ASSEMBLING
LOCAL
PUBLICS
IN
THE
DIGITAL
AGE
By
Jessica
Lynn
Rivait
A
DISSERTATION
Submitted
to
Michigan
State
University
in
partial
fulfillment
of
the
requirements
for
the
degree
of
DOCTOR
OF
PHILOSOPHY
RHETORIC
AND
WRITING
2011
ABSTRACT
Assembling
Local
Publics
in
the
Digital
Age
By
Jessica
Lynn
Rivait
In
the
following
dissertation,
I
develop
a
model
for
studying
how
local
publics
are
assembled.
Using
textual
analysis
and
individual
interviews,
I
explore
two
Lansing
area
community
initiatives
and
their
advertising
and
recruitment
practices
via
public
documents
on
their
websites.
In
doing
so,
I
uncover
public
and
private
motivations
and
influences
on
the
crafting
of
these
public
documents,
which
are
impacted
by
conditions
of
access,
chronos,
organizational
roles,
and
available
topoi
in
the
local
public
sphere.
Because
community
initiatives
constantly
engage
in
making
public
documents
to
garner
support
and
to
“recruit”
various
stakeholders,
“taking
inventory”
of
such
documents
and
the
people
and
processes
from
which
they
are
produced
is
key
to
understanding
how
and
why
these
initiatives
“go
public.”
Community
initiative
coordinators
produce
“local
publics”
of
stakeholders
through
the
production
of
public
documents—and
each
public
document
represents
an
opportunity
to
alter
community
initiative
representation,
garner
more
stakeholders,
and
shape
the
local
public
sphere.
Collectively,
these
public
documents
create
a
fragmented
“public”
history
about
each
initiative.
These
public
documents,
however,
do
not
foreground
their
own
production;
alone,
community
initiatives
cannot
use
them
to
create
sustainable
public
documents.
I
argue
that
keeping
an
active
inventory
of
public
documents,
as
well
as
keeping
records
of
stakeholder
relationships,
community
initiatives
and
researchers
can
provide
a
strong
base
for
public
document
production
and
subsequent
evaluation
of
impact
on
their
intended
audiences.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I
would
have
not
been
able
to
draft
this
dissertation
without
the
aid
of
many
helpful
people.
I
want
to
thank
Cindie
Alwood,
Dr.
Manuela
Kress,
and
Dr.
John
Monberg
for
using
their
lives
to
create
innovative
solutions
to
pressing
social
issues
in
the
Lansing
area.
Cindie,
Manuela,
and
John
gave
me
access
to
their
initiatives,
allowing
me
to
contribute
as
both
a
researcher
and
a
volunteer.
This
access
also
allowed
me
to
gain
credibility
I
needed
to
converse
with
other
WCGL
and
OMA
contributors.
I
also
want
to
thank
all
of
the
contributors
to
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
who
graciously
agreed
to
share
their
stories
with
me.
Of
course,
dissertation
would
also
not
be
possible
without
my
conscientious
committee
members:
John
Monberg,
David
Sheridan,
Stuart
Blythe,
and
Bill
Hart-‐Davidson,
my
incredibly
smart
chair.
I
have
been
extremely
fortunate
to
have
a
committee
in
which
members
all
have
different
strengths,
but
have
been
able
to
work
so
well
together.
Additionally,
I
want
to
thank
Guiseppe
Getto,
Jeff
Grabill,
Gwen
Gorzelsky,
Dean
Rehberger,
and
Malea
Powell
for
aiding
me
in
thinking
through
difficult
issues
that
arose
as
this
project
first
took
shape.
I
also
want
to
thank
Jill
Morris
and
Mary
Karcher
for
commiserating
with
me
during
this
process,
and
cheering
me
on
all
along
the
way.
Finally,
I
want
to
thank
my
dad;
my
mom;
my
sister,
Maria;
my
brother,
Justin;
and
my
Grandma
Rivait
for
encouraging
me
throughout
my
journey
in
graduate
school.
To
everyone
who
has
been
supportive
of
me
during
this
process:
I
am
honored
to
have
worked
with
you,
and
am
better
for
it.
iii
TABLE
OF
CONTENTS
LIST
OF
TABLES……………………………………………………………………………………………………vi
LIST
OF
FIGURES………………………………………………………………………………………….………vii
CHAPTER
1:
EVER-‐EVOLVING
PUBLICS………………………………………………………………....1
How
Public
Rhetoric
Happens
in
Local
Publics………………………………………….....1
Beyond
Soapboxes
and
Townhalls:
Assembling
Publics………………………….........3
PNPs
as
Instrumental
for
Assembling
Publics………………………………......…….........6
Taking
Stock
of
PNPs
and
PNAs.………………...……………...……………...……………….12
Previewing
Inventory…………………..……………...……………...……………...………….....15
CHAPTER
2:
TOWARDS
A
PUBLIC
RHETORIC
METHODOLOGY…………………………......18
Operationalizing Public Rhetoric………………………………………………………………...18
Case Study Selection and Rationale………………………………………………………….....21
Methods
Theories:
Conceptual
Foundations
of
Procedures………………………32
Procedures………………………………………………………………………………………………35
Toward
an
Asynchronous
Public
Rhetoric
Methodology
and
Praxis
…………….48
CHAPTER
3:
CHRONOS
AND
THE
COORDINATION
OF
LOCAL
PUBLICS……………..…...50
How
Local
Publics
Utilize
Kairos………………………………………………………...……...50
How
Local
Publics
Utilize
Chronos…………………………………………………………......53
How
Chronos
Yields
Different
Opportunities
Than
Kairos
for
Local
Publics....57
How
Chronos
Impacts
Roles
and
Deliverables
in
Publics………………………….....60
From
Chronos
to
Coordination…………………………………………………………………..66
CHAPTER
4:
THE
IMPACT
OF
THE
COORDINATOR
ROLE
ON
PUBLIC-‐MAKING……....67
Building
Organizational
Identity
through
Models……………………………………......70
Branding
as
Iterative
Process…………………………………………………………………......78
Toward
Community
Initiative
Sustainability…………………………………………........88
Roles
for
Community
Initiatives………………………………………………………………….93
Implications
for
Further
Research
on
Roles
and
NPO
Branding……………………97
CHAPTER
5:
REDEFINITION
AND
THE
PUBLIC
SPHERE………………………..………………..99
Affirming
Local
Public
Rhetoric………………………………………………………………....101
Adding
to
Local
Community
Public
Rhetoric……………………………………………....108
Challenging
Local
Public
Rhetoric………………………………………………..…………….115
Topoi
Assessment
for
Community
Initiatives:
Beyond
Initial
Scans……………..118
CHAPTER
6:
FUTURE
EXPLORATIONS
IN
PUBLIC-‐MAKING.……………………………….…123
Taking
Inventory
of
Local
Public
Rhetoric.……………………..………………………….123
Public-‐Making
Lessons
for
Rhetoric
and
Composition
Scholars…………………..126
iv
Public-‐Making
Lessons
for
Practitioners……………………….………………….…...…...128
Future
Research
in
Local
Public
Rhetoric………………………………............…………..131
APPENDICES………………………………………………………………………………………………………..135
APPENDIX
A……………………………………………….…………………………………….……….136
APPENDIX
B………………………………………………………………………………………….…..135
APPENDIX
C……………………………………………………………………………………………...139
APPENDIX
D………………………………………………………………………………………….…..140
WORKS
CITED……………………………………………………………………………………………………..142
v
LIST
OF
TABLES
Table
1:
Public
naming
practices…………………………………………………………………………..…8
Table
2:
Affordances
and
limitations
of
chronos
and
kairos………………………...……….…57
Table
3:
Individual
rhetor
roles
in
the
public
sphere………………………………………….......94
Table
4:
Group
roles
in
the
public
sphere………………………………………………………………95
Table
5:
Online
sites
for
local
public
rhetoric………………………………………………………..100
Table
6:
Taking
inventory
of
community
initiatives…………………………………………...…123
vi
LIST
OF
FIGURES
Figure
1:
Public
naming
act………………………….……………………………………………………………..…7
Figure
2:
Practices
that
constitute
public
rhetoric………………………………………………………….9
Figure
3:
Dr.
Monberg’s
aggregation
of
public
participation
websites…………………………...73
Figure
4:
New
York
City’s
public
deliberation
website…………………………………………….……74
Figure
5:
A
student
website
“mock
up”
for
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website…………………..75
Figure
6:
A
proposed
voting
function
for
the
OMA
website……………………….…………………..80
Figure
7:
A
“folksy”
early
WCGL
flier………………………………………………………………………...….82
Figure
8:
The
original
WCGL
logo…………………………………………………………………………….…..83
Figure
9:
The
original
WCGL
page
on
the
CAC
Voices
website…………………………………….....85
Figure
10:
The
Dreamweaver-‐based
WCGL
website……………………………………………….……..86
vii
CHAPTER
1:
EVER-‐EVOLVING
PUBLICS
How
Public
Rhetoric
Happens
in
Local
Publics
Rhetoricians
have
a
long
and
storied
history
studying
the
public
sphere—so
much
so
that
they
have
difficulty
separating
their
definition
of
rhetoric
from
the
public
sphere.1
Nevertheless,
a
small
but
growing
number
of
rhetoricians
claim
“public
rhetoric”
as
a
concept
that
merits
definition
(Sheridan
et.
al,
Edbauer,
Warnick,
Coogan,
etc.).
Most
of
these
definitions
do
not
attempt
to
erase
previous
scholarly
ontological
efforts,
but
instead
seek
to
expand
upon
them.2
While
I
do
challenge
methods
of
studying
public
rhetoric,
I
am
more
concerned
with
using
my
study
of
community
initiative
writing
practices
to
theoretically
demonstrate
how
public
rhetoric
happens
when
community
groups
“go
public.”
In
her
book
Community
Literacy
and
the
Rhetoric
of
Local
Publics,
Elenore
Long
defines
a
local
public
as
a
regional
group
trying
to
“go
public”
about
an
issue
for
a
non-‐
specified
amount
of
time
(5).
While
the
term
“local
public”
may
be
new,
rhetoricians
have
studied
such
groups
as
citizens
concerned
about
public
policy
(Flower;
Coogan;
Grabill,
etc);
community
members
advocating
for
a
single
issue
(Cushman;
Parks;
Mathieu,
etc.)
and
non-‐profit
organizations
(Lindeman;
McEachern;
Bernhardt,
etc).
This
corpus
of
work
1
I
have
had
many
conversations
with
rhetoricians
about
“public
rhetoric.”
While
there
is
a
niche
cadre
of
scholars
who
believe
that
this
is
a
distinct
area
of
inquiry,
many
rhetoricians
believe
that
the
term
“public
rhetoric”
is
redundant.
2
For
example,
Sheridan
et
al.,
in
their
Journal
of
Advanced
Composition
article
“Beyond
Snap,
Crackle,
and
Pop:
Toward
a
Theory
and
Pedagogy
of
Multimodal
Public
Rhetoric”
discuss
how
digital
delivery
systems
are
the
grounds
for
theorizing
a
multimodal
public
rhetoric.
1
has
primarily
focused
on
events
(such
as
a
protest,
or
invention
of
a
document,
or
a
semester-‐long
service-‐learning
project)
rather
than
on
the
sustainability
of
community
initiatives.
As
I
argue
throughout
this
dissertation,
community
initiatives
provide
rhetoricians
with
a
new
lens
through
which
to
view
public
rhetoric,
which
accounts
for
the
work
they
perform
as
local
publics.
Public
rhetoric,
as
performed
by
local
publics,
has
four
distinguishing
components.
First,
local
publics
rely
on
chronos
more
than
kairos
to
structure
their
activities;
because
they
rely
on
constant
recruitment
for
sustainability
(because
members
are
often
not
paid),
they
must
make
their
own
opportunities
rather
than
wait
for
them
to
happen.
Second,
local
publics
establish
roles
not
only
to
coordinate
activities
that
are
essential
to
their
mission
(which
may
have
nothing
to
do
with
writing
or
media),
but
also
to
make
decisions
about
branding
and
advertising
(such
as
appointing
volunteer
newsletter
feature
writers).
These
roles
account
for
various
levels
of
commitment
to
these
public-‐making
activities,
but
are
influenced
by
ideology.
Third,
local
publics
are
heavily
influenced
by
conditions
of
access;
they
use
assumptions
about
access
to
guide
decisions
about
recruitment,
but
also
are
limited
by
their
access
to
resources
(such
as
web
authoring
software
and
knowledge).
Fourth,
local
publics
consistently
draw
upon
common
topoi
within
their
local
public
sphere
(and
beyond)
to
promote
themselves
and
voice
their
perspectives
within
their
local
public
sphere.
Local
publics
that
are
created
by
community
initiatives,
therefore,
challenge
many
prevailing
notions
in
rhetorical
theory.
While
chronos
is
mentioned
in
encyclopedic
tomes
about
rhetorical
theory,
rhetoricians
use
kairos
more
frequently
to
describe
time’s
role
in
rhetoric
(especially
see
Chapter
3).
While
rhetoricians
have
discussed
“roles”
in
the
public
2
sphere,
these
roles
describe
individual
and
not
collective
agendas
(consult
my
literature
review
in
Chapter
6).
While
rhetoricians
discuss
access
in
terms
of
disability
(Dunn
and
De
Meers;
Ratcliff),
some
discuss
the
Internet
as
an
open
public
sphere
(Barton;
Clark,
etc.).
When
rhetoricians
discuss
web
authoring
best
practices,
they
assume
relatively
equal
access
to
software
and
training—at
least
among
the
young
digerati
(with
the
notable
exception
of
Reynolds
and
Lewis).
When
rhetoricians
study
community
initiatives,
in
their
attempts
to
“go
public,”
they
find
that
this
assumed
knowledge
is
just
that—assumed.
In
order
to
discover
new
knowledge
about
the
public
sphere,
rhetoricians
must
embrace
an
empirical
approach
to
studying
publics,
which
allows
them
to
risk
challenging
old
ontologies
and
create
new,
evidence-‐based
theories
about
the
public
sphere.
Beyond
Soapboxes
and
Townhalls:
Assembling
Publics
I
want
to
highlight
how
public
sphere
theory
has
evolved
and
why
it
is
important
to
the
theory-‐building
I
am
engaging
in.
Scholars
who
contribute
to
public
sphere
theory
or
discuss
“public”-‐ness
generally
agree
that
the
“public-‐at-‐large”
is
a
term
that
is
outdated
(Weisser,
Kennedy,
Sheridan
et
al,
Long,
Ratcliffe,
Williams,
Habermas,
etc.).
They
agree
that
it
assumes
a
ready-‐made
audience
that
necessarily
will
be
willing
to
engage,
willing
to
listen,
or
willing
to
respond
to
a
rhetor
acting
in
a
public
space
(Kennedy
7).3
Fittingly,
scholars
use
the
term
“publics”
to
refer
to
several
possible
audiences
that
might
form
in
response
to
a
multitude
of
conditions
in
various
possible
locations.
Publics
do
not
simply
exist
to
be
called
upon
for
duty;
they
must
be
persuaded
to
become
a
public.
Potential
3
The
term
“rhetor”
refers
to
someone
who
“speaks”
in
a
public
space
(Kennedy
7).
3
members
of
a
public
can
be
required
to
participate
because
of
their
private
obligations.
Employees
or
students
may
deliver
a
speech,
or
run
a
public
event,
or
post
documents
on
a
telephone
poll
or
on
the
Internet
as
part
of
their
work
responsibilities.
Conversely,
potential
members
of
a
public
may
simply
volunteer
to
participate
because
they
see
a
personal
or
social
benefit.4
Whatever
the
conditions,
publics
must
be
assembled.
But
assembled
by
whom?
More
antediluvian
scholars
who
wrote
about
the
public
sphere
assumed
a
genteel,
homogenous
public
sphere.
These
scholars
also
assumed
that
all
rhetors
could
gain
access
to
the
most
effective
means
of
persuasion
and
become
a
successful
(Aristotle
to
Blair).
These
scholars
do
not
question
the
rules,
but
merely
assert
them.
More
recently,
as
contemporary
public
sphere
scholars
have
critiqued
the
normative
rules
of
the
public
sphere,
these
scholars
have
assumed
power
differentials:
they
assume
that
rhetors
with
revered
professional
and
socio-‐economic
stations
have
made
the
rules,
which
not
surprisingly
benefit
their
class
interest
(Habermas
to
Arendt).
Upper
class
and
middle
class
rhetors,
in
short,
are
allowed
to
speak
on
their
own
terms.
These
rhetors
can,
in
turn,
assemble
publics.
While
these
public
sphere
theorists
realize
the
limitations
of
civil,
rational
discourse,
they
still
promote
these
rules,
believing
that
democratic
ideals
will
materialize.
Most
recently,
contemporary
public
sphere
scholars
have
been
interested
in
how
lay
publics,
who
have
relatively
low
access
to
effective
means
of
persuasion,
negotiate
access
to
the
available
means
of
persuasion
and
advocate
for
themselves
(Warner,
Dewey,
Mathieu,
etc).
While
social
conditions
tend
to
favor
those
in
power,
contemporary
scholars
4
See
Westheimer
and
Kahne
for
an
extended
explanation
the
kinds
of
pre-‐determined
roles
citizens
choose
based
on
their
ideological
stances.
4
make
it
clear
that
influential
rhetors
can
arise
in
any
number
of
circumstances
(including
situations
that
manifest
because
of
systematic
oppression,
such
as
slavery).
Not
only
can
these
rhetors
assemble
publics,
but
they
can
also
constitute
publics
as
well.
Publics
cannot
only
be
assembled
by
rhetors,
but
a
collection
of
rhetors
can
also
constitute
a
public.
How
does
a
collection
of
rhetors
become
a
public,
and
what
makes
them
a
public?
As
a
result
of
the
social-‐epistemic
turn
in
the
field
of
Rhetoric
and
Composition,
rhetoricians
have
shifted
from
their
focus
on
the
individual
have
focused
much
more
attention
on
marginalized
groups
and
community
groups
and
their
practices
of
“going
public”
by
representing
themselves
or
engaging
in
debate
in
public
spaces.
Generally
speaking,
rhetors’
willingness
to
engage
collectively
with
one
another
and
have
those
interactions
publicized
makes
them
an
active
public—a
group
that
works
together
to
“go
public”
on
a
regular
basis.
Yet,
an
active
public
still
acts
selectively.
Not
every
action
of
an
active
public
is
“public”
(Nelson,
Stark,
Gunn).
Publics
value
private
means
of
communication
and
operation.
Meetings
happen
behind
closed
doors.
Internal
communications
have
limited
circulation.
