People Are the Purpose

People are the purpose of this community — not a problem it has to manage.

That idea sounds obvious. Almost boring. But lately, it’s been quietly slipping out of view, and the consequences are starting to show.

There has been a shift in how participation itself is being treated — and we need to address what happens to a volunteer-run community when people are reframed as an inconvenience rather than the reason we’re here.

I want to walk through this slowly, because these changes don’t usually announce themselves. They feel reasonable at first. They feel calmer. More efficient. More “orderly.”

Until you look at what’s missing.

Participation Didn’t End — It Narrowed

Nothing dramatic happened. There was no vote that said, “Community input is no longer welcome.”

Instead, participation narrowed through small choices: fewer chances to speak, less real-time interaction, more emphasis on decorum, more encouragement to send feedback privately instead of hearing it together.

Each of these choices can sound sensible on its own. But together, they change the nature of governance.

When people can no longer hear each other’s questions, reactions, and concerns in shared spaces, the system loses something essential: feedback in context.

Two moments around the January 20 meeting help illustrate what this looks like in practice.

Case Study One: When Rules Follow Discomfort

This first example happened through private, appropriate channels.

As the organizer for the bylaws subcommittee, I scheduled an in‑person meeting and received approval from the Governance liaison. As required, I notified the clerk. A Zoom link was generated automatically. I asked that it not be used, and was told it was optional — and then it was shared anyway.

When I flagged the error and asked for a correction, the response was not clarification. I was told I would be required to host both a Zoom and in‑person meeting simultaneously. When I objected, that objection was framed as a personal conflict rather than a logistical concern.

I provided documentation showing prior guidance and stated boundaries. The exchange escalated. I was told I should have noticed the clerk’s action sooner, that asking for a correction was unjustified, and that the consequences of not running a hybrid meeting were mine alone — despite participants having been told by the organization that it was a hybrid Zoom meeting. I was also told the concern was minimal because hybrid meetings were not viewed as particularly difficult.

I am the only person who witnessed and felt these responses. These assertions were made without shared visibility, peer review, or follow-up — despite directly impacting volunteer work. 

Afterward, a new committee policy appeared on the agenda. The Zoom link was now mandatory by default. There had been no board discussion prior to its appearance, and this would retroactively apply to already scheduled meetings.

At the board meeting, that requirement was removed. The reason given was that Zoom meetings are not legally required, and multiple committee leads explained that mandatory hybrid meetings would make volunteer work harder, not easier.

The sequence matters.

Concerns raised privately were shut down. The member affected by the decision was faulted. A rule was introduced after discomfort arose. Only when the issue became public — and multiple volunteers spoke — did correction occur.

This is not about intent. It’s about function.

Case Study Two: When Discussion Is Closed

In the board meeting, right after community comments, the board took up whether or not its membership would be able to comment on decisions as motions were called. This was the practice last year, established during Evan’s presidency and upheld by Mike.

Members raised their hands. Multiple members in the chat expressed that they would prefer the opportunity to speak throughout the meeting. The board, without making the decision, was already not taking comments.

A decision was made about where and when members were able to voice agreement, disagreement, clarification… anything… without member input.

This is Not a Surprise

It’s important to talk honestly about how we got here.

During the 2025 election, membership voices associated with Friends of Ken Lake were repeatedly framed as dishonest or disruptive by the candidates who now sit in the board majority. 

The argument that voices of membership are disruptive to board work is in line with statements and positions made during the election.

To reduce exposure, we all end up with: fewer open channels, less public conversation, more emphasis on control, and more pressure for people to “step back and let the board do its work.”

No one has to intend harm for this to happen. People can sincerely believe they’re protecting the community while quietly narrowing it.

But the effect is the same.

Normal democratic behaviors — questioning, persistence, disagreement — start to feel threatening instead of healthy.

Power that depends on silence is brittle.

“Let the Board Do Its Work” Misses the Point

This is where a fundamental misunderstanding creeps in.

In a volunteer-run community, the board’s work and the community’s work are not separate worlds.

Boards coordinate. Members participate. Volunteers do the labor. Committees carry the load. Residents provide the insight, energy, and legitimacy that make decisions meaningful.

At some level, the members are the work.

Which is why this matters so much:

When members are told to step back and be quiet, the board doesn’t get to “do its work” more effectively — it just does it with less information, less trust, and less legitimacy.

People Are Not a Management Problem

Ken Lake is not just board directors. Its committee leads. Event organizers. Neighbors who want to build something together.

Volunteers don’t show up because they want to be managed. They show up because they want to belong, to contribute, to build something that lasts.

That requires more than private email channels and filtered input. It requires shared space.

It requires people being able to meet each other, hear each other, and discover — sometimes unexpectedly — who else cares about the same things.

Collaboration usually begins informally: a question asked out loud, a shared concern, a connection made.

When board meetings aren’t in person. When chat is closed. When comment is minimized. When participation is treated as risk.

Those moments disappear.

And with them goes our community.

Systems Lose When They Treat People as a Problem

When engaged people are treated as inconvenient, systems don’t become stronger. They become thinner.

They lose: early warnings, diverse perspectives, shared understanding, future leaders, and the trust that comes from being heard.

They also lose something harder to measure: the sense that this is our place, not just a structure we’re subject to.

In volunteer‑run organizations, that loss compounds.

Engagement today is leadership tomorrow.

When participation dries up, succession does too.

What we are seeing is what it looks like when decisions are being optimized for the comfort and control of those in authority, rather than for volunteer capacity, shared understanding, or long-term governance health.

What Systems Gain When People Are the Purpose

The alternative isn’t chaos. It’s not endless meetings or unchecked conflict.

It’s intentional participation.

Clear rules, stated in advance. Room for disagreement without punishment. Public conversation alongside private follow-up. Multiple narratives coexisting without one being silenced. Spaces where volunteers can find each other.

Good governance doesn’t fear this. It relies on it.

Because people are not a problem to be solved. They are the reason governance exists at all.

Asking How - a Return to Purpose over Reaction

Good governance makes space for discussion by asking how to include, not how to exclude. Strong leadership plans for participation, invites voices, and creates conditions where discussion — and even disagreement — can happen safely and within clear time boundaries.

Time management and participation are not opposing goals.

They are design questions.

How can the board structure its work so members can be heard without meetings becoming unmanageable? 

How would those structures look if we were modeling governance for the next generation of leaders?

How would we keep our teens engaged, and what functional purpose does it serve when we treat adults differently?

Why Name This Now

We lost something last night. We lost a place of connection; first with the board, and then with each other.

The board voted against its greatest strength.

A board that can hold disagreement doesn’t lose authority — it gains resilience. The ability to absorb questioning, persistence, and dissent without defensiveness makes governance stronger, not weaker. When those behaviors are treated as threats, the system shrinks. When they’re treated as information, the system learns.

If we want a community that lasts, that renews itself, that brings new people in instead of pushing them out, we have to hold onto a simple truth:

People are the purpose. Not the problem.