people should be ticketed for sleeping on stoops, for using shopping carts, for panhandling, for public inebriation, etc. A recent column by the San Francisco Chronicle's Rob Morse (a column that apparently inspired the AP story referenced earlier) makes a decent Exhibit A for the trend:
"This city has become a sewer," a Morse piece from July says, going on in this way: "In the last couple of decades, because of a cuddle-everyone liberalism, San Francisco tipped over into complete cruddiness." (2)
The San Francisco Examiner's front-page crusade to refurbish the mid-Market Street area appears to be part of the same trend.
Concerned that even a double-edged shopping-cart campaign would fail to improve the city's brand image in the face of such attacks, I turned again to Brittany Walker.
"A brand is how a company lives out its mission. If the mission or the vision of San Francisco is to be a liberal, tolerant, beautiful city, then everything the city's managers do should support that vision. That's what a brand is about. It's about keeping promises to customers and constituencies. That would mean making sure that the European feel was alive. It would mean making sure the carts were off the street, and people are abiding by the rules. It would mean providing services to the homeless so they were well cared for, and didn't need to pee on the streets."
Ms. Walker's advice made sense to me, but, frankly, seemed far too difficult to implement in San Francisco, where (as elsewhere) comfortable city dwellers despise the poor. They'd rather not feel this way, but they do, and their feelings have consequences: Witness the city's inability to build shelters, low-income housing, drug-treatment facilities, or other amenities for the dispossessed without provoking neighborhood outrage.
Surely, I thought, there must be an easier way to improve the San Francisco brand.
Then I remembered a largely overlooked item at last week's Board of Supervisors meeting, one that just may save the brand of the city of San Francisco. In that item, Supervisors Aaron Peskin and Chris Daly -- men who will live in history -- sponsored a resolution declaring Sept. 9 "Lance Armstrong Day in the City and County of San Francisco, honoring one of the world's greatest cyclists in modern history and one of America's great humanitarians." It passed unanimously.
Lance Armstrong, who recovered from cancer to win the last three Tours de France, is, aside from President Bush, the most famous American outside the United States. After soccer's World Cup, Le Tour is the planet's most watched live spectacle. To people outside the country, Lance Armstrong is America. Sadly, his public image is that of an arrogant, prickly bore. Armstrong has barely learned French after a half-decade of living abroad. This year, European photographers voted Armstrong the Tour's least cooperative athlete. During press conferences he snipes at journalists; he recently said he would spend time with his family rather than attend the European criterium bicycle-race festival circuit, a glorious monthlong party of sport.
To our great fortune, Armstrong will be in San Francisco Sept. 9 for the BMC Software San Francisco Grand Prix cycling race, his first U.S. competition since April 2000. "San Francisco is one of my favorite cities in the world," Armstrong was quoted as saying on www. cyclingnews.com. He has said many times that cancer changed him.
Perhaps San Francisco could change him too.
Imagine that Lance Armstrong visits San Francisco, America's first official marijuana sanctuary, site of the Summer of Love, bastion of human excellence, natural beauty, prostitutes, and homeless people -- and returns to Europe in 2002 a mysteriously changed man. He enjoys serial affairs with French women. He's the toast of Europe's great salons. Lance Armstrong, a looser, more exuberant soul, delights Belgian talk-show viewers with newfound, rummy savoir-faire.
"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé?" they'll ask.
"San Francisco," he'll explain.
If our brand is to survive, San Francisco simply must corrupt Lance Armstrong. Women of San Francisco's Tenderloin, I implore you: Hang outside the great man's hotel. Street-corner philosophers, please: Chat him up. (I'm told he likes country music. You might start with that.) Haight-Ashbury drug peddlers: Lean against Lance's United States Postal Service Team van and whisper in those seductive voices of yours, "Got bud. Got bud."
Together, working as one, San Francisco street people can revitalize the San Francisco brand name -- without savaging the poor.
1 Adapted from Green Eggs and Ham, by Dr. Seuss.
2 If you read this sentence carefully, you'll note that it represents a columnist, quoting a wire service, quoting another columnist. In the newspaper business this is known as a three-pointer. "Swish."