And
while
rhetors
can
choose
to
make
private
communications
public,
they
do
not
choose
to
make
all
of
these
communications
public.
Publics
choose
representation
is
carefully
because
it
impacts
all
kinds
of
possible
internal
and
external
relationships
within
and
beyond
their
purview.
Community
initiatives
can
be
excellent
active
publics
to
investigate
because
they
have
complex
methods
of
representation.
Community
initiatives
include
non-‐profit
organizations,
foundations,
and
community-‐focused
programs
based
in
local
government
and
higher
education.
Often,
community
initiatives
find
one
or
more
marginalized
groups
5
to
represent;
working
not-‐for-‐profit
purposes,
they
often
try
to
engage
in
capacity-‐building
(rhetorical
and
otherwise)
for
those
groups.
Although
community
initiatives
value
organizational
sustainability,
they
are
also
more
often
concerned
about
ethically
representing
their
stakeholders
(including,
but
not
limited
to
clients,
staff,
interns,
volunteers,
donors,
and
partners).5
Their
challenge
is
not
only
to
create
collective
voice,
but
also
to
allow
for
their
stakeholders
to
represent
themselves.
But
community
groups,
or
initiatives,
can
only
represent
other
groups
if
they
are
sustained.
Community
initiatives
are
often
sustained
via
recruitment.
Because
community
initiatives
have
a
high
degree
of
turnover,
they
must
constantly
recruit
possible
stakeholders.
Non-‐profit
organizations
(NPOs)
and
community
initiatives
may
recruit
by
crafting
their
own
materials
(like
websites,
newsletters,
etc.)
or
delivery
techniques
(such
as
informal
and
strategic
“word-‐
of-‐mouth”
practices),
they
may
also
use
recruitment
tools
that
other
organizations
develop
for
them.
Such
organizations
and
initiatives
may
use
national
volunteer
databases
(such
as
idealist.org
and
volunteermatch.org),
as
well
as
university
databases
(like
Michigan
State
University’s
CSLCE
site:
http://www.servicelearning.msu.edu/students/look-‐for-‐a-‐
position).
Community
initiatives
strategically
adopt
specific
public
naming
practices
to
persuade
other
publics
to
engage
with
them.
Public
Naming
Practices
as
Instrumental
for
Assembling
Publics
5
Through
perusing
central
publications
like
Nonprofit
Quarterly
and
Foundation
Center
books,
I
have
discovered
that
the
nonprofit
sector
equates
sustainability
with
stable
income
streams.
Foundation
directors,
like
the
Global
Women’s
Fund’s
Kavita
Ramdas,
expresses
the
importance
of
diversifying
funding
possibilities
(through
grant
writing,
fundraising,
and
endowment),
which
often
means
soliciting
different
potential
stakeholders
(or
publics)
to
support
a
community
initiative.
6
Active
publics
can
be
recognized
through
their
public
naming
acts
(PNAs).
Figure
1:
Public
Naming
Act
Public
naming
acts
occur
through
the
production
of
speech,
visual
media,
and
texts.
Public
naming
practices
(PNPs)
are
the
most
visible
rhetorical
practices
in
which
active
publics
7
engage
in
because
their
acts
are
often
archived
as
mp3s,
video
footage,
flyers,
painted
rocks,
website
posts,
and
the
like.
Possible
Public
Naming
Practices
Ownership
Practices
Definition
Practices
Traceability
Practices
-‐Writing
a
Full
Name
-‐Writing
a
Partial
Name
-‐Writing
a
Pseudonym
-‐Hyperlinking
a
Name
-‐Including
a
Biography
(Beginning,
or
End)
-‐Including
Biographical
Information
-‐Affirming
existing
notions
another
local
rhetor,
organization,
place
or
idea
-‐Adding
new
information
about
another
local
rhetor,
organization,
place
or
idea
-‐Challenging
existing
notions
about
another
local
rhetor,
organization,
place
or
idea
-‐Including
media
to
explicate
or
contest
definitions
made
in
text
-‐Using
captions
for
media
(such
as
photographs,
audio,
and
video
files)
-‐Including
in-‐text
citations
-‐Hyperlinking
key
words
or
authors’
names
-‐Creating
a
works
cited
or
references
section
Table
1:
Public
naming
practices
PNPs
consist
of
a
rhetor
using
different
media
(one’s
own
voice,
musical
instruments,
graphic
design
programs,
etc.)
and
making
the
message
(whether
it
is
affirmative,
additive,
or
challenging)
easily
available
for
other
rhetors
to
view,
listen,
or
read.
PNAs
are
captured
synchronously
in
public
spaces
(like
a
park,
townhall,
or
a
sidewalk),
or
they
are
archived
in
media
(like
video,
podcasts,
websites,
discussion
forums)
in
public
spaces
(like
the
Internet)
and
are
intended
for
asynchronous
use.
This
archived
nature
makes
them
more
easily
found.
8
Although
a
multitude
of
rhetorical
moves
(like
metaphors,
tropes,
etc.)
can
be
included
in
PNPs,
there
are
particular
features
that
make
PNPs
distinct.
PNPs,
as
opposed
to
private
naming
practices,
can
be
risky.
Figure
2:
Practices
that
Constitute
Public
Rhetoric
They
are
traceable
(via
public
archiving
and
eye-‐witness
accounts).
PNPs
also
require
some
kind
of
ownership
of
concepts
and
opinions
(which
may
have
consequences
in
both
public
and
private
life).
Additionally,
PNPs
invite
critique
because
they
are
often
archived
in
the
form
of
PNAs;
rhetors
need
not
respond
necessarily
synchronously
to
PNPs,
and
often
do
so
after
the
fact.
PNAs
are
critiqued
when
respondents
test
out
proposed
solutions;
evaluate
rhetor
argumentative
skills;
or
analyze
how
rhetor
identity
impacts
the
persuasiveness
of
their
argument.
PNAs
also
require
much
invention
work.
Rhetors
engaged
in
PNPs
present
a
(hopefully)
kairotic
way
of
viewing
(reaffirming,
adding
to,
or
challenging)
commonplaces
by
representing
personal,
second-‐hand,
or
collective
experiences
or
ideas.
Rhetors
achieve
this
through
creating
solutions
to
issues
that
other
9
rhetors
explicitly
cite
or
to
which
they
passively
refer
(which
often
involves
new
arrangements
of
existing
people,
organizations,
concepts,
processes,
and
other
resources).
Community
initiatives
find
PNPs
instrumental
because
PNPs
allow
for
useful
kinds
of
invention.
Community
initiatives
are
started
as
a
reaction
to
PNAs
at
the
local,
national,
and
international
levels.
In
order
to
receive
recognition
and
support,
community
initiatives
must
articulate
how
they
are
responding
to
previous
PNAs
and
the
material
conditions
from
which
they
arise—and
how
that
is
different
than
how
other
groups
or
institutions
are
responding.
Yet,
community
initiatives
also
need
to
recognize
how
individuals
might
be
differently
persuaded
to
participate
in
a
multitude
of
roles,
and
create
and
advertise
these
roles
effectively.6
PNPs
can,
as
rhetorical
strategies,
make
or
break
community
initiatives.
Packaging
can
impact
the
effectiveness
of
PNAs.
PNAs
are
delivered
in
particular
ways
in
community
settings.
PNAs
can
be
packaged
for
oral
delivery
in
face-‐to-‐face
settings.
Members
of
community
initiatives
can
deliver
speeches
during
fundraisers;
engage
in
grassroots
organizing
as
part
of
their
client
work;
or
serve
as
a
moderators
in
community
deliberations.
Additionally,
members
of
community
initiatives
may
also
engage
synchronously
by
participating
in
IM
chats
with
student
volunteer
groups,
or
by
hosting
a
webinar
to
benefit
small
nonprofit
organizations
in
their
capacity-‐building.
Community
initiatives
also
produce
a
lot
of
documents
that
are
meant
to
be
asynchronous:
possible
readers
or
viewers
can
view
these
documents
on
their
own
time,
and
decide
whether
or
not
to
support
them
and
their
mission.
Community
initiatives
create
fliers,
press
releases,
and
print
mail
invitations
for
their
fundraising
events.
They
write
grant
proposals
to
support
6
Given
the
fact
that
the
number
NPOs
in
the
U.S.
have
nearly
doubled
in
the
last
decade,
NPOs
use
strategies
like
Internet
advertising
to
increase
their
visibility
to
potential
supporters
(Hackler
and
Saxton
474).
10
operations
and
programs.
They
create
newsletters,
websites,
Facebook
groups,
Twitter
accounts
and
videos
to
generally
advertise
themselves
to
their
stakeholders
(which
include
7
possible
clients,
interns,
donors,
volunteers,
partners,
and
future
staff).
They
use
these
technologies
and
make
deliverables
because
of
the
advocation
of
national
periodicals,
the
success
of
regional
community
initiatives
that
have
used
these
techniques,
etc.8
Community
initiatives
want
to
use
best
practices
in
order
to
survive,
and
make
both
an
ideological
and
material
difference.
Community
initiatives
aim
to
create
a
multi-‐vocal
presence
in
their
communications.
Their
sustainability
is
linked
to
their
ability
to
change
conditions
for
those
they
serve;
they
must
show
evidence
of
this
in
their
communications,
and
one
of
the
ways
in
which
they
do
this
is
by
allowing
those
they
serve
to
tell
their
own
stories
in
their
own
voices.
Additionally,
community
initiatives
sometimes
also
allow
volunteers
to
share
their
own
stories
in
their
own
voices
on
the
website,
or
in
newsletters.
Finally,
community
initiatives
find
ways
to
say
thank
you
to
supporters,
through
an
acknowledgement
section
of
the
newsletter;
an
advertisement
in
a
fundraising
book
or
banner;
or
a
special
section
of
their
website.
Coordinators
of
these
community
initiatives
still
reserve
editorial
power
over
7
At
CCCC
2010
in
Louisville,
KY,
Phyllis
Ryder
gave
a
presentation
entitled,
“Public
2.0:
Social
Networking,
Nonprofits,
and
the
Rhetorical
Work
of
Public-‐Making.”
In
this
presentation,
she
examined
how
a
local
nonprofit
she
worked
with
used
Facebook.
8
Pivotal
journals
like
Nonprofit
Quarterly,
as
well
as
well-‐respected
capacity-‐building
organizations
like
Guidestar,
have
published
articles
about
the
necessity
of
adopting
information
technologies
While
national
projects
like
TechSoup
provide
“how
to”
advice
for
NPOs,
regional
collaboratives
(like
the
Power
of
We)
and
capacity-‐building
nonprofits
(like
the
Capital
Area
Community
Media
Center)
not
only
provide
local
assistance
using
technologies,
but
also
allow
NPOs
to
find
more
models
for
technology
infrastructure
by
showcasing
their
past
work
with
other
NPOs
in
the
local
area.
11
these
contributions
from
these
contributors,
and
often
decide
who
will
be
solicited
to
contribute
and
how
that
will
fit
in
within
each
kind
of
public
communication
that
they
produce.
In
many
ways,
PNPs,
and
the
deliverables
in
which
PNPs
appear,
can
be
viewed
as
the
lifeblood
of
community
initiatives.
Members
of
community
initiatives
use
PNPs
to
invite
participation.
If
they
consistently
use
similar
PNAs,
they
can
build
a
brand
for
their
organization
and
garner
internal
and
external
support.
And
over
time,
members
of
community
initiatives
can
use
PNPs
and
associated
deliverables
to
create
a
history
of
community
initiatives
and
of
the
local,
national,
and
international
conversations
to
which
community
initiatives
both
belong
to
and
address.
Taking
Stock
of
PNPs
and
PNAs:
or,
Toward
a
Fragmented
History
of
Community
Initiatives
PNPs
and
PNAs
matter
in
important
ways
to
community
initiatives,
and
so
it
is
important
for
them
to
assess
what
it
is
that
they
are
doing.
Community
initiatives
already
do
this
in
for
a
few
reasons.
Community
initiatives
must
assess
themselves
for
grant
writing
and
reporting
purposes.
Additionally,
community
initiatives
might
work
with
a
researcher,
for
free
or
on
a
contract
basis,
to
assess
their
efforts.9
Community
initiatives
can
measure
this
assessment
against
best
practices,
which
can
also
provide
knowledge
of
how
actual
or
intended
stakeholders
respond
to
their
current
PNPs
and
associated
deliverables.
9
Some
public
relations
firms
specialize
in
media
design
to
specifically
account
for
the
needs
of
community
initiatives.
In
Lansing,
firms
like
Mark
Fisher
and
KBS,
Inc.
serve
the
media
needs
of
local
NPOs.
Message
Makers
is
a
Lansing-‐based
firm
that
serves
national
organizations
like
the
American
Red
Cross.
12
Community
initiatives
can
benefit
from
this
kind
of
research
for
a
few
reasons.
First,
community
initiatives
can
become
viewed
as
credible
if
they
engage
in
assessment
of
their
services
on
a
regular
basis.
Most
potential
and
actual
stakeholders
respect
community
initiatives
that
conduct
assessment
of
their
efforts
and
communication
practices.
Second,
community
initiatives
are
reminded
or
informed
about
what
stakeholder
interests
and
preferences
are
and
how
that
impacts
participation
through
these
assessments.
Because
of
time
and
money,
these
assessments
often
happen
quickly
and
the
focus
is
justifiably
more
external;
recommendations
are
typically
future-‐oriented,
and
what
matters
to
community
initiatives
is
what
their
next
recruits
want.
Often
in
the
process
of
conducting
these
assessments,
researchers
take
into
account
the
history
and
mission
of
the
organization.10
They
listen
to
community
initiative
leaders
talk
about
how
these
communication
materials
impact
the
work
that
they
do
with
stakeholders.
However,
researchers
often
find
that
this
work
becomes
only
a
small
part
of
the
research
process
because
community
initiatives
typically
value
the
information
that
will
inform
their
future
decisions.11
10
Although
university
professors
engage
in
doing
this
research
(paid
and
unpaid)
for
NPOs
on
their
own
time
(as
consultants)
or
as
part
of
their
research
trajectory,
academic
non-‐specialists
do
this
work
on
a
full
time
basis.
MSU
Outreach
and
Engagement
employs
several
academic
non-‐specialists
to
work
on
capacity-‐building
projects
with
local
NPOs
individually
or
as
part
of
a
group
endeavor
(via
workshops).
For
university
professors
who
want
to
learn
how
to
do
this
work,
organizations
such
as
IARSLCE
and
Imagining
America
exist
for
both
training
as
well
as
advice
about
integrating
this
work
into
their
research
and
teaching
agendas.
11
That
said,
NPOs
often
create
brief
histories
to
add
to
their
websites
or
annual
reports.
These
histories
include
structural
changes,
major
grant
wins,
and
the
start
dates
and
anniversaries
of
major
projects.
13
And
why
should
history
matter?12
Why
should
community
initiatives
value
past
and
current
documents
when
their
primary
goal
is
to
produce
ones
that
are
more
responsive
to
new
recruits?
And
why
should
a
researcher
take
a
detailed
inventory
of
these
documents
when
the
organization
already
has
these
materials?13
How
can
community
initiatives
benefit
from
an
inventory
that
is
converted
into
a
fragmented
history?
Not
surprisingly,
researchers
benefit
more
from
this
inventory
approach
than
community
initiatives
do.
If
community
initiatives
are
organized
and
have
very
searchable
archives,
the
process
of
constructing
an
inventory
can
be
redundant
for
them,
researchers
may
simply
tell
community
initiatives
what
they
already
know,
in
which
case
the
research
is
not
valuable
for
community
initiatives.
When
researchers
take
inventory
or
stock
of
community
initiatives
and
their
documents,
the
results
need
to
be
more
robust.
Researchers
must
add
something
new
and
of
value
to
community
initiatives.14
Fortunately,
researchers
can
add
value
by
taking
inventory
in
several
ways.
First,
they
may
be
able
to
preserve
old
documents
for
posterity
(by
digitizing
them).
Second,
they
may
be
able
to
detect
new
patterns
of
which
community
initiatives
might
not
be
aware
12
NPO
history
is
often
viewed
as
a
means
to
an
end—a
marketing
tool
for
sustainability
in
the
present
and
the
future.
Few
writers
and
researchers
have
written
about
NPO
history
as
a
deliverable
in
and
of
itself.
Susan
J.
Ellis
and
Katherine
Noyles’
1978
By
the
People:
A
History
of
Americans
as
Volunteers
is
one
of
a
few
lay
attempts
to
provide
a
comprehensive
history
of
NPOs
in
the
U.S.
Ruth
Ray,
a
Rhetoric
and
Composition
faculty
member
at
Wayne
State
University,
is
coordinating
a
collaborative
academic
book
project
about
patient
archives
at
Hannan
House
(a
senior
care
facility
in
Detroit,
MI)
during
the
early
20th
century.
13
Ruth
Palmquist,
a
professor
of
Library
Science
at
the
University
of
Texas,
believes
that
every
researcher
should
do
historical
analysis
as
part
of
their
research
design.
14
If
a
community
initiative
does
not
perceive
the
research
as
immediately
beneficial
to
them,
they
may
view
volunteer
service
or
other
services
as
reward
for
participation.
See
my
agreement
with
the
WCGL
in
chapter
2
as
an
example
of
this.
14
(such
as
website
usage).
Third,
they
may
be
able
to
trace
how
these
inventories
compare
to
others
locally
and
nationally.
Fourth,
they
may
be
able
to
place
those
materials
in
a
different
context
through
doing
local
archival
research
and
talking
to
folks
who
produced
those
materials.
Community
initiatives
may
change
their
advertising
and
recruitment
practices
based
on
these
kinds
of
results.
Previewing
Inventory
Through
this
dissertation,
I
present
both
inventory
and
heuristics
that
I
hope
will
be
useful
for
academics
and
community
initiative
leaders
alike.
In
Chapter
2,
I
outline
my
public
rhetorics
methodology,
using
both
theoretical
and
empirical
precedents.
Using
this
methodology,
I
illustrate
how
community
initiatives
can
be
located,
both
practically
and
according
to
public
rhetorics
theories.
Additionally,
I
demonstrate
how
asynchronous
public
rhetorics
guide
my
choices
of
data
collection
and
data
analysis
methods.
Ultimately,
I
make
visible
what
a
generalized
public
rhetorics
methodology,
as
well
as
one
focused
on
asynchronous
public
rhetoric,
can
both
look
like
and
add
to
current
methodologies
in
Rhetoric
and
Composition.
In
Chapter
3,
I
discuss
why
chronos
is
significant
for
groups
interested
in
participating
in
public-‐making
work.
Chronos,
as
I
argue,
accounts
for
the
mundane
activities
that
are
important
to
community
groups
that
are
interested
in
becoming
local
publics.
While
kairotic
moments
are
important
for
such
groups,
I
maintain
that
chronos
has
more
of
an
impact
on
such
groups
as
they
rely
on
regular
production
of
deliverables
to
brand
themselves
and
to
engage
in
recruitment
practices
which
make
sustainability
15
possible.
Finally,
I
preview
how
chronos
impacts
roles
and
imitatio
in
Chapter
4
and
Chapter
5,
respectively.
In
Chapter
4,
I
discuss
how
organizational
roles
complicate
my
model
of
public
naming
practices.
I
contemplate
the
centrality
of
roles
to
community
initiative
efforts,
as
well
as
deliberate
on
how
roles
can
be
situated
in
rhetorical
conversations
regarding
ethos
and
praxis.
I
compare
these
ruminations
to
my
findings
about
roles
in
WCGL
and
OMA.
Finally,
I
discuss
how
temporality
impacts
these
roles,
and
what
that
means
for
community
initiative
recruitment.
In
Chapter
5,
I
argue
about
the
recursive
role
of
imitatio
as
it
intersects
with
topoi
in
local
public
rhetoric,
and
why
and
how
that
disrupts
any
stability
of
public
naming
practices.
Rhetors
consistently
use
public
naming
practices
in
response
to
local
public
rhetoric,
which
constantly
reaffirms,
adds
to,
or
challenges
other
public
naming
practices.
I
explain
how
local,
national,
and
international
conversations
impact
local
public
rhetoric
of
community
initiatives,
but
ultimately
local
conversation
traceability
is
more
feasible
and
practical
for
their
purposes.
I
develop
and
utilize
a
strategy
for
doing
this,
which
can
also
be
adapted
for
other
scales
(national,
international,
etc.)
of
mapping
public
rhetoric,
and
public
naming
practices
in
particular.
In
Chapter
6,
I
discuss
how
evolving
community
initiatives
illustrate
how
publics
are
assembled,
as
well
as
what
kinds
of
roles
may
emerge.
Further,
I
examine
what
this
study
can
teach
Rhetoric
and
Composition
researchers
about
local
public
rhetoric,
and
what
still
remains
to
be
explored.
Additionally,
I
explore
how
these
lessons
may
be
adapted
for
both
community
initiative
coordinators
and
consultants
(paid
and
unpaid)
who
do
writing
and
16
multimedia
work
with
community
initiatives.
Finally,
I
outline
areas
for
future
research
in
the
areas
of
access,
chronos,
roles,
and
topoi.
17
CHAPTER
2:
TOWARDS
A
PUBLIC
RHETORIC
METHODOLOGY
Operationalizing
Public
Rhetoric
Public
rhetoric,
as
I
explain
in
Chapter
1,
is
more
than
a
theory,
or
a
container
for
action:
it
is
a
set
of
complicated
factors
that
influence
thoughts,
behaviors,
and
actions.
Because
more
public
rhetoric
scholars
study
public
writing
without
talking
to
human
subjects,
I
have
found
it
difficult
to
locate
an
explicit
public
rhetorics
methodology
that
involves
studying
human
subjects
and
their
relationship
to
public
writing.15
As
I
was
searching
for
methodological
precedents
for
studying
public
rhetoric
and
using
that
to
make
public
rhetoric
theory,
I
realized
that
there
were
few
precedents
that
involved
human
subjects
research
(such
as
Levasseur
and
Carlin;
Killingsworth
and
Steffens;
Simmons
and
Grabill).16
When
most
rhetoricians
choose
public
discourse,
public
dialogue,
publics,
and
especially
the
public
sphere
as
the
primary
focus
of
their
writing,
they
are
often
writing
theoretical
treatises,
not
conducting
human
subjects
studies
(Habermas,
Young,
Warner,
etc.).1718
I
find
definitions
offered
by
public
sphere
scholars
as
a
useful
baseline
to
consider
what
is
“public.”
15
When
I
use
the
term
“human
subjects
research,”
I
mean
research
that
must
be
approved
by
IRB
boards
and
involves
communicating
with
humans
as
part
of
data
collection.
For
more
information,
please
consult
the
MSU
IRB
website:
http://humanresearch.msu.edu/about_irbs.html#what_is_irb
16
Research
necessarily
involves
the
explicit
presentation
of
methods,
including
a
justification
for
methods
and
protocols
for
performing
data
analysis
(see
Dane
for
more
context).
17
These
are
all
terms
that
can
stand
in
for
“public
rhetoric,”
which
is
a
term
just
starting
to
be
used
among
rhetoricians
in
Rhetoric
and
Composition
and
Professional
Writing
who
are
interested
in
studying
such
phenomena.
18
Defining
Key
Terms
For
rhetoricians
who
study
“public”
rhetorical
utterances,
strategies,
and
tactics,
they
find
that
definitions
of
“public-‐ness”
are
key
in
making
methodological
choices
about
how
to
do
empirical
work
in
public
rhetoric.
Although
rhetoricians
study
the
phenomena
that
can
vary
widely
(from
grassroots
social
movement
propaganda
to
presidential
speeches),
they
use
a
few
key
concepts
that
constitute
the
public
rhetoric
corpus
that
guides
methodology:
public
sites,
publics,
and
public
documents.
I.
Public
Sites
Rhetoricians
interested
in
“public”
utterances,
strategies,
and
tactics
need
to
know
where
to
find
them:
not
surprisingly,
“public-‐ness”
is
a
matter
of
location
(Haynes,
Leff,
Warner).
But
what
kinds
of
sites
count
as
“public?”
Typically,
rhetoricians
consider
accessible
physical
spaces
(such
as
parks,
streets,
government
buildings,
libraries,
neighborhood
centers)
and
low
access
cost
media
(such
as
network
television,
mainstream
periodicals,
free
social
networking
sites)
to
constitute
sites
for
public
rhetoric
(McIlvenny,
Mathieu,
Conley,
Grabill,
Barton).19
Rhetors
from
a
variety
of
backgrounds
can
access
these
public
sites
for
a
low
access
cost.20
II.
Publics
18
Aristotle’s
theoria,
or
theory,
can
be
combined
with
praxis
and
is
not
simply
knowledge;
however,
it
is
“self-‐sufficient,
with
no
necessary
result.”
(DeHart
15).
19
Low
access
costs
means
users
have
easy,
wide
access
to
a
service,
forum,
or
document
for
a
minimal
expense.
However,
it
may
cost
producers
a
lot
to
create,
maintain,
and
update
a
service,
forum,
or
document.
20
Even
with
the
advent
of
the
online
public
sphere
and
the
proliferation
of
free,
social
networking
sites,
geophysical
public
spaces
are
on
the
decline
(see
Welch,
Hertie,
and
Kohn
for
more
details
about
the
rise
of
privatization).
19
But
rhetors
will
not
necessarily
access
a
site
because
of
low
access
cost.
Potential
members
of
a
“public”
need
to
be
convinced
of
the
use-‐value
(see
Cooper)
of
a
public
site
before
they
decide
to
use
it.
Rhetoricians
are
also
interested
in
measuring
the
use-‐value
of
a
public
site.
They
roughly
gage
the
use-‐value
of
a
public
site
by
observing
how
many
people
are
consistently
speaking,
listening,
or
taking
some
form
of
action
within
that
site
(Dewey,
Warner,
Kinsella
and
Chima).
While
it
is
difficult
for
rhetoricians
to
predict
or
track
who
will
take
action
on
a
site,
they
can
track
users
practices
on
public
sites
(through
utilizing
methods
like
ethnography,
participant
accounts,
interviews,
and
textual
analysis).
When
these
composers
create
rhetorical
utterances
(such
as
the
co-‐construction
of
a
document,
discussion
board,
etc.)
that
are
meant
to
assemble
“publics”
in
the
present
moment
or
in
the
future,
they
themselves
can
constitute
a
“public”
of
composers.21
III.
Public
Documents
But
how
can
public
rhetoric
be
tracked?
How
do
rhetoricians
know
that
it
happens,
when
it
happens,
and
how
it
happens?
Most
rhetoricians
who
study
public
rhetoric
use
public
documents
as
the
primary
data
they
use
to
answer
these
questions
(typically
because
interviews
with
institutional
actors
are
very
difficult
to
obtain)
(see
the
Peterson
et
al
collection
Green
Talk
in
the
White
House
for
examples
of
text-‐dependent
analysis).
Rhetoricians
consider
public
documents
to
be
constituted
of
texts
(video,
audio,
alphabetic)
that
are
used
to
communicate
with
a
broad
range
of
citizens
within
and
beyond
a
physical
21
“Publics”
is
not
only
a
term
that
is
used
by
humanities
and
social
science
scholars
(rhetoricians,
in
particular);
it
is
also
used
in
the
more
pragmatic
field
of
Public
Relations
(in
professional
journals
such
as
Public
Relations
Journal,
Public
Relations
Review,
and
the
Journal
of
Public
Relations).
20
location
about
issues
of
shared
concern.
Rhetoricians
may
sometimes
create
public
documents
(see
Sheridan
et
al,
Cushman),
but
typically
discover
them
(Coogan,
Faber,
etc.).
Rhetoricians
often
discover
a
time
and
date
stamp
of
some
kind
and
an
indication
of
authorship
on
these
documents,
which
allows
them
to
reconstruct
the
socio-‐historical
and
rhetorical
context
of
these
documents
and
of
the
public
rhetoric
that
they
are
tracking.
For
some
rhetoricians,
part
of
reconstructing
means
accessing
private
documents
and
interviews
with
rhetors
(see
Waddell,
for
instance).22
Case
Study
Selection
and
Rationale
Given
these
definitions,
rhetoricians
can
find
public
rhetoric
and
public
naming
practices
at
many
sites.
Even
when
a
researcher
limits
their
search
to
public
documents
composed
by
non-‐profit
organizations
and
community
initiatives,
there
a
great
number
of
sites
from
which
to
choose.
However,
my
goal
of
analyzing
how
publics
are
assembled
through
public
naming
practices
aided
me
in
making
stringent
criteria
to
narrow
my
search
for
two
rich,
but
significantly
different
community
initiatives
with
different
values,
missions,
and
website
functionalities.
Additionally,
my
goal
of
finding
community
initiatives
in
the
same
local
area
and
my
desire
to
build
reciprocal
relationships
with
these
initiatives
focused
my
search
considerably.
I.
Methodology
to
Local
Sites
While
public
sites
and
public
documents
seemed
fairly
easy
to
locate,
I
wanted
to
find
local
publics
that
were
invested
in
producing
these
kinds
of
documents.
My
working
theory
of
local
publics
and
how
they
worked
was
based
on
Blythe
and
Grabill’s
assemblage
22
From
my
experiences
doing
this
study,
I
can
say
that
it
is
impossible
to
completely
understand
motivations
and
influences
on
writing
without
actually
talking
to
writers
about
their
writing.
21
theory
of
publics:
that
disparate
individuals
formed
groups
based
on
shared
interest
for
limited
amounts
of
time.23
I
was
interested
in
how
work
happened
together,
and
how
individual
work
was
mediated
by
and
guided
by
intermediaries—“project
managers”
who
were
invested
long
term
in
sustaining
their
work,
even
though
other
members
were
transitory
(see
Lave
and
Wenger
especially
about
how
communities
of
practice
have
high
turnover
rates).
I
had
worked
on
such
a
project
(as
part
of
a
directed
study):
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
(OMA)
website.
Michigan
State
University
faculty
and
students
made
OMA,
a
web
2.0
public
deliberation
website,
in
conjunction
with
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
Improvement
Authority
(MACIA).
These
stakeholders
had
made
OMA
website
because
the
coordination
of
Dr.
John
Monberg.
Dr.
Monberg
taught
several
classes
from
January
to
December
2009
in
which
students
conducted
user
research
interviews
with
community
members;
created
web
2.0
features
(such
as
voting,
mapping,
and
submittable
forms)
from
scratch
based
on
those
interviews;
and
wrote
improvement
articles
and
community
member
stories
based
on
interviews
and
experiences
on
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.
I
also
identified
another
community
initiative,
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing,
because
of
a
presentation
that
Co-‐Director
Cindie
Alwoord
performed
at
a
national
conference
(FemRhet)
that
I
organized
in
October
2009.24
Because
of
that
presentation,
I
became
aware
of
several
23
Without
locating
more
than
one
assemblage
of
people
who
work
on
a
project,
it
is
impossible
to
conduct
a
comparative
case
study
such
as
this
one.
24
I
attended
the
October
2009
Feminisms
and
Rhetorics
Conference,
which
was
hosted
at
Michigan
State
University.
I
helped
to
organize
this
conference,
and
part
of
my
work
was
serving
on
the
Community
Connections
Committee
(CCC).
On
the
CCC,
my
job
was
to
invite
non-‐profit
directors
and
community
activists,
like
Cindie,
to
present
on
the
Community
Track.
22
different
work
groups
present
at
WCGL,
and
of
a
dynamic,
multi-‐vocal
website
that
the
WCGL
used
to
represent
itself
online.
II.
Top-‐Down
vs.
Bottom-‐Up
Initiatives
I
originally
chose
to
study
these
community
initiative
websites
because
I
believed
that
they
contrasted
highly
in
their
approaches
to
community
engagement.
OMA,
for
example,
started
because
of
Dr.
Monberg’s
involvement
with
MACIA.
MACIA
is
a
local
government
cooperative
between
the
city
of
Lansing,
Lansing
Township,
and
the
city
of
East
Lansing
and
consists
of
council
members
and
city
planners.
Although
MACIA,
conducted
several
face-‐to-‐face
meetings
with
community
members
and
created
improvement
categories
based
on
the
results,
TC
491
(the
class
I
did
my
direct
study
with)
met
with
the
city
planners
about
their
interpretations
of
those
results—not
with
the
community
members
who
attended
those
meetings.
MACIA
and
MSU
constituted
the
major
partners
for
producing
OMA
website.25
Although
TC
491
students
did
meet
with
community
members
for
user
research
interviews
and
a
community
design
critique
(in
which
they
presented
their
first
version
of
the
website
to
community
members
and
asked
for
feedback)
to
create
the
website,
they
had
too
many
decisions
to
make
in
a
short
amount
of
time
and
relied
heavily
on
professional
writing
and
website
building
best
practices
when
they
did
not
have
time
to
elicit
a
community
response.
While
MACIA
city
planners
and
officials
were
enthusiastic
about
the
OMA
website,
they
did
not
contribute
any
monetary
25
To
date,
four
of
Dr.
John
Monberg’s
classes
worked
on
this
project.
In
Spring
2009,
TC
491
(“Ethnography
and
Interaction
Design”)
and
WRA
320
(“Advanced
Technical
Writing”)
students
conducted
user
research
interview,
and
wrote
content
for
the
OMA
website.
In
Fall
2009,
WRA
150
(“Evolution
of
American
Thought”)
students
and
WRA
415
(“Digital
Rhetoric”)
students
wrote
improvement
articles
and
conducted
further
user
research
to
make
suggestions
for
website
redesign.
23
support
to
develop
and
maintain
the
website;
this
impacted
the
kind
of
research
that
could
be
completed
during
the
website’s
development.
In
contrast,
the
WCGL
has
struggled
to
receive
official
recognition
by
the
city
of
Lansing
(up
until
July
2010).
Cindie
Alwood,
a
MSW,
and
Dr.
Manuela
Kress,
a
Ph.D.
in
Counseling,
started
the
WCGL
because
they
saw
a
need
for
it:
their
female
clients
described
the
shortcomings
of
government
unemployment
agencies,
and
they
believed
they
could
create
a
walk-‐in
center
to
meet
those
unmet
needs.26
Sacrificing
their
salaries
as
social
workers,
they
started
a
small
advertising
and
word-‐of-‐mouth
campaign
to
garner
volunteers
and
donors
for
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing,
which
they
ran
together
full
time.
For
years,
they
operated
without
501c3
status
because
the
city
of
Lansing
believed
that
they
were
discriminatory
in
their
name:
they
did
not
include
the
term
“men”
in
their
organizational
title.
Even
though
their
practices
are
fairly
established,
they
are
struggling
to
create
a
stable
financial
based
in
the
wake
of
the
2008
recession.27
At
the
moment,
they
are
relying
on
soft
money
like
grants
and
fundraisers
because
major
donors
(businesses
and
wealthy
individuals)
have
retracted
their
yearly
donations
(i.e.,
the
“hard”
money).
As
a
result,
the
co-‐directors
and
some
of
their
former
clients
make
a
concerted
effort
to
advertise
the
WCGL
at
Lansing
functions
throughout
the
year
to
raise
awareness
26
I
know
of
this
history
because
of
initial
intermediary
meetings
I
conducted,
as
well
as
the
WCGL
board
meeting
that
I
attended.
27
During
the
course
of
this
study
and
analysis
thereof,
Dr.
Manuela
Kress
decided
to
step
down
from
her
role
as
co-‐director
to
pursue
a
full-‐time
job
as
a
grant
writer
in
Western
Michigan.
This
has
influenced
and
changed
the
structure
of
the
WCGL,
as
well
as
the
organization’s
writing
practices.
These
changes
have
occurred
post-‐data
collection.
24
and
garner
support.
They
must
consistently
advertise
their
work
in
an
effort
to
gain
a
reliable
foot
holding
in
the
Lansing
community.
III.
Dynamic
vs.
Static
Websites
Not
surprisingly,
these
community
initiatives
also
call
for
different
kinds
of
user
participation
on
their
websites
deliberately
thorough
design.
The
OMA
website
is
a
dynamic
website
because
it
allows
for
user-‐generated
content.
Users
must
register
with
the
site,
providing
their
real
full
name,
e-‐mail
address,
display
name,
and
password.
Once
they
have
completed
a
profile,
they
can
add
stories,
mapped
opinions,
comments
and
improvement
articles.
Without
being
registered,
website
visitors
can
read
content
and
vote
on
improvement
articles
(“yes”
or
“no”).
In
contrast,
the
WCGL
website
is
a
static
site
precisely
because
content
is
only
added
to
the
website
through
a
web
administrator.
Website
visitors
can
read
different
kinds
of
content
(such
as
success
stories
and
feature
articles)
and
download
past
and
current
issues
of
the
newsletter,
but
cannot
add
public
content
to
the
website
(e.g.,
there
are
no
user
registration
or
commenting
options).
WCGL
users
can
fill
out
forms
(such
as
registration
or
payment
for
fundraising
events)
on
the
website,
but
must
copy
and
paste
the
WCGL
e-‐mail
address
or
call
their
phone
number
to
reach
the
WCGL.
In
many
ways,
the
OMA
website
and
the
WCGL
website
represent
the
norm
and
not
the
exception
for
community
websites
in
the
Lansing
area.
Before
the
OMA
website,
the
“Lansing
Sucks”
website
(2003-‐2006)
was
a
discussion
board-‐based
website
in
which
students
and
community
members
complained;
raised
awareness
of
issues;
advocated
solutions
to
issues;
and
advertised
community
organizations
and
events.
The
“Lansing
Metro”
group
on
LiveJournal
(recently
defunct)
served
primarily
as
an
advertising
space
25
for
Lansing
community
members,
although
it
also
served
as
gallery
space
for
all
kinds
of
images
as
well.
Neither
the
“Lansing
Sucks”
website
or
the
“Lansing
Metro”
LiveJournal
group
had
any
official
partnerships
offline.
In
contrast,
the
WCGL
was
one
of
the
first
community
organizations
to
establish
a
stable
partnership
with
the
Professional
Writing
program
at
MSU,
which
in
part
led
to
the
initial
launch
of
their
website
(created
by
Christina
Tower,
M.A.
student
in
Digital
Rhetoric
and
Professional
Writing).
They
also
were
one
of
the
first
few
recipients
of
a
Power
of
We
(PoW)
grant,
which
allowed
many
Lansing
area
nonprofits
to
create
their
own
websites
(or
to
have
them
made
for
them)
and
other
kinds
of
technological
and
non-‐technological
infrastructure
that
they
needed
to
sustain
themselves.28
In
the
last
few
years,
the
Capital
Area
Community
Media
Center
(CACMC)
has
taken
more
of
a
web
2.0
approach
(via
Wordpress)
to
create
sustainable
websites
for
Lansing
area
community
organizations.
Still,
static
websites
largely
represent
the
Lansing
NPO
online
community
(although
quite
a
few
have
started
to
utilize
Facebook
and
Twitter
to
advertise).
Lansing
area
NPO
leaders
are
still
skeptical
about
web
2.0,
given
their
rhetorical
purposes
for
being
on
the
web
(which
are
primarily
to
invite
face-‐to-‐face
participation).
IV.
Website
Function:
Pedagogical
to
Informational
The
OMA
website
and
the
WCGL
website
serve
different
functions.
Many
Lansing
area
community
members
have
not
written
content
on
the
OMA
website.
In
fact,
MSU
28
The
Power
of
We
(PoW)
was
a
non-‐profit
consortium
that
mainly
was
designed
to
provide
capacity-‐building
opportunities
for
local
non-‐profit
organizations
(NPOs)
in
the
Lansing
area.
The
PoW
won
a
national
grant
(“Capital
Compassion
Fund”)
to
provide
individualized
services
and
workshops
for
local
NPOs
that
applied
for
the
funds
for
three
years.
Unfortunately,
there
is
no
replacement
for
this
fund
and
no
continuation
of
funding.
The
PoW
is
no
longer
a
NPO,
but
still
remains
an
important
consortium
run
by
local
NPOs
in
Lansing.
26
students
who
took
Dr.
John
Monberg’s
classes
have
produced
most
of
the
content
on
the
OMA
website.
29
MSU
students
have
found
value
in
the
website
as
a
learning
experience,
as
they
become
writers
and
website
designers.
Thus,
the
OMA’s
primary
function
has
been
pedagogical,
although
it
does
contain
much
information
about
places,
organizations,
programs,
and
people
in
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.30
The
WCGL’s
primary
function,
however,
is
informational,
and
secondary
function
is
pedagogical.
While
the
web
master
for
the
site
was
a
revolving
volunteer,
Cindie
Alwood
is
the
primary
decision
maker
who
determines
what
makes
it
onto
the
website.
She
uses
much
of
the
content
from
the
newsletter
on
the
website;
she
has
primarily
authored
and
coordinated
the
newsletter
since
the
WCGL’s
inception.
While
some
interns,
board
members,
and
volunteers
write
content,
Cindie
is
the
final
editor
of
public
writing
for
the
WCGL,
and
this
writing
is
often
brief
and
not
based
on
substantial
research
(but
rather
informal
interviews
and
personal
experiences).
Writers
do
not
spend
substantial
time
on
training
to
write
or
revising,
as
the
WCGL
board
members
and
staff
view
the
newsletter
and
website
are
seen
as
necessary
advertisements
that
are
calls
to
action.
That
is,
they
focus
on
convincing
website
visitors
to
donate,
intern,
and
volunteer
with
WCGL
as
a
result
of
engaging
with
the
website,
not
on
attracting
potential
users
to
add
their
own
opinions
to
the
website.
V.
Document
Diversity
on
Websites
29
Although
more
posts
have
been
added
to
the
website
about
local
artists,
these
posts
have
been
added
by
another
set
of
students
taught
by
Dr.
John
Monberg.
Overall,
the
same
pattern
of
students
soliciting
participation
and
doing
most
of
the
composing
remains
true.
30
Only
five
community
members
have
fully
identified
themselves
on
the
website,
and
only
four
remain
in
the
Lansing
area.
27
Not
surprisingly,
the
OMA
and
WCGL
websites
have
very
different
kinds
of
documents.
The
OMA
website
has
an
introductory
home
page
that
briefly
describes
the
initiative;
an
about
page;
a
credits
page;
stories;
improvement
articles;
mapped
opinions;
and
a
photo
gallery
(with
tags
that
connect
to
stories
and
improvement
articles).
The
WCGL
website
has
an
about
page;
a
services
and
resources
directory;
success
stories;
feature
articles;
newsletters;
news
releases;
a
“get
involved”
page;
and
an
external
link
to
an
associated
Flickr
gallery.
Both
websites
include
a
variety
of
documents
with
different
persuasive
purposes
that
account
for
a
variety
of
possible
audiences
(e.g.,
to
propose
ideas,
to
take
an
active
organizational
role,
etc.).
Yet,
each
of
these
websites
is
bounded
by
a
particular
set
of
circumstances
outlined
by
their
respective
community
initiative:
the
kinds
of
actions
that
a
user
may
take,
the
kinds
of
documents
and
features
they
encounter
are
pre-‐selected
and
limited
by
creators
of
these
websites.
Both
the
OMA
and
the
WCGL
websites
are
arguing
for
particular
methods
of
participation:
they
are
defining
their
respective
initiative
as
a
solution
as
much
as
they
are
providing
rationale
for
the
issues
that
they
are
addressing.
VI.
Researcher
Positionality
Choosing
a
research
methodology
and
sites
of
inquiry
is
not
just
about
accounting
for
intellectual
traditions;
it
also
requires
being
reflective
about
personal
ideology
and
associated
experiences
(Taylor
153).
There
are
several
ways
in
which
my
positionality
has
impacted
this
study.
First
and
foremost,
I
have
become
involved
in
both
initiatives
quite
extensively.
I
was
a
part
of
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website
project
since
its
inception
in
January
2009
in
TC
491,
Dr.
John
Monberg’s
“Ethnography
and
Interaction
Design”
class.
While
I
was
never
officially
enrolled
in
TC
491,
I
was
one
of
two
Ph.D.
students
who
28
deliberately
took
a
directed
study
with
Dr.
Monberg
to
have
a
chance
to
work
on
this
project.
My
role
in
this
project
was
to
serve
as
the
user
research
coordinator
and
the
project
documentation
manager,
which
profoundly
influenced
both
the
outcomes
of
the
project
and
my
intimate
knowledge
of
the
process
of
creating
the
project
(as
well
as
access
to
good
documentation
for
the
project).
After
the
class,
I
was
part
of
a
volunteer
group
of
students
from
my
class
who
decided
to
work
on
the
project
further
in
Summer
2009.
While
I
conducted
a
mock
focus
group
with
MSU
students
(on
advertising
materials)
and
conducted
a
community
website
usability
focus
group
at
Gone
Wired
Café,
those
efforts
(albeit
with
the
exception
of
a
few
technical
efforts)
were
the
only
ones
during
that
summer.
Finally,
I
passed
on
my
knowledge
of
user
research
for
WRA
415:
Digital
Rhetoric
students
as
Dr.
Monberg
had
them
exclusively
focus
on
user
research
for
the
website.
While
I
was
not
involved
at
all
at
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
(WCGL)
before
I
approached
them
about
this
study,
I
have
since
become
involved
as
a
guest
contributor
to
their
bi-‐monthly
newsletter
and
have
become
a
regular
contributing
member
of
their
grant
writing
committee.
Hence,
I
am
not
fully
objective
about
either
of
these
initiatives.
While
I
am
not
objective
about
these
community
initiatives
due
to
my
involvement
and
investment
in
them,
I
believe
the
benefits
of
my
involvement
and
commitment
outweigh
the
costs.
I
am
not
conducting
community-‐based
participatory
research
(CBPR)
or
action
research,
but
the
spirit
of
those
methodologies
inspire
my
approach
to
this
study:
I
believe
that
these
community
initiatives
should
benefit
from
my
research
in
ways
that
are
useful
to
their
sustainability.
To
find
mutuality,
researchers
must
discover
where
their
expertise
meets
community
need.
Researchers
must
also
strive
toward
“equality
matching”—a
state
in
which
both
the
researcher
and
participants
can
monitor
the
29
relationship
to
assure
that
needs
are
being
met
(Garner
and
Sercombe
83).
Because
of
my
extensive
involvement
with
OMA
as
a
writer
and
researcher,
I
met
those
conditions
before
deciding
to
study
OMA.
I
used
focus
groups
and
user
research
to
help
designers
make
decisions
about
website
function,
layout,
etc.
While
Cindie
Alwood,
the
current
director
of
WCGL,
believes
that
WCGL
will
find
some
benefit
from
my
study,
she
was
more
immediately
interested
in
having
me
become
involved
with
WCGL
and
the
NPO
operates
in
a
largely
face-‐to-‐face
manner.
Writing
work,
just
as
client
work,
or
fundraising
work,
as
I
have
learned,
happens
as
a
result
of
face-‐to-‐face
encounters.
I
am
not
the
only
one
to
benefit
from
this
work:
WCGL
had
a
real
need
for
newsletter
contributor,
fundraising
committee
members,
and
grant
committee
members.
Even
though
I
know
I
am
more
needed
as
a
volunteer
than
as
a
researcher,
I
have
endeavored
to
find
ways
to
make
my
research
findings
into
useful
deliverables
for
the
WCGL
(such
as
a
presentation
of
strategies
that
NPOs
use
across
the
U.S.
that
she
could
use
to
rethink
possibilities
on
the
WCGL
website).31
Besides
my
involvement
with
both
community
initiatives
before
and
during
the
study,
my
previous
involvement
with
NPOs
also
influences
the
ways
in
which
I
approach
this
project.
I
have
had
a
strong
level
of
involvement
with
NPOs
since
I
became
founding
president
of
Interact
(a
teenage
division
of
Rotary
International)
during
my
junior
year
in
high
school.
During
my
undergraduate
career,
I
helped
to
coordinate
program
board
volunteering
partnerships
with
Detroit-‐area
NPOs.
Late
in
my
undergraduate
career,
I
co-‐
founded
Alternative
Spring
Break
Detroit
(ASBD)
at
Wayne
State
University
(Detroit,
MI).
31
Please
see
Appendix
A
for
a
listing
of
diverse
strategies
that
U.S.
NPOs
use
on
their
websites
to
represent
stakeholders
and
to
interactively
involve
visitors
to
their
websites.
30
As
a
result
of
my
involvement
in
ASBD,
I
became
aware
of
the
ways
in
which
the
image
of
the
city
of
Detroit
is
constructed
through
the
media
and
how
that
impacts
NPO
efforts
within
that
municipality.
It
was
then
that
I
became
interested
in
how
writing
and
technology
impact
community
efforts.
With
that
focus,
I
started
my
Ph.D.
program
and
became
involved
in
efforts
to
aid
NPOs
in
using
technology—through
my
volunteer
work
with
the
Capital
Area
Community
Media
Center
(CACMC)
and
my
service-‐learning
partnerships
with
local
Lansing
NPOs,
in
which
my
students
have
made
writing
and
media
projects
in
dialogue
with
community
partners.
My
long
involvement
with
NPOs
has,
at
times,
given
me
a
false
sense
of
comprehensive
knowledge
about
NPOs.
However,
my
involvement
with
WCGL,
in
particular,
has
challenged
my
previous
knowledge
and
has
made
me
aware
that
I
am
still
a
learner.
I
have
learned
to
continue
to
ask
questions
instead
of
making
assumptions.
What
I
have
realized
during
this
process
is
that
although
I
am
an
active
participant
in
the
non-‐profit
sector,
I
am
not
as
much
an
insider
as
I
once
thought.
I
do
not
work
for
the
non-‐profit
sector;
I
work
with
non-‐profit
organizations
as
a
Rhetoric
and
Composition
student.
What
this
means
is
that
when
I
write
research
reports,
or
make
presentations,
or
disseminate
findings,
I
am
speaking
for
those
whom
I
study.
I
agree
with
Alcoff
about
the
problem
of
speaking
for
others
as
a
researcher:
my
politics
of
location
(i.e.,
my
positionality)
is
not
the
same
as
my
research
participants,
and
I
do
occupy
a
priviledged
location
(as
a
graduate
student
at
a
Carnegie
I
research
institution)
that
may
result
in
“increasing
or
re-‐inforcing
oppression”
of
my
research
participants
(118).
Because
I
need
to
be
sure
that
I
am
allowing
their
words
about
their
experiences,
motives,
and
interpretations
to
shape
my
analysis,
I
have
been
careful
to
use
several
audio-‐recording
31
methods;
triple-‐check
my
transcripts
based
on
those
audio
recordings;
to
do
member
checks
with
intermediaries
about
preliminary
findings;
and
to
gain
participant
feedback
after
I
have
written
my
chapters—before
their
representations
“go
public.”
My
attempts
to
democratize
this
process
are
admittedly
limited,
because
my
research
project
is
one
based
on
my
academic
interests—not
a
research
agenda
that
I
share
with
my
participants,
although
they
have
indicated
interest
in
my
results
and
their
potential
use
for
their
initiatives.
Methods
Theories:
Conceptual
Foundations
of
Procedures
For
many
scholars
who
study
how
rhetoric
happens
in
public
spaces,
their
site
of
inquiry
is
some
kind
of
text—whether
that
text
is
a
newspaper;
an
online,
text-‐based
forum;
or
even
a
series
of
Youtube
videos.
In
public
rhetoric
scholarship,
textual
analysis
is
the
dominant
method
of
inquiry
regardless
of
lens
(feminist,
Marxist,
etc.).
Even
scholars
who
begin
to
discuss
the
circulation
of
texts
as
constituting
a
public
or
counter-‐public
(see
Warner
especially)
privilege
texts
as
looking
glasses
into
the
nature
of
publics.
But
what
do
texts
yield?
And
what
can
scholars
learn
form
examining
them?
From
examining
texts,
researchers
can
learn
what
publics
have
said
and
how
they
have
said
it.
Researchers
can
trace
patterns
between
documents
(such
as
repetition
of
ideas,
topics,
etc.)
and
references
to
link
texts.
But
there
is
much
that
researchers
cannot
learn
from
texts
alone.
Without
talking
to
rhetors
about
their
public
utterances,
researchers’
ideas
about
intentions,
motivations,
and
goals
for
writing
are
based
solely
on
texts;
this
is
problematic
because
texts
may
only
provide
a
limited
basis
for
unveiling
these
factors.
Also,
without
talking
to
rhetors,
researchers
have
little
ability
to
trace
context
for
32
writing
or
the
ways
in
which
they
have
evaluated
what
they
wrote.
With
texts
alone,
researchers
can
understand
the
“what”
and
“how,”
but
researchers
can
only
get
the
“why”
and
the
“so
what”
of
public
naming
practices
from
talking
to
rhetors.
What
I
am
arguing
for
is
the
foregrounding
the
“pre-‐text”
and
“post-‐text”
as
much
as
the
“text”
itself.
Because
this
triangulation
is
what
gives
rhetoricians
the
full
picture,
a
full
scene
of
public
rhetoric—a
scene
which
needs
to
be
reconstructed
because
of
the
often
asynchronous
nature
of
how
public
naming
practices
happen
in
the
information
economy,
which
impacts
how
publics
are
assembled.
But
how
do
rhetoricians
analyze
texts
and
structure
interviews
in
ways
that
allow
us
to
capture
public
naming
practices,
and
also
makes
rhetoricians
accountable
to
those
they
study?
Textual
Analysis
Textual
analysis
is
a
form
of
discourse
analysis.
Discourse
analysis
involves
analyzing
writing,
speech,
and
non-‐verbal
forms
of
communication
(e.g.,
American
Sign
Language)
(Johnstone
2-‐3).
Discourse
is
assumed
to
be
shaped
by
and
shape
the
context
in
which
it
is
found,
including
language,
participants,
prior
discourse,
future
discourse,
medium,
and
purpose
(9).
To
study
discourse,
researchers
usually
choose
to
analyze
texts—which
serve
as
records
of
past
activity
not
observed
by
the
researcher
or
as
the
translation
of
media
(i.e.,
notes,
audio
recordings,
video
recordings)
that
researchers
use
when
conducting
qualitative
research
(such
as
focus
groups,
ethnographies,
and
interviews)
(19).
Thus,
although
some
researchers
often
call
“texts”
written
documents
and
“discourse”
spoken
word,
the
distinction
between
texts
and
discourse
conceptually
and
in
practice
of
collecting
and
analyzing
data
is
often
difficult
to
establish
(Titscher
et
al
20).
Often,
scholars
use
discourse
analysis
and
conversational
analysis
to
decode
interactions
in
33
texts
that
were
not
transcriptions
of
speech.
While
there
are
many
methods
used
to
interpret
texts,
I
subscribe
to
grounded
theory
as
a
method
of
textual
analysis
(which
derives
from
Pragmatism
and
Symbolic
Interactionism)
because
it
does
not
rely
on
hermeneutics
but
rather
the
ability
to
allow
the
research
situation
influence
how
data
is
read
and
theorized
(51).
Grounded
theory
(GT)
is
different
from
many
traditional
ways
of
decoding
data
because
it
values
the
knowledge
of
research
participants,
not
just
the
knowledge
of
the
researcher
as
a
way
of
“reading”
data
(75).
However,
GT
is
not
completely
unstructured.
Within
GT,
researchers
have
developed
“coding
families”
as
ways
to
read
a
range
of
situations:
process,
degree,
type,
strategy,
interaction,
identity,
culture,
consensus,
mainline,
etc.
(77).
While
these
are
structured
ways
to
read
data,
researchers
may
use
“open
coding”
as
a
way
to
create
“axial
coding”
(through
which
new
theories
and
models
based
on
a
research
situation
can
be
produced)
(79).
Researchers
can
also
employ
selective
coding
to
purposely
search
for
indicators
of
the
kind
of
phenomena
for
which
they
are
searching
(80).
Because
I
used
my
data
to
develop
a
model
of
public
naming
practices,
I
used
an
open
coding
scheme
(to
analyze
all
possible
claims),
followed
by
selective
coding
(to
look
for
specific
instances
of
naming)
to
analyze
data
and
create
a
scheme
for
analyzing
instances
of
public
naming
practices
(not
just
my
own).
In
essence,
I
created
my
own
GT
family
for
looking
for
and
coding
public
naming
practices.
Interviews
Interviews
are
one
of
several
methods
in
qualitative
research.
Qualitative
research
is
concerned
with
both
the
“how”
and
“why”
of
phenomena,
and
values
“the
power
of
human
observation”
as
a
primary
means
of
collecting
data
to
answer
these
kinds
of
34
questions
(Amin
45).
Qualitative
researchers
assume
that
the
research
situation
is
socially
constructed
and
that
subjects
have
insights
that
can
help
researchers
to
create
grounded
theories
to
explain
phenomena
(46).
Research
design
emerges,
therefore,
as
the
research
process
proceeds
(46).
Sociology
feminists
created
interview
methods
in
the
1970s
and
1980s
as
a
response
to
what
they
felt
to
be
the
“masculine”
(quantitative)
research
methods
that
were
used
heavily
at
the
time
to
study
women’s
lives
(like
Likert
surveys,
experimental
design,
etc.)
(Doucet
and
Mauthner
330).
These
researchers
were
interested
in
creating
non-‐
hierarchal
relations;
balancing
power;
showing
empathy;
developing
rapport;
and
investing
one’s
identity
in
the
research
process
(332).
In
practical
terms,
this
means
that
researchers
engage
in
dialogue
with
research
participants
rather
than
simply
following
a
set
script;
use
more
open-‐ended
questions
that
allow
participants
to
tell
more
about
their
experiences
and
interpretations;
show
signs
of
active
listening
(such
as
recording,
not-‐
taking,
making
eye
contact,
asking
relevant
follow
up
questions);
and
reveal
their
own
personality
(by
making
small
talk;
offering
some
personal
insight;
smiling;
nodding,
etc.).
But
non-‐hierarchal
interviews
also
have
great
costs.
Face-‐to-‐face
interviews
inherently
produce
logistical
issues;
can
be
expensive
to
conduct;
are
influenced
by
the
training
of
interviewers;
and
are
more
likely
to
yield
reliable
but
not
valid
data
without
the
use
of
a
structured
script
(Leeuw
324).
As
describe
in
more
detail
later,
I
combined
these
techniques
with
my
concern
for
the
public
representations
of
participants
and
contributors
that
would
be
potentially
impacted
by
my
study.
Procedures
35
Data
Collection
Phases
I. Phase
1
For
me,
public
documents
are
a
primary
source
of
data
in
my
study.
I
examine
public
naming
practices
of
Lansing
area
community
members
who
live
on
or
near
Michigan
Avenue
and
MSU
students
who
are
involved
as
authors
on
these
websites
by
looking
at
public
documents
produced
and
posted
on
the
WCGL
website
and
on
the
OMA
website.
These
websites
are
public
sites
(although
access
to
posting
on
the
WCGL
site
is
restricted
to
those
who
have
permission
from
the
WCGL
to
post)
in
which
voices
of
Lansing
area
community
members
are
represented
(directly,
or
through
mediation).
Since
these
documents
are
openly
accessible,
I
did
not
have
to
gain
permission
to
analyze
them.
But
since
I
believe
that
textual
analysis
alone
severely
limits
my
conclusions
about
these
public
documents,
their
authors,
and
their
intended
impact,
these
documents
are
only
a
starting
point
for
my
analysis.
On
these
sites,
I
located
names
of
those
who
posts;
those
who
are
represented;
and
those
who
are
named
as
leaders
(or
intermediaries)
of
these
initiatives.
I. Phase
2
I
sought
permission
for
these
interviews,
first
through
intermediaries
(leaders
of
the
website
projects)
and
then
from
individual
contributors
themselves.
Through
individual
interviews
with
these
leaders
and
contributors,
I
better
understood
the
motivations
and
goals
of
public
naming
practices
within
this
local
community.
In
addition,
I
had
hoped
to
discover
more
about
the
writing
process
of
the
public
documents
that
I
found
on
the
websites.
From
these
interviews,
I
wanted
to
be
able
to
ascertain
what
kinds
of
private
documents
informed
decisions
about
the
creation
of
public
documents
on
these
websites.
36
II. Phase
3
However,
study
participants
often
did
not
remember
their
influences
on
writing,
which
made
tracing
documents
that
did
inspire
their
writing
nearly
impossible.
Intermediaries
and
their
instructions
constitute
reliable
influences
on
the
writing
process.
But
in
terms
of
knowing
community
context,
did
not
rely
solely
on
study
participants.
Instead,
I
performed
a
targeting
probing
of
media
archives
(such
as
TV
WILX,
the
Lansing
State
Journal
and
the
City
Pulse)
to
ascertain
how
other
community
members
were
and
are
talking
about
the
topics
that
are
central
to
participants’
writing.
I
did
this
to
triangulate
and
follow
up
on
study
participant
claims
about
the
community
context
for
their
writing.
Data
Collection
Process
and
Schedule
However,
these
phases
are
not
as
cleanly
distinct
from
one
another
as
they
first
may
appear.
For
example,
I
did
not
stop
analyzing
the
website
once
I
entered
Phase
2;
I
simply
reread
the
website
in
light
of
the
new
information
that
my
interviews
yielded.
And
while
I
have
generally
followed
that
Phase
1-‐3
sequence
for
data
collection,
different
groups
from
my
case
studies
were
available
to
interview
at
different
times.
For
example,
I
chose
to
focus
on
my
student
interviews
first
because
my
IRB
for
this
study
was
approved
at
the
end
of
Spring
Semester
2010
and
I
knew
that
I
had
limited
time
to
reach
them
before
they
departed
campus.
I
started
data
collection
with
community
members
later
because
I
knew
I
would
have
access
to
them
during
the
summer;
their
work
and
personal
lives
still
largely
have
determined
if,
how,
and
when
I
was
able
to
interview
them.
Additionally,
before
I
had
finished
Phase
3,
I
had
actively
worked
on
Chapters
1
and
2,
as
well
as
starting
grounded
analysis
of
my
data
for
my
results
chapters.
I
needed
to
perform
this
kind
of
research
is
iterative
way,
in
part
because
of
my
reliance
on
research
participants
for
access
to
other
37
research
participants,
and
my
work
to
create
a
flexible
ethos
and
relationship
with
research
participants
who
are
relative
or
complete
strangers.
Data
Collection
Schedule:
Mid-April
2010:
Intermediary
Interview
with
Dr.
John
Monberg
(OMA)
Late
April
2010:
Intermediary
Interviews
with
Cindie
Alwood
and
Dr.
Manuela
Kress
(WCGL)
Late
April
to
Late
May
2010:
Student
Interviews
(OMA)
Late
May
to
Early
June
2010:
Community
Member
Interviews
(OMA)
June
to
July
2010:
Client,
Volunteer,
Former
Intern
Interviews
(WCGL)
Early
August
2010:
Member
Check
Interviews
with
Intermediaries
(Cindie
Alwoord,
Dr.
John
Monberg)
Data
Collection
Techniques
I. Accessing
and
Archiving
Public
Documents
I
first
accessed
these
websites
several
months
before
the
study
was
approved
and
I
met
with
intermediaries.
While
I
believed
that
these
websites
were
relatively
stable
(i.e.,
they
would
not
likely
disappear
from
the
Internet),
I
did
not
want
to
take
a
chance
that
they
would
disappear
from
the
Internet
during
the
course
of
the
study
without
a
chance
to
recover
what
was
on
them.
Therefore,
I
decided
to
talk
a
screenshot
of
each
web
page
on
these
websites
that
I
was
interested
in
examining
and
saved
a
downloaded
copy
of
each
of
the
embedded
documents
(e.g.,
WCGL
newsletters)
that
I
was
interested
in
examining.
Initially,
a
committee
member
suggested
that
I
use
Zotero
to
take
screenshots.
I
downloaded
Zotero,
and
was
impressed
with
its
capabilities,
but
quickly
discovered
that
it
38
did
not
capture
most
graphical
elements
of
both
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites.
I
discovered
that
the
same
was
true
for
other
local
community
websites
(like
the
Allen
Neighborhood
Center
website).
While
I
could
not
explain
why
Zotero
worked
on
websites
like
www.cnn.com
and
not
the
websites
I
was
studying,
I
knew
that
capturing
graphical
elements
was
essential
to
preserving
my
digital
memories
of
the
websits
and
conducting
analytical
explorations
of
the
websites.
Fortunately,
I
found
that
Screengrab!,
another
freeware
screen
capturing
device,
did
capture
these
graphical
elements,
albeit
with
less
complex
features
than
Zotero.
II. Author
Identification
and
Solicitation
Even
though
I
could,
in
quite
a
few
instances,
identify
authors
of
writing
on
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites,
I
decided
not
to
pursue
soliciting
them
without
intermediaries.
Before
soliciting
them,
I
formed
relationships
with
Cindie
Alwood
and
Dr.
Manuela
Kress,
the
original
co-‐directors
of
the
WCGL
and
Dr.
John
Monberg,
coordinator
of
the
OMA
website
project.
Both
of
these
intermediaries
had
at
least
influenced
and
contributed
to
writing
on
these
websites,
and
I
assumed
would
be
trusted
to
some
extent
by
authors
of
the
posts
(with
whom
I
wished
to
converse).
In
addition,
because
I
knew
that
I
would
not
know
most
of
my
interviewees,
I
also
had
to
find
a
way
to
build
my
ethos
with
them:
being
introduced
by
intermediaries
seemed
like
a
solid
way
to
do
that
consistently.
Additionally,
I
believed
it
was
ethical
to
start
my
research
by
talking
with
intermediaries
because
I
reasoned
that
they
would
be
invested
with
their
respective
websites
long
term
and
would
be
able
to
implement
any
suggestions
I
would
find
that
they
found
helpful.
Finally,
I
did
not
want
to
start
a
research
project
without
their
knowledge;
I
respected
that
these
projects
39
are
of
their
making,
and
I
was
treading
upon
their
privacy
when
I
did
more
than
read
what
is
on
their
respective
websites.
However,
after
the
initial
meetings
and
interviews
with
intermediaries,
my
methods
of
soliciting
interviews
changed.
For
the
WCGL
website,
I
needed
to
rely
on
Cindie
Alwood
because
I
was
just
starting
to
build
an
ethos
with
the
WCGL
as
a
volunteer.
Additionally,
she
had
knowledge
of
which
clients,
former
interns,
and
WCGL
supporters
were
approachable,
available
to
reach,
and
reachable.
In
some
cases,
I
would
not
have
been
able
to
identify
possible
participants
without
her
help:
in
some
areas
on
the
WCGL
website,
last
names
are
not
provided,
which
would
make
it
impossible
to
identify
participants
(especially
former
clients).
For
example,
some
feature
articles
on
the
WCGL
do
not
included
the
name
of
an
author,
making
author
identification
impossible
without
Cindie’s
knowledge
(whom
I
knew
from
the
first
meeting
was
the
primary
author
and
primary
editor
of
the
WCGL
newsletter).
While
I
wanted
to
be
able
to
identify
authors
of
posts
and
articles,
I
also
shared
Cindie
and
Manuela’s
concern
regarding
protecting
clients
from
unwanted
identification
and
making
sure
that
the
WCGL
knew
of
all
of
the
possible
clients,
former
interns,
and
the
WCGL
supporters
I
was
contacting.
Cindie
provided
me
with
e-‐mail
addresses
of
possible
interviewees
based
on
these
shared
concerns.
When
I
was
recruiting
participants
who
had
worked
on
the
OMA
website,
I
needed
to
consult
Dr.
John
Monberg
in
instances
in
which
I
could
not
identify
participants
on
my
own.
I
was
able
to
identify
OMA
participants
in
many
instances
because
they
often
left
their
full
names
or
used
a
pseudonym
I
was
able
to
identify
as
a
possible
MSU
ID.
Additionally,
Dr.
Monberg
told
me
that
90%
of
OMA
website
posters
were
his
students.
To
identify
posters
as
students,
I
typically
searched
for
them
in
the
MSU
directory
by
their
full
name
or
40
their
partial
name.
In
instances
in
which
students
produced
a
pseudonym
that
looked
like
an
MSU
ID,
I
simply
guessed
their
first
or
last
name
and
included
a
first
or
last
initial
and
searched
for
results.
At
times,
that
was
enough
to
positively
identify
or
not
identify
someone
as
a
student
obtain
an
e-‐mail
address
in
the
former
instance.
But
more
often
than
I
liked,
I
did
not
have
enough
information
to
identify
a
person
as
a
student.
At
one
point,
I
did
ask
Dr.
Monger
to
provide
me
with
enough
information
to
identify
certain
author
display
names
that
I
could
not
identify.
He
provided
me
with
e-‐mail
addresses
and
names
of
those
authors
whom
I
was
interested
in
interviewing.
To
identify
OMA
posters
as
community
members,
I
simply
took
all
of
the
names
that
I
could
positively
identify
as
not
MSU
students
and
conducted
a
Google
search
for
their
full
names
plus
the
“city
of
Lansing.”
I
clicked
on
the
first
page
of
links
for
each
of
them,
through
which
I
was
able
to
determine
that
they
were
residents
and
workers
in
the
Lansing
area.
Because
they
did
not
have
a
public
profile
with
contact
information
on
the
OMA
website,
I
had
to
rely
on
the
links
that
I
found
to
make
contact
with
them:
via
Facebook;
a
workplace
website
with
a
submittable
form;
a
non-‐profit
website
with
a
submittable
form;
and
an
e-‐mail
address
from
a
church
website.
Although
my
methods
of
reaching
authors
varied,
my
advertisement
protocol
remained
the
same.32
I
briefly
introduced
myself;
my
specific
interest
in
their
post;
how
the
post
fit
into
my
dissertation
project;
and
my
protocol
for
conducting
interviews.
I
gave
interviewees
their
choice
of
location
for
the
interview
and
the
time
in
which
we
would
meet.
There
were
two
students
one
community
member
who
did
not
feel
comfortable
32
My
scripted
protocols
for
different
kinds
of
participants
(intermediaries,
students,
volunteers,
and
clients)
appear
in
Appendix
B.
41
meeting
in
person;
because
of
the
difficulty
in
obtaining
interviews,
I
decided
to
allow
for
e-‐
mail
interviews
upon
their
request
for
them.
III. Conducting
Interviews
In
preparation
for
my
interview
phase,
I
decided
to
adopt
an
interview
approach
that
was
structured
yet
flexible.
I
developed
a
structured
set
of
questions
to
ask
interviewees
ahead
of
time,
which
I
altered
and
customized
for
each
interviewee
(per
my
understanding
of
their
posts,
and
my
desire
to
know
more
about
particular
ideas
or
the
context
in
which
those
ideas
developed).
I
also
developed
a
common
protocol
for
asking
questions,
which
included
small
talk;
a
brief
explanation
of
the
study
and
consent;
a
description
of
the
audio
devices
I
was
using;
the
interview
questions
and
probes;
and
a
discussion
of
the
next
steps
in
the
study
after
the
interview
stage
(including
transcription,
analysis,
and
my
representation
of
them
and
their
words
in
my
study).
However,
my
interviews
were
also
very
non-‐hierarchal
because
I
allowed
participants
significant
control
over
many
facets
of
the
process.
Interview
participants
chose
the
meeting
place,
as
well
as
how
long
the
interviews
lasted;
some
opted
for
as
little
as
18
minutes,
whereas
some
chose
to
talk
for
over
an
hour
(which
was
outside
of
the
30-‐45
minute
range
that
I
had
advertised).
Additionally,
interview
participants
generally
directed
the
structure
of
the
conversation.
I
frequently
departed
from
my
script
to
ask
follow
up
questions,
or
to
abandon
some
of
my
questions
in
favor
of
new
information
interviewees
wanted
to
tell
me.
Finally,
interview
participants
had
complete
control
over
whether
I
used
their
full
name
or
just
their
display
name
that
they
provide
in
their
posts.
Those
participants
who
had
fully
disclosed
their
names
on
the
websites
were
informed
that
their
identities
were
already
revealed,
but
that
I
would
pay
special
attention
to
how
I
represented
their
interview
42
comments
in
presentations
and
publications.
However,
I
did
not
just
provide
this
special
treatment
for
those
who
decided
to
become
research
participants:
I
also
paid
close
attention
to
the
ways
in
which
I
represent
WCGL
and
OMA
website
contributors
who
are
not
interview
participants
as
I
am
representing
their
public
face
in
this
study,
too.
IV. Requesting
Public
and
Private
Documents
When
I
introduced
the
interview
protocol,
I
told
participants
briefly
about
each
phase
of
data
collection
and
that
I
was
hoping
to
trace
their
textual
and
media
influences
for
writing.
I
said
that
I
would
try
to
identify
these
influences
during
interviews,
but
that
I
might
send
them
a
follow
up
e-‐mail
after
these
interviews
were
conducted
to
request
more
information
about
a
public
reference
or
a
private
document
that
they
referenced
as
an
influence
during
their
interview.
By
viewing
these
documents,
I
hoped
to
gain
a
better
idea
of
what
these
texts
consisted
of
and
triangulate
their
responses
to
these
texts.
However,
I
did
not
have
much
success
with
this
approach
because
participants
had
trouble
recalling
texts
that
had
influenced
their
writing.
Ultimately,
I
abandoned
this
approach
because
participants
could
often
not
remember
how
they
influenced
and
by
what
person
(or
persons)
and
the
by
what
mode
of
communication
(such
as
television,
radio,
informal
conversation,
etc.).
Data
Analysis
I. Locating
Public
Naming
Practices
To
locate
public
naming
practices,
I
first
comprehensively
read
all
of
the
text
on
each
of
the
websites,
including
text
of
web
pages
and
downloadable
documents
(which
appeared
in
the
form
of
articles,
stories,
newsletters,
and
the
like).
Then,
I
conducted
a
key
word
search
for
central
nouns
(or
topoi)
used
in
these
texts
(such
as
collective
nouns,
43
proper
nouns
[familiar
and
unfamiliar])
and
recorded
those
into
labeled
sections
by
website.33
Then,
I
conducted
an
analysis
of
how
each
of
these
nouns
was
being
defined
(reiterated,
added
to,
or
challenged—according
to
my
knowledge
of
community
commonplaces).34
Finally,
some
of
these
topoi
become
the
subject
of
questions
that
I
asked
interviewees.35
II. Transcription
Techniques
Although
I
audio-‐recorded
interviews
on
both
Garageband
and
a
Sony
mp3
IC
recorder,
I
decided
to
transcribe
interviews
using
the
audio
recordings
from
Garageband.
I
did
upload
audio
recordings
from
the
Sony
mp3
IC
recorder
as
mp3
files
when
could
not
hear
participant
audio
via
Garageband
(because
of
excessive
background
noise
in
certain
interviews).
I
decided
not
to
do
that
primarily
because
the
Sony
mp3
IC
recorder
did
not
reliably
capture
more
than
the
first
45
minutes
of
interviews
in
some
cases.
In
addition,
some
of
my
interview
participants
were
quiet
in
my
audio
recordings,
and
I
was
not
sure
33
A
comprehensive
list
of
these
topoi
and
associated
categories
by
section
on
each
website,
appears
in
Appendix
C.
34
For
a
more
explicit
account
of
how
I
do
this,
please
read
Chapter
5.
35
For
example,
one
of
the
central
topoi
in
Silvana’s
story
was
“doula,”
her
former
profession
in
which
she
aided
pregnant
women
in
childbirth
and
cared
for
mothers
post-‐
partum.
Because
she
credits
this
work
as
(Footnote
35
cont.)having
part
in
the
breakdown
in
her
marriage
and
the
start
of
her
relationship
with
the
WCGL,
it
has
been
really
important
for
me
to
understand
what
it
involves
and
why
she
had
to
stay
employed
in
Pennsylvania
and
commute
back
and
forth
from
Lansing.
What
I
found
out
is
that
the
doula
profession
is
generally
not
practiced
in
Michigan,
and
that
she
was
not
able
to
even
talk
to
practicing
doulas
in
Ann
Arbor
because
they
would
not
return
her
phone
calls.
Although
she
loved
her
profession,
these
circumstances
led
her
to
make
a
career
change
when
she
found
the
WCGL.
She’s
now
pursuing
a
career
as
a
creative
writer.
44
that
the
.mp3
to
.doc
conversion
would
be
clean;
I
thought
that,
in
some
cases,
much
could
be
lost
in
translations
(particularly
with
different
kinds
of
volume,
talking
speed,
and
annunciation).
I
chose
to
listen
to
Garageband
audio
files
of
the
interviews
because
they
included
full
interviews;
I
could
amplify
the
sound
for
even
quiet
interviews;
and
I
could
easily
return
to
a
spot
that
I
previously
listened
to
by
simply
scrolling
and
clicking,
or
not
moving
the
cursor,
and
clicking
“play”
in
an
area
of
audio
I
was
interested
in.
While
I
was
not
able
to
decipher
everything
that
was
said
(especially
in
the
case
of
interview
participants
who
talked
fast,
quietly,
or
whose
speech
overlapped
my
own),
I
was
able
to
capture
most
of
what
they
were
saying
by
listening
to
a
few
seconds
of
audio,
pausing,
and
writing
down
what
was
said
and
by
whom
on
a
word
document
(which
served
as
the
transcript).
I
played
each
audio
file
two
times
after
producing
the
initial
transcript
to
ensure
accuracy
and
corrected
the
transcript
when
it
was
appropriate.
III. Applied
Grounded
Theory
and
Claims
Coding
Although
I
did
allow
my
first
readings
of
the
OMA
and
the
WCGL
websites
influence
my
definition
of
public
rhetoric
I
developed
before
pursuing
the
study,
I
opted
for
an
open
coding
strategy
once
I
was
evaluating
website
text
and
interview
transcripts.
In
each
of
these
types
of
documents,
I
looked
for
any
information
that
could
lead
me
to
make
a
single
claim,
even
if
that
claim
was
not
triangulated
by
other
pieces
of
data.36
After
I
had
made
all
36
Most
of
the
claims
that
I
could
not
triangulate
related
to
the
experiences
and
opinions
about
the
WCGL
and
OMA
that
were
particular
to
individual
interviewees.
For
example,
my
interview
with
Jeremy
Dowcett
(pastor
of
Blacksoil,
a
barefoot
church
on
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor)
yielded
this
claim:
“Churches
are
relying
on
formal
advertising
to
attract
parishoners,
which
is
leading
to
the
erosion
of
local
parishes.”
While
this
claim
is
45
of
the
possible
claims
I
could
with
my
data,
I
used
selective
coding
to
find
claims
that
a)
were
triangulated
and
b)
exhibited
instances
of
naming
of
any
kind.37
From
there,
I
developed
my
theory
of
public
naming
practices
based
on
my
results
from
selective
coding.
IV. Evaluating
Local
Public
Rhetoric
and
Triangulating
Terms
on
the
Case
Study
Websites
Non-‐profit
organizations
and
community
initiatives
define
themselves
in
comparison
to
other
organizations,
ideas,
issues,
etc.
For
rhetoricians
do
this
definition
work
successfully,
they
need
an
awareness
of
what
other
rhetors
and
their
collectives
are
saying
(or
are
not
saying)
about
issues
and
ideas
of
concern
to
them.
While
rhetoricians
can
find
some
of
this
in
explicit
or
implicit
forms
on
NPO
or
community
initiative
websites,
they
can
only
find
much
of
this
context
by
exploring
beyond
the
website.
They
can
use
interviews
to
find
out
this
information,
but
interviews
are
not
always
easy
to
come
by.
Rhetoricians
can
also
find
media
documents
in
the
community
to
trace
this;
media
documents
can
also
be
quite
indicative
of
what
community
values
are
and
what
kinds
of
conversations
are
taking
place.
Here
is
the
method
I
used
to
trace
local
community
conversations
about
terms
that
appeared
on
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
that
I
found
through
my
initial
coding
for
public
naming
practices:
(Footnote
36
cont’d)
interesting
and
could
be
triangulated
with
further
research,
it
is
one
piece
of
data
that
does
not
relate
to
other
claims
made
by
other
OMA
contributors
or
research
participants.
37
When
I
say
“triangulated,”
I
do
not
simply
mean
that
I
can
find
another
source
or
sets
of
sources
to
prove
accuracy.
I
also
mean
that
within
the
original
data
set,
a
similar
claim
or
the
same
claim
is
made.
For
example,
one
claim
that
continually
emerged
about
public
naming
practices
on
the
WCGL
website
was
that
intermediaries
proofread
contributions
from
volunteers
and
clients,
but
did
not
alter
their
writing
in
a
substantive
way.
Every
participant
I
talked
to
(both
intermediaries
and
contributors)
told
me
this
without
prompt.
46
1. Trace
local
media.38
Local
media
can
include
national
TV
affiliates
who
provide
local
news,
local
radio
stations,
newspapers,
magazines,
and
any
local
media
that
provides
either
video,
podcasts,
or
text
transcripts
online.
New
information
is
usually
free,
while
older
information
is
either
archived
(for
a
fee),
or
is
longer
available.
2. Trace
citizen
forums.
Citizen
forums
can
include
local
citizen-‐produced
newspapers,
web
2.0
websites,
and
community
or
single-‐authored
blogs.
3. When
a
comprehensive
list
of
these
forums
has
been
categorized
with
links
to
websites,
use
a
single
topic
that
is
mentioned
on
the
case
study
website
and
search
for
it
on
each
of
the
websites
on
the
master
list.
Copy
the
URLs
that
have
positive
results
and
place
them
underneath
topics
headings.
4. Read
each
article,
view
each
video,
and
listen
to
each
podcast.
Compare
the
URLs
with
the
post
on
the
case
website.
5. Although
each
post
will
be
categorized
as
“affirming,”
“adding
to,”
or
“challenging”
community
definitions
before
the
process
has
begun,
be
prepared
to
move
each
topic
to
a
different
category
based
on
what
you
discover.
While
rhetoricians
cannot
use
this
method
to
fully
account
for
local
public
rhetoric,
they
can
use
it
to
start
constructing
a
context
for
the
value
of
community
websites
to
ongoing
local
discussions.
Admittedly,
rhetoricians
who
use
this
method
alone
rely
heavily
on
textual
analysis
to
continue
inquiry,
and
start
new
inquiry.
Rhetoricians
need
to
talk
to
rhetors
to
understand
a
fuller
picture.
However,
I
was
not
able
to
conduct
these
possible
38
My
full
list
of
official
media
sites,
less
official
media
sites,
and
citizen
forums
that
I
used
appears
in
Appendix
D.
47
additional
interviews
because
they
are
outside
of
the
scope
of
my
study;
my
focus
is
on
the
making
of
the
case
study
websites,
not
the
making
of
local
public
rhetoric
in
the
Lansing
community
over
time.
Toward
an
Asynchronous
Public
Rhetoric
Methodology
and
Praxis
Given
the
asynchronous
and
distributed
nature
of
how
public
rhetoric
can
occur
and
how
publics
are
assembled,
it
is
difficult
for
researchers
to
always
coordinate
a
study
of
process
using
ethnography
and
other
observation
techniques
to
fully
understand
how
it
happens.
Admittedly,
rhetoricians
cannot
textual
analysis
and
interviews
alone
to
measure
or
fully
account
for
this
process.
However,
I
believe
there
are
many
instances
of
public
rhetoric
that
we
can
only
recognize
as
significant
after
the
fact;
I
argue
that
both
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
are
such
instances.
In
these
cases,
it
makes
sense
for
rhetoricians
to
assume
the
stance
of
a
historian
and
use
more
traditional
techniques
of
analyzing
public
rhetoric,
like
textual
analysis
and
conducting
interviews.
Unless
public
rhetoric
scholars
are
privy
to
the
knowledge
of
an
upcoming
special
event
or
have
special
access
to
the
production
of
public
rhetoric
in
community
initiatives,
they
are
correct
to
find
instances
of
public
naming
or
public
listening
practices
and
work
backward
to
find
traces
of
how
publics
are
assembled.
Given
these
specialized
conditions,
rhetoricians
are
smart
to
adapt
an
asynchronous
public
rhetorics
methodology
for
exploring
the
nature
of
the
components
that
constitute,
as
well
as
the
whole
of,
local
public
rhetoric.
Now
that
I
have
outlined
my
public
rhetoric
methodology
and
procedures,
I
will
use
these
to
read
my
results
and
shape
my
claims
in
chapters
3,
4,
and
5.
In
Chapter
3,
I
provide
a
fleshed
out
model
of
how
chronos
impacts
the
assembling
of
publics—built
based
on
the
48
patterns
I
found
on
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
and
interviews
with
contributors
and
intermediaries.
As
I
will
explain,
this
model
is
generalizable
to
other
studies
of
public
rhetoric,
and
is
complicated
further
by
circumstances
unique
to
my
case
studies.
I
expand
upon
and
complicate
this
model
in
chapters
4
and
5
when
discussing
more
specialized
incidences
of
assembling
publics
that
may
be
particular
to
cases
like
the
ones
I
studied
for
this
dissertation.
49
CHAPTER
3:
CHRONOS
AND
THE
COORDINATION
OF
LOCAL
PUBLICS
As
I
argued
in
Chapter
1,
chronos
is
key
in
coordinating
local
publics.
Local
publics
may
have
institutional
ties,
but
are
functioning
in
a
not-‐for-‐profit
capacity.
Because
there
are
fewer
resources
to
draw
from
and
because
participation
is
voluntary,
local
publics
have
to
engage
in
constant
recruitment
activities
in
order
to
sustain
themselves.
In
this
chapter,
I
explain
how
the
coordinator
role
and
volunteer
roles
in
local
publics
are
impacted
by
these
conditions,
especially
when
they
are
organized
by
the
structure
of
a
community
initiative.
Chronos,
as
I
argue,
impacts
how
rhetors
in
roles
complete
tasks.
Community
initiatives
must
coordinate
roles
to
account
for
outside
commitments
of
volunteers,
and
other
stakeholders
in
order
to
become
“normed”
(or
established)
as
organizations.
Rhetoricians
who
study
local
publics
have
overlooked
the
importance
of
chronos
in
favor
of
kairos.
Since
many
rhetoricians
have
entered
kairotic
partnerships
with
community
initiatives,
their
focus
on
kairos
makes
sense.
However,
as
I
argue,
by
exploring
chronos,
rhetoricians
can
develop
a
better
sense
of
how
community
initiatives
operate
on
a
daily
basis
and
leverage
their
resources
in
order
to
“go
public.”
How
Local
Publics
Utilize
Kairos
Within
the
field
of
Rhetoric
and
Composition,
rhetoricians
embrace
the
concept
of
kairos.
Although
kairos
was
originally
associated
with
causing
“dissoi
logoi”
and
other
forms
of
deceptive
behavior,
kairos
did
not
carry
that
stigma
for
long
(Carter
103).
Protagoras
soon
defined
kairos
as
the
“opportune
moment”—when
conflicting
elements
reached
harmony
(103).
Contemporary
rhetoricians
reiterate
Protagoras’s
definition
of
50
kairos.
Rhetoricians
still
view
kairos
as
descriptive
of
a
particular
time
that
is
quickly
shifting
(Kinneavy
41).
Other
rhetoricians
attribute
more
power
to
kairos.
Papillion
emphasizes
the
importance
of
rhetors
developing
awareness,
or
fitness,
to
discover
when
the
opportune
moment
may
arise—in
order
to
take
full
advantage
of
kairos
(151).
Montesano
attributes
more
power
to
kairos;
for
him,
it
is
more
than
just
a
fortuitous
opportunity:
kairos
is
literally
the
intersection
of
theory
and
practice
(169).
For
Short,
kairos
is
more
than
a
moment;
it
is
“immediate,
immutable
truth.”
(371).
Throughout
most
of
the
history
of
rhetoric
(including
the
present
day),
rhetoricians
have
been
fascinated
with
kairos
and
its
possibilities.
This
fascination
also
impacts
studies
of
community
settings.
When
rhetoricians
describe
their
encounters
with
community
members
in
the
context
of
service-‐learning
projects,
kairos
remains
a
subtext
that
underlies
these
encounters
and
their
interpretations
of
them.
Rhetoricians
often
do
not
describe
how
difficult
it
is
to
make
community
partnerships
happen;
they
do
not
detail
the
mundane
process
of
establishing
a
process,
or
discuss
how
long
it
takes
in
order
to
do
this.
Instead,
they
often
offer
a
quick
story
about
how
“the
pieces
were
already
in
place”
before
a
service-‐learning
project
began
(Mutnick
627).
Additionally,
rhetoricians
often
do
not
discuss
the
temporality
of
community
projects
that
they
are
participating
in,
but
often
discuss
the
special
circumstances
that
surround
these
projects.
For
example,
in
their
article,
“Personal
Narrative
Experience
and
Public
Debate:
Writing
the
Wrongs
of
Welfare,”
Lorraine
D.
Higgins
and
Lisa
D.
Brush
foreground
the
National
Institute
of
Justice
grant
that
allowed
them
to
both
institute
and
study
a
writing
project
that
allowed
former
welfare
recipients
to
create
personal
narratives
about
their
experiences
(41).
However,
they
do
not
discuss
how
this
project
will
end
when
the
51
money
runs
out,
and
what
consequences
that
may
have
for
public
knowledge
about
welfare
recipients
stories
in
the
long
term.
Finally,
rhetoricians
who
write
about
community
engagement
focus
on
stories
that
illustrate
the
moment
rather
than
track
what
happens
to
community
projects
over
time.
For
example,
Linda
Flower
uses
Andre’s
proclamation
of
how
teenager
and
police
distrust
impacts
community
discussions
about
curfew
policy
in
Pittsburgh,
PA
in
her
article
“Talking
across
Difference:
Intercultural
Rhetoric
and
the
Search
for
Situated
Knowledge.”
Although
this
example
illustrates
current
conflicts,
it
does
not
alone
examine
historical
trends
that
would
support
this
story,
or
discuss
what
happened
to
these
conflicts
as
a
result
of
this
community
discussion.
Community
discussions,
although
important,
are
“special”
moments—kairotic
moments.
When
rhetoricians
pay
exclusive
attention
to
kairos,
they
miss
investigating
what
happened
before
and
tracking
what
happens
after
rare
moments
of
connectivity.
Because
of
a
recent,
emerging
interest
in
assessment
and
sustainability,
rhetoricians
who
study
community
projects
and
engage
in
community
partnerships
have
started
to
pay
attention
to
aspects
of
kairos
that
may
be
detrimental.
For
example,
in
her
article
“Sustainable
Service-‐Learning
Programs,”
Ellen
Cushman
begins
her
argument
by
discussing
the
“hit-‐it-‐and-‐quit-‐it”
nature
of
service-‐learning
partnerships.
Enthusiastic
college
instructors
commit
to
a
semester
working
with
community
partners,
and
do
not
continue
a
partnership
when
a
semester
is
over
(41).
This
leaves
community
partners
feeling
skeptical
about
partnering
with
college
teachers
in
subsequent
semesters,
as
well
as
feeling
resentful
towards
the
colleges
and
universities
they
represent.
Cushman
argues
that
a
possible
solution
to
break
this
cycle
is
to
have
teachers
participate
in
sustainable
service-‐
learning
programs.
While
individual
teachers
may
rotate
in
and
out
of
the
program,
52
community
partners
have
relationships
with
program
directors
that
consistently
keep
the
program
running.
When
sustainable
service-‐learning
programs
are
established,
there
is
a
focus
on
chronos
over
kairos:
while
neither
the
program
or
the
community
partners
may
know
what
future
opportunities
may
arise,
they
value
a
chronotic,
long
lasting
relationship
that
is
based
on
commitment
to
working
together.
But
even
a
chronotic
focus
may
be
laced
with
kairotic
expectations.
Rhetoricians
often
view
service-‐learning
experiences
as
kairotic
for
student
growth.
According
to
Nancy
Welch,
rhetoricians
who
teach
service-‐learning
often
expect
that
students
will
successfully
make
a
transition
from
“outsider”
to
“insider”
status
in
the
course
of
a
semester
in
the
communities
that
they
serve.
But
even
though
she
provides
the
example
of
her
former
student,
Janis,
making
that
transition
in
the
community
center
in
which
she
served,
Welch
questions
Janis’
claim
that
she
knows
the
people
in
the
community
at
the
end
of
the
semester
(245).
Welch
claims
that
even
with
hard
work,
students
may
still
not
be
“insiders”
at
the
community
settings
where
they
spend
much
of
their
time
during
a
service-‐learning
experience.
Even
with
doing
mundane
tasks
over
time,
a
kairotic
opportunity
may
not
yield
the
results
that
rhetors
are
seeking.
How
Local
Publics
Utilize
Chronos
Rhetoricians
may
have
a
preoccupation
with
kairos
because
of
the
popular
definition
of
chronos
as
“linear
time.”
Linear
time,
itself,
is
ripe
with
the
mundane;
Kairotic
time
includes
the
special
events
which
rhetors
commemorate.
Elizabethada
Wright,
in
her
article
“Reading
the
Cemetery:
‘Lieu
de
Memoire
par
Exellance’,”
challenges
this
dichotomous
look
at
the
two
temporalities
in
rhetorical
theory.
Wright
poses
that
the
53
kairotic
event
of
a
funeral
precedes
the
mundane
aftergrowth
of
weeds
and
decay,
a
province
of
chronos
(36).
After
time,
the
kairotic
event
is
forgotten;
it
fades
into
chronos,
and
becomes
mundane
(36).
Wright
poses
that
chronos
subsumes
kairos,
but
does
not
attribute
special
properties
to
chronos.
The
kairotic
event,
according
to
her
theory,
is
still
what
is
worth
paying
attention
to;
chronos
simply
aids
the
forgetting
process.
But
is
chronos
worth
paying
attention
to?
Is
chronos
more
than
linear
time?
Is
chronos
more
than
a
backdrop
against
which
special
events
happen?
Chronos
is
worth
paying
attention
to
because
rhetors
use
it
to
organize
their
activities.
For
most
community
initiatives,
kairotic
opportunities
are
rare.
Most
community
initiatives
do
not
have
locations
on
the
bus
route
that
students
can
take,
nor
are
their
locations
necessarily
close
to
campus.
Most
community
initiative
coordinators
will
not
be
approached
by
a
program
officer
or
a
researcher
to
receive
grant
money,
especially
in
the
first
few
years
of
operation.
Most
community
initiatives
will
not
have
0%
turnover
in
their
volunteer
pool
in
the
course
of
a
year.
Instead,
community
initiatives
must
make
their
own
opportunities.
In
order
to
do
so,
they
must
rely
on
chronos
over
kairos
when
they
are
making
daily
decisions.
Both
the
OMA
website
project
and
the
WCGL
website
would
not
exist
if
stakeholders
relied
entirely
on
kairos.
While
Dr.
Monberg
was
fortunate
to
teach
a
class
that
allowed
him
to
make
the
OMA
project
happen
(TC
491:
Ethnography
and
Interaction
Design),
this
class
required
him
to
do
a
lot
of
preparation
and
coordination
before
the
class
began.
Dr.
Monberg
spent
years
learning
computer
coding,
user
research,
and
reading
case
studies
of
similar
projects.
He
also
spent
a
year
and
a
half
talking
to
various
community
members
about
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.
And
finally,
he
spent
time
networking
with
students
54
and
city
planners
who
had
the
expertise
to
martial
the
skills
needed
to
make
his
vision
a
reality.
Perhaps
Spring
2009
was
an
opportune
time
in
which
to
teach
the
class,
but
Dr.
Monberg
performed
many
mundane
activities
over
time
in
order
to
eventually
launch
the
OMA
website
project.
Similarly,
the
WCGL
website
project
was
a
product
of
chronos
as
much
as
kairos.
As
Cindie
asserts,
the
WCGL
website
project
was
not
the
first
form
of
advertising
that
the
WCGL
engaged
in.
After
almost
four
years
of
word-‐of-‐mouth
advertising,
using
fliers,
the
WCGL
newsletter
was
the
most
technologically
advanced
form
of
advertising
for
the
WCGL.
Over
1200
print
copies
circulated
around
the
city
of
Lansing
and
the
city
of
East
Lansing.
When
the
Power
of
We
Consortium
launched
their
CAC
Voices
website
project
(a
platform
for
local
nonprofits
to
advertise
themselves
on
the
web),
the
WCGL
decided
to
become
part
of
that
project.
When
they
realized,
however,
that
the
project
was
disrupting
their
ideas
for
branding,
they
decided
to
not
wait
for
another
opportunity
for
better
software.
Rather,
they
decided
to
create
their
own
opportunity
by
creating
their
own
website.
Through
their
connection
to
Michigan
State
University
Rhetoric
and
Writing
professor
Jeff
Grabill,
they
were
able
to
find
a
professional
writing
Master’s
student
to
help
them
realize
their
vision
for
branding
their
own
website.
Instead
of
passively
waiting
for
an
opportunity
to
present
itself,
they
seized
an
opportunity
to
tap
into
their
existing
network
of
stakeholders
to
accomplish
a
task
they
felt
was
important
to
the
growth
of
their
community
initiative.
Besides
using
chronos
to
launch
projects,
community
initiatives
use
chronos
in
order
to
complete
everyday
tasks
that
are
important
to
sustainability.
When
the
OMA
website
project
was
being
constructed,
student
coders
relied
on
“stand
up”
meetings,
as
well
as
collaboration
software
(i.e.,
Apache
Subversion)
to
streamline
the
process
of
55
individually
collaborating
on
the
website.39
During
the
daily
“stand
up”
meetings,
individuals
and
groups
would
report
on
their
progress
and
discuss
what
their
next
steps
would
be
that
day.
This
allowed
Dr.
Monberg
and
the
students
to
know
all
of
the
work
that
was
happening,
as
well
as
ask
for
advice
or
to
assign
collaborations
that
would
make
the
process
of
building
the
website
more
efficient.
Dr.
Monberg
also
had
students
install
Subversion
so
that
conflicts
and
redundancies
in
coding
could
be
reduced.
While
this
software
simply
used
algorithms
in
order
to
detect
and
alert
students
about
these
problems,
this
mundane
action
was
really
important
to
making
sure
that
students
worked
efficiently
and
that
the
final
website
was
functional
for
community
users.
Similarly,
the
WCGL
also
has
mundane
procedures
for
making
sure
that
their
website
is
in
tact.
For
example,
Cindie
is
a
member
of
the
fundraising
committee;
when
this
committee
hosts
a
fundraising
event
(which
is
often
monthly),
they
want
to
utilize
the
website
as
an
advertising
venue.
Once
they
decide
on
advertising
and
logistical
details,
they
craft
a
short
plug
for
the
“Upcoming
Events”
section
on
the
WCGL
website.
Cindie
passes
this
plug
on
to
the
volunteer
web
master,
which
updates
the
website.
Even
though
this
routine
is
mundane,
it
is
really
important
for
the
life
of
the
organization.
By
having
this
information
on
the
website,
not
only
can
potential
stakeholders
view
the
information,
but
they
may
also
understand
that
the
website
is
not
simply
static;
rather,
it
is
dynamic
because
the
WCGL
is
consistently
doing
events
and
is
stable
enough
to
advertise
an
event
in
enough
time
to
garner
support
from
stakeholders.
These
behind-‐the-‐scenes
mundane
actions,
therefore,
impact
the
ethos
of
these
community
initiatives
in
important
ways.
39
See
Fowler
for
an
expanded
definition
of
“stand
up”
meetings
and
their
purpose.
For
more
information
about
Subversion,
visit
56
How
Chronos
Yields
Different
Opportunities
than
Kairos
for
Local
Publics
I
am
not
arguing
that
kairos
is
not
important
for
community
initiatives.
In
fact,
community
initiatives
can
position
themselves
to
have
kairotic
opportunities
as
they
become
more
established
in
the
community—which
can
given
them
a
better
possibility
for
sustainability.
When
community
initiatives
are
approached
without
prompt
for
grant
opportunities
that
is
a
sign
that
they
have
built
positive
ethos.40
This
is
a
desirable
position
for
community
initiatives
to
be
in.
These
are
the
kind
of
opportunities
for
which
they
work.
But
these
kinds
of
opportunities
are
possible
when
these
community
initiatives
are
established,
normed,
and
already
sustainable—to
some
degree.
While
community
initiatives
are
still
storming
and
forming,
kairotic
opportunities
are
more
rare.41
Table
2:
Affordances
and
limitations
of
chronos
and
kairos
Chronos
Affordances
-‐Accounts
for
negotiating
schedules
-‐Allows
for
a
focus
on
time
management
and
productivity
-‐Reminds
rhetors
to
look
for
opportunities
Limitations
-‐Discourages
rhetors
to
stray
from
their
routines
-‐Discourages
flexible
deadlines
40
By
positive
ethos,
I
mean
to
echo
Aristotle’s
definition
(recounted
by
Frobish)
in
general:
both
the
WCGL
and
OMA
wish
to
use
their
practices
and
“good
character”
for
the
benefit
of
their
audience,
which
constitutes
actual
and
potential
stakeholders.
However,
their
production
of
ethos
is
context
dependent
and
does
depend
on
the
interplay
of
private
exchanges
that
impact
public
performances
(see
Reynolds,
Buchanan
for
their
theoretical
treatment
of
ethos
for
more
details).
41
Community
initiatives
often
use
an
adapted
version
of
Tuckman’s
stages
of
group
development
to
discuss
how
their
organizations
may
achieve
sustainability.
See
Zurick
for
an
example
of
how
the
“storming,
forming,
and
norming”
heuristic
applies
to
these
organizations.
57
Kairos
TABLE
2
(cont’d)
-‐Reminds
rhetors
to
pay
attention
to
and
take
advantage
of
special
opportunities
that
arise
-‐Provides
good
stories
that
rhetors
can
use
in
their
marketing
materials
-‐Discourages
focusing
on
mundane
work
that
may
lead
to
opportunities
-‐Can
cause
some
rhetors
to
misrepresent
a
chance
happening
as
a
norm
They
are
still
establishing
their
brand,
and
building
support.
Because
of
declining
trends
in
grant
and
donor
funding,
storming
and
forming
community
initiatives
must
do
much
mundane
work
to
strive
towards
“norming”
status.42
Community
initiatives
achieve
this
by
establishing
routines
that
yield
reliable
results
and
deliverables
over
time.
This
task
may
be
especially
daunting
for
coordinators
of
service-‐learning
projects.
Dr.
Monberg
strived
to
establish
a
posting
routine
for
the
OMA
website
project
that
would
spark
other
posting
routines.
From
his
review
of
previous
research,
he
discovered
that
pre-‐populated
websites
were
more
successful
in
attracting
new
users
than
new
websites
with
little
or
no
content
or
evidence
of
heavy
user
presence.
Because
of
this,
he
assigned
his
WRA
320:
Advanced
Technical
Writing
students
to
pre-‐
populate
the
OMA
website
with
improvement
articles,
community
stories,
mapped
opinions,
replies,
and
votes.
When
the
website
was
launched
in
late
Spring
2009,
community
members
could
see
how
these
features
could
be
used.
When
Dr.
Monberg
saw
that
not
much
activity
had
taken
place
on
the
website
after
the
initial
launch,
he
assigned
his
current
students
to
populate
the
site
with
more
content.
Although
this
was
not
the
routine
that
Dr.
Monberg
intended
to
establish,
this
routine
has
characterized
usage
42
Harmon
reports
on
the
donation
decline
at
the
nation’s
biggest
charities,
including
the
United
Way.
58
patterns
of
the
OMA
website.
The
WCGL
has
established
different
routines
that
its
stakeholders
have
come
to
rely
on.
Besides
posting
upcoming
events
on
the
WCGL
website,
Director
Cindie
Alwood
has
relied
on
the
e-‐newsletter
for
consistent
communication
with
stakeholders.
Because
the
web
master
has
not
been
reliable
and
the
print
newsletter
volunteer
does
not
have
a
consistent
volunteer
staff,
the
WCGL
e-‐newsletter
is
the
one
deliverable
that
is
regularly
assembled
in
a
timely
manner.43
Cindie
does
not
know
Dreamweaver,
and
the
16
page
print
newsletter
is
too
much
for
her
to
assemble
without
the
aid
of
interns,
undergraduate
volunteers,
and
professional
volunteers
on
a
bi-‐monthly
basis.
Yet,
because
Cindie
feels
comfortable
with
using
the
e-‐newsletter
software
and
the
formatting
demands
conciseness,
this
routine
has
been
easy
for
her
to
manage.
Additionally,
Cindie
is
assured
that
WCGL
stakeholders
pay
attention
to
this
e-‐newsletter;
WCGL
staff
and
volunteers
add
every
client
and
special
events
attendee
to
this
listserv.
Therefore,
it
is
one
of
the
reliable
methods
of
reaching
past
and
current
WCGL
stakeholders,
and
soliciting
them
to
take
actions
to
sustain
the
WCGL.
For
both
the
OMA
website
project
and
the
WCGL,
these
routines
define
how
stakeholders
view
them,
as
well
as
how
they
decide
to
become
involved.
But,
as
my
descriptions
imply,
deliverables
do
not
make
themselves.
Rhetors
must
occupy
particular
roles
in
order
to
make
these
deliverables
a
reality.
In
community
settings,
coordinators
are
needed
to
pay
attention
to
deadlines;
to
set
tasks
for
interns,
volunteers,
and
students
to
complete;
to
monitor
progress
and
provide
feedback;
and
to
sometimes
43
Although
1,200
copies
of
the
bi-‐monthly
print
newsletter
had
been
printed
in
the
past,
the
WCGL
has
recently
decided
to
publish
this
newsletter
only
on
their
website.
59
produce
deliverables
themselves.
But
how
are
roles
occupied,
and
how
does
chronos
impact
roles?
And
how
are
deliverables
shaped
because
of
this
relationship?
How
Chronos
Impacts
Roles
and
Deliverables
in
Local
Publics
Through
looking
closely
at
the
deliverables
which
rhetors
in
local
publics
produce
and
the
conditions
that
impact
production,
rhetoricians
can
better
understand
the
relationship
between
chronos,
roles,
and
deliverables
in
local
publics.
In
the
following
section,
I
highlight
instances
that
show
different
kinds
of
relationships.
There
are,
of
course,
more
relationships
possible
than
those
that
I
highlight
here.
Instance
1:
Positionality
The
first
instance
that
I
want
to
describe
is
C.
Leslie
Charles’
feature
article
entitled
“Crisis
or
Challenge:
Living
in
Unprecedented
Times”
(found
at:
http://womenscenterofgreaterlansing.org/feature/feature_FebMar2009.html).
I
want
to
highlight
this
article
because
it
illustrates
how
the
unique
positionality
of
the
author
impacts
the
choices
that
were
made
in
the
soliciting
the
making
of
the
article.
What
stands
out
initially
about
this
article
is
its
location.
Now,
the
obvious
current
site
for
this
article
is
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
(WCGL)
website,
and
specifically
the
“Feature
Articles”
page
that
has
the
following
other
categories:
car
maintenance,
mentoring,
our
bodies,
proposal
2,
relationships,
and
women’s
health.
It
is
under
a
category
of
its
own,
called
“Working
Through
Crisis,
Adversity,
and
Other
Challenges.”
Nothing
like
it
has
been
written
elsewhere
on
the
WCGL
website,
including
other
WCGL
newsletters;
it
is
a
unique
addition.
It
originally
appeared
in
the
Feb/March
2009
newsletter
(as
indicated
by
the
60
name
of
the
page
and
note
before
the
“Feature
Article”
link).
Not
every
feature
article
is
dated
on
the
page,
although
they
have
all
appeared
in
previous
newsletters.
Within
the
article
itself,
a
wealth
of
public
naming
practices
can
be
found.
First,
C.
Leslie
Charles
provides
much
information
about
her
identity
as
an
author.
She
reveals
that
she
is
an
“acclaimed”
professional
writer
and
speaker,
but
mentions
no
specific
works
that
she
has
crafted.
Instead,
she
mentions
the
“death
of
an
adult
child”
as
credibility
for
her
to
speak
about
crisis.
By
providing
her
full
name,
she
additionally
provides
a
high
degree
of
traceability:
when
performing
a
web
search,
it
is
easy
to
find
her
professional
website
with
much
further
information
about
her
professional
portfolio
(including
services,
links
to
her
books
available
on
Amazon.com,
and
her
professional
biography).
In
terms
of
texts
and
topics,
she
focused
on
economic
crisis.
Her
methods
are
quite
different
from
those
espoused
in
the
City
Pulse
and
the
Lansing
State
Journal
(which
consist
of
proposals
to
cut
military
funding
and
to
allow
Pres.
Obama
to
propose
solid
policies
for
change,
respectively)
because
it
focuses
on
what
ordinary
citizens
can
do
(such
as
become
involved
with
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing)
rather
than
what
elected
officials
can
accomplish.
But
by
textual
analysis
alone,
we
do
not
learn
her
real
reason
for
writing
the
article:
she
was
invited
to
do
so
by
Cindie.
Because
Leslie
is
an
introvert
and
does
much
of
her
work
at
home,
she
is
not
always
connected
to
what
is
going
on
outside
of
her
small,
social
circle.
Cindie
told
her
about
what
was
happening
with
previously
middle
class
women
losing
their
jobs
and
becoming
unemployed.
While
Leslie
is
not
an
expert
on
economic
crisis,
she
used
pathos
quite
effectively
to
spur
both
empathy
and
involvement.
Much
of
what
she
wrote
on
the
post
was
not
just
her
reaction
to
the
moment,
but
a
re-‐synthesis
of
61
professional
presentations
she’s
given
on
crisis
and
grief
and
how
to
move
through
it.
Leslie’s
case
illustrates
how
texts,
even
when
rich
with
personal
information
about
the
author,
can
only
tell
us
so
much
about
context.
We
need
to
dig
further
to
understand
motivations
for
and
influences
on
public
writing.
Leslie’s
role
as
a
professional
volunteer,
a
committed
assenter,
impacts
her
writing
of
this
article.44
As
one
of
the
founding
board
members,
Leslie
is
committed
to
positively
portraying
the
WCGL
as
a
change
agent
in
the
community;
her
writing
can
be
viewed
as
serving
as
a
catalyst
for
different
kinds
of
action
than
what
is
advocated
by
mainstream
media.
However,
her
time
constraints
and
other
work
commitments
prevent
her
from
doing
a
more
ethnographic
article.
Her
article,
instead,
is
a
reflection
based
on
the
stories
she
hears
from
Cindie.
Her
role,
in
this
situation,
is
to
respond
to
that.
To
do
so,
she
draws
upon
her
previous
experiences
with
crisis—and
her
past
writing
from
her
books.
For
the
WCGL,
her
choices
are
appropriate;
as
a
professional
volunteer,
and
as
a
committed
assenter,
she
is
asked
to
balance
her
professionalism
and
time
constraints
in
a
way
that
benefits
the
WCGL
and
represents
it
by
proxy.
Instance
2:
Community
History-Building
The
second
instance
that
I
want
to
describe
is
the
origin
story
of
Magdalena’s
Teahouse,
according
to
Miko
(the
owner):
(http://www.ourmichiganave.org/stories/33).
This
story
post
is
illustrative
of
how
community
history
can
be
archived.
Miko
was
interviewed
by
Becca
Ebner
for
the
“Our
Stories”
section
of
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website.
Most
of
the
stories
in
this
section
are
based
on
student
interviews
of
community
44
A
committed
assenter
is
a
rhetor
who
regularly
contributes
to
a
group
without
challenging
the
status
quo.
62
members
(business
owners,
community
leaders,
longtime
residents,
and
a
few
student
residents).
While
most
interviews
about
small
businesses
use
small
business
owners
simply
as
informants,
Becca
uses
this
interview
to
show
how
one’s
personal
beliefs
impact
the
kind
of
businesses
they
create.
Becca
artfully
tells
how
Miko’s
battle
with
Ulcerative
Colitis
impacted
her
decision
to
adopt
a
“raw
foods”
diet,
and
how
the
teahouses
she
frequented
in
Turkey
inspired
her
decision
to
create
a
local
teahouse
that
featured
the
raw
foods
diet
that
cured
her
disease.
By
talking
to
Becca,
I
learned
that
much
was
left
out
of
the
post.
Because
she
had
to
meet
a
length
requirement
for
her
class,
she
had
to
find,
in
her
words
“the
most
important
information
to
accurately
represent
the
conversation.”
This
meant
that
she
left
out
information
that
was
outside
of
the
history,
such
as
the
“amazing,
welcoming
experience”
she
had
when
entering
the
teahouse,
or
trying
out
a
vegetable
smoothie
for
the
first
time.
Although
Becca
explained
her
transformation
in
considering
raw
food,
she
also
told
me
that
“no
one
really
knows”
about
Magdalena’s
Teahouse.
Unfortunately,
Magdalena’s
Teahouse
did
not
weather
the
economic
crisis
as
well
as
other
Lansing
area
businesses
did:
it
is
now
closed
(http://www.yelp.com/biz/magdalenas-‐tea-‐house-‐lansing).
But
the
story
of
how
it
came
to
be
still
lives
on
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website.
Although
websites
are
often
seen
as
“just-‐in-‐time”
spaces,
this
story
illustrated
how
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website
functions
as
a
community
history
archive-‐full
of
stories
that
maybe
never
circulated,
or
live
on
only
through
oral
acts
of
communication
in
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.
Becca’s
role
as
a
student
volunteer
influences
many
of
her
decisions
when
interviewing
and
writing
this
post
for
the
“Our
Stories”
section
of
the
OMA
website.
As
a
student
volunteer,
her
role
is
necessarily
transient:
her
class
lasted
16
weeks,
and
her
63
commitment
lasted
for
that
amount
of
time.
As
an
occasional
assenter,
she
was
still
committed
to
ethically
representing
Micca’s
story,
as
well
as
accurately
portraying
Magdalena’s
Teahouse—while
balancing
that
with
knowledge
of
website
writing
best
practices
to
which
she
had
to
adhere
in
order
to
do
well
in
Dr.
Monberg’s
class.45
These
conflicting
commitments
were
unresolved
beyond
the
page.
Becca’s
role
involved
her
making
decisions
to
please
both
community
members
and
her
teacher.
Yet,
even
though
she
did
so
successfully,
she
still
yearned
to
tell
more
on
the
OMA
website
than
she
did.
Although
Becca
took
the
time
to
experience
Magdalena’s
Teahouse,
that
time
was
not
fully
represented
in
her
final
web
post.
Instance
3:
Accidental
Misrepresentation
The
third
instance
that
I
want
to
draw
attention
to
is
Dolores’
success
story
on
the
WCGL
website.46
Her
success
story
illustrates
accidental
misrepresentation
not
by
what
is
included
in
her
story,
but
by
where
her
story
is
located
on
the
website.
Although
the
“Success
Stories”
section
of
the
WCGL
website
does
not
have
an
introduction
to
explain
what
the
success
stories
are
and
what
they
are
meant
to
do,
most
the
authors
identify
themselves
as
past
clients
or
as
“graduates”
of
the
WCGL.
In
fact,
Cindie
and
Manuela
(the
original
WCGL
co-‐directors)
confirmed
this
when
we
discussed
what
was
on
the
website
and
why
it
was
on
it.
For
them,
this
is
proof-‐of-‐concept
that
the
work
that
they
are
doing
is
achieving
their
organizational
goals
for
clients.
When
I
asked
which
clients
I
should
talk
to
45
An
occasional
assenter
is
a
rhetor
who
contributes
to
a
group
for
a
limited
amount
of
time
and
does
not
challenge
the
status
quo.
46
Her
name
is
spelled
wrong
on
the
website.
It
is
actually
“Delores.”
One
of
the
reasons
that
I
did
not
make
the
connection
that
the
WCGL
board
member
Delores
May
was
for
certain
“Dolores”
was
because
of
the
misspelled
name.
When
I
was
given
her
name
as
a
possible
interviewee,
I
clarified
with
Cindie
that
they
were
indeed
the
same
person.
64
for
this
study,
Cindie
gave
me
a
list
of
clients
who
said
they
would
be
willing
to
share
their
stories
in
the
future
(beyond
just
the
writing
of
their
story
in
the
newsletter-‐-‐-‐of
which
all
of
these
stories
originally
appeared).
Dolores
May
was
among
those
she
recommended
that
I
talk
to
about
their
experiences
with
the
Women’s
Center
(http://www.womenscenterofgreaterlansing.org/success/dolores.html)
Not
surprisingly,
I
assumed
Dolores
was
a
client,
which
made
my
interactions
with
her
on
the
fundraising
committee
a
little
uncomfortable
when
I
thought
about
soliciting
her
for
an
interview.
And
during
the
interview,
when
I
asked
her
about
her
experiences
at
the
Women’s
Center,
she
made
it
clear
that
she
was
a
volunteer;
she
was
never
a
client.47
Because
of
this
case
of
accidental
misrepresentation,
I
had
to
change
my
interview
questions
on
the
spur
of
the
moment
to
account
for
this
new
information.
I
had
assumed
that
her
motivation
was
promotional
based
on
services
that
she
had
received
from
WCGL.
Instead,
I
learned,
her
motivations
for
being
involved
was
that
she
wanted
to
establish
roots
in
the
Lansing
area
and
wanting
to
help
NPOs
professionalize.48
This
instance,
as
some
others
that
I
have
found,
illustrate
the
importance
of
placement
of
content
in
public
spaces,
and
the
misunderstandings
that
can
occur
when
something
is
“out
of
place.”
47
Delores,
as
someone
who
had
been
all
but
ousted
from
her
career
in
Texas
based
on
her
bosses’
nepotism
towards
younger
workers,
moved
to
Lansing
with
an
entrepreneurial
spirit.
A
career
women
after
the
radical
feminist
movement
in
the
1960s,
she
pursued
a
position
as
an
Edward
Jones
broker
with
her
own
office
right
next
to
Clean
Water
Action.
She
felt
called
back
to
Michigan
to
be
with
her
family.
But
when
she
got
her
chance,
she
started
a
whole
new
effort:
instead
of
drawing
women
into
department
stores
(like
Winkelman’s),
she
was
drawing
them
to
work
together
through
her
work
with
NPOs
like
WCGL
and
the
Lansing
Zonta
Club
(
which
has
been
mobilized
in
WCGL
events
like
“Walk/Run/Roll.”)
While
Delores
has
not
benefited
from
WCGL
as
a
client,
she
has
found
her
network
in
Lansing
through
being
a
WCGL
board
member
and
organizer.
48
As
a
businesswoman,
she
is
concerned
about
making
sure
that
interns
and
staff
know
proper
professional
etiquette
for
addressing
potential
visitors,
for
example.
65
I
had
assumed
that
Dolores
was
an
occasional
assenter
who
then
transitioned
into
a
committed
assenter.
But
I
had
mistaken
her
role,
in
part
because
I
did
not
take
the
time
to
discover
her
real
role
as
a
committed
assenter
ahead
of
time.
To
make
sure
that
the
interview
time
was
well-‐used,
I
developed
new
interview
questions
on
the
fly
that
accounted
for
her
real
role
that
she
played.
Surprisingly,
Dolores
still
views
this
role
as
a
new
outgrowth
of
her
personality;
her
role
as
a
businesswoman
is
the
role
she
often
adopts,
even
in
her
actions
as
a
professional
volunteer
for
the
WCGL.49
From
Chronos
to
Coordination
Community
initiative
coordinators
(CICs)
take
their
cues
from
chronos.
As
I
delineated
in
this
chapter,
CICs
must
collect
information
about
other
stakeholders’
available
time
and
deadlines
in
order
to
determine
how
they
will
conduct
coordination.
When
possible,
CICs
must
allow
committees
to
conduct
meetings
and
tasks
when
volunteers
are
available.
Additionally,
they
must
work
around
donor
deadlines
in
order
to
receive
important
contributions
like
grants.
Their
very
construction
of
roles
in
the
community
initiative,
including
their
own,
depends
on
this
relationship
to
chronos.
Yet,
coordinators
do
much
work
to
set
the
rules
and
the
tone
for
roles
and
activities
in
their
community
initiatives.
In
Chapter
4,
I
will
discuss
more
about
the
practical
impacts
of
the
role
of
coordinators
on
other
roles
and
activities,
especially
as
the
shape
public
deliverables
(especially
their
websites).
49
Dolores
often
asks
Cindie
if
she
can
revise
the
training
protocol
for
interns
answering
the
phones
at
the
WCGL.
66
CHAPTER
4:
THE
IMPACT
OF
THE
COORDINATOR
ROLE
ON
PUBLIC-‐MAKING
Public
rhetoric,
as
I
argue
throughout
this
dissertation,
is
always
constrained.
Because
of
unequal
access
to
public
spaces,
technological
platforms,
and
moderation
of
these,
individual
rhetors
are
constrained
in
the
choices
they
can
make
while
composing
in
public
spaces
and
for
public
audiences
(as
I
fully
illustrated
in
chapters
1
and
2).
As
I
explicated
in
chapter
3,
lack
of
accesses
to
resources
limits
kairos
for
rhetors.
Community
initiatives
are
far
more
dependent
on
juggling
chronos
to
be
productive,
because
rhetors
volunteer
their
time
and
coordinators
must
manage
numerous
schedules
and
timelines
to
acquire
resources
and
get
work
done.
To
manage
this
successfully,
coordinators
create
roles
and
associated
tasks—but
rhetors
that
occupy
these
roles
not
always
act
in
assenting
ways.
Regardless
of
style,
coordinators
often
privilege
organization
identity,
even
as
they
aim
to
make
their
processes
democratic.
In
this
chapter,
I
will
demonstrate
how
these
processes
operate,
and
discuss
what
deliverables
are
produced
as
a
result.
In
doing
so,
I
aim
to
demonstrate
how
“discursive
practices
surround
textual
artifacts,”(Goggin
310).
Community
initiatives
create
public
organizational
identity
through
advertising
their
mission,
goals,
and
projects
in
very
specific
ways.
In
the
process,
community
initiatives
endeavor
to
create
a
brand
identity
for
themselves.
Branding
is
a
term
that
originally
arose
in
corporate
culture
to
describe
the
ways
in
which
for-‐profit
organizations
and
products
are
presented
to
the
public-‐at-‐large.
Branding
includes
the
creation
of
unique
names,
logos,
font
type,
mottos,
and
symbols
(Zaichowsky
548).
While
non-‐profit
organizations
(NPOs)
have
much
different
operations
and
needs
than
businesses,
they
often
adapt
corporate
practices
and
repurpose
them
to
serve
their
needs.
NPOs
like
the
67
WCGL
do
this
because
a)
like
businesses,
they
want
to
stand
out
in
the
sea
of
information
and
b)
they
view
symbolic
impact
as
the
first
steps
to
making
a
material
impact.
For
this
reason,
they
value
brand
iconicity:
“the
degree
to
which
a
brand
symbolizes
the
values,
needs,
and
aspirations
of
the
members
of
a
particular
cultural
group,”
(Torelli
et
al
108).
NPOs
and
other
community
initiatives
believe
that
achieving
brand
iconicity
(i.e.,
community
recognition
and
trust)
may
be
a
means
to
establishing
organizational
sustainability
in
local
communities.50
While
some
scholars
may
be
disheartened
by
NPO
adoption
of
corporate
practices
(see
J.
Blake
Scott),
NPOs
may
use
branding
best
practices
to
ethically
represent
themselves.
For
example,
authenticity
is
one
branding
best
practice:
organizations
should
have
“clarity
about
[their]
reason
for
being,
…[their]
unique
vision,
goals,
values,
voice,
and
personality”
(Wheeler
22).
NPOs,
whose
missions
usually
involve
addressing
societal
problems
to
create
more
equitable
conditions
for
those
who
are
marginalized,
have
natural
affinity
for
this
practice.
However,
NPOs
and
community
initiatives
may
not
always
have
the
in-‐house
expertise
to
brand
themselves.51
Branding
is
a
special
kind
of
public
naming
practice
that
happens
both
on
and
off
of
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
and
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
websites.
Branding
is
a
public
naming
practice
because
it
involves
creating
a
distinct,
collective
identity
through
50
When
their
brand
iconicity
is
threatened,
NPOs
may
take
legal
action.
For
instance,
the
Susan
J.
Komen
Foundation
took
legal
action
when
other
NPOs
used
their
motto
“for
the
cure.”
51
For
this
reason,
for-‐profit
ventures
like
the
Nonprofit
Branding
Institute
have
been
very
successful.
However,
many
local
marketing
firms
and
a
small,
rising
number
of
NPOs
have
specialized
in
helping
NPOs
creating
their
public
faces.
68
public
texts
(i.e.,
print
and
digital
media
that
are
accessible
to
groups
outside
of
the
group
or
organization
that
is
advertising).
Beyond
creating
the
public
texts
themselves,
branding
involves
distribution
of
those
texts
into
public
and
private
places.52
In
this
chapter,
I
will
introduce
a
process
that
community
initiatives
to
gain
a
collective
identity
as
evidenced
by
the
WCGL
and
OMA.
For
these
community
initiatives,
advertising
involves
using
past
models
of
advertising
and
creating
several
iterations
(or
versions)
of
that
brand
for
the
purpose
of
community
sustainability
of
their
initiatives.53
For
community
initiatives,
this
involves
a
series
of
moments
of
public
exposure,
private
deliberation,
and
continuous
reflection.
As
my
findings
reveal,
branding
is
circumstantial,
and
not
always
democratic:
it
is
a
response
to
the
limited
resources
and
needs
of
the
moment.
Of
course,
rhetors
have
a
large
role
in
determining
branding
and
decision-‐making,
and
can
do
so
in
a
systematic
fashion.
As
I
discussed
in
Chapter
3,
chronos
itself
is
an
exigency
for
community
initiatives
to
steamline
decisions
and
to
select
public
naming
practices
that
yield
writing
and
media
deliverables
that
support
the
work
that
they
do.
Roles
are
a
practical
invention
that
community
initiatives
use
to
get
work
done
in
a
timely
manner.
The
official
names
of
positions
may
differ
in
each
community
initiative,
as
well
as
the
gamut
of
roles
that
may
appear
in
each
organization.54
If
community
initiatives
have
52
Lansing
area
community
initiatives
do
advertise
for
free
on
social
networking
sites
like
Facebook
and
Twitter,
but
may
also
gain
permission
to
advertise
in
private
businesses
like
locally
frequented
coffee
shops
and
restaurants.
53
Often,
foundations,
nonprofit
organizations,
and
their
advocates
discuss
non-‐profit
sustainability
in
financial
terms.
See
Bell,
and
Dillon
and
Wilkins
for
more
detail.
54
I
introduce
these
roles
more
thoroughly
in
Chapter
3
and
later
in
this
chapter.
69
short
term
and
long
term
volunteers,
they
probably
have
committed
and
occasional
assenters.
However,
unless
they
have
activist
or
anarchist
origins,
they
may
be
less
likely
to
have
committed
or
occasional
dissenters.
While
these
aforementioned
roles
may
be
utilized
in
community
initiatives,
the
coordinator
role
is
the
one
reliable
role
that
must
be
filled
in
any
type
of
community
initiative.
Whether
or
not
this
role
is
paid
or
unpaid,
it
is
a
continuing
position
that
outlasts
many
possible
changes
in
a
community
initiative.
Through
the
lens
of
the
coordinator
role,
rhetoricians
can
learn
much
about
how
roles
impact
the
assemblage
of
local
publics.
Building
Organizational
Identity
through
Models
For
both
the
WCGL
and
OMA,
collective
identity
did
not
just
spontaneously
happen:
it
was
the
result
of
long,
deliberate
processes
(as
I
will
discuss
more
in
detail
later
in
the
chapter).
However,
in
both
cases,
models
played
a
key
role
in
sparking
the
branding
process.
OMA
and
the
WCGL
coordinators
sought
out
models,
which
was
really
important
to
branding
and
establishing
presence
in
the
Lansing
community.
Branding
involves
something
new
with
existing
means
and
cultural
practices;
members
of
a
group
begin
the
process
of
branding
when
they
find
existing
branding
ideas
and
practices
(i.e.
models)
for
the
purpose
of
creating
new
ones.
Models
for
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
Website55
55
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
was
not
the
first
name
of
the
website.
This
name
was
agreed
upon
after
an
initial
round
of
user
research
and
student
presentation
of
website
mock
ups.
The
original
name
of
the
website
was
“Michigan
Avenue
Corridor,”
but
this
conflicted
with
the
name
of
the
MACIA
website.
70
OMA’s
origins
came
from
the
MACIA
conversations
with
citizens.5657
These
conversations
were
intended
to
be
dialogues
between
city
planners
and
citizens
to
create
a
common
set
of
goals
for
the
city.
Dr.
John
Monberg,
the
coordinator
of
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website,
attended
these
lively
sessions:58
…there
were
a
series
of
conversations
about
the
Oakland/Saginaw
redevelopment
and
some
of
the
planning
activities
for
different
neighborhoods.
And
the
room
brought
together
like
a
100
different
people.
They
showed
20
different
kinds
of
maps.
There
was
a
lot
of
energy
in
the
room.
There
were
a
lot
of
vibrant
ideas
for
the
future…and
some
opportunities
for
residents
groups
to
make
suggestions
on
what
zoning
changes
they
would
like
to
see.
According
to
Monberg,
these
conversations
extended
to
online
spaces,
and
sparked
his
ideas
about
creating
a
public
deliberation
website:
So,
that
kind
of
rich,
public
deliberation
was
presented
in
the
local
newspaper
in
a
very
short
article.
The
majority
of
the
comments
were
negative:
“the
tax
base
is
declining,”
“we
don’t
have
money
for
ideas,”
“we
need
to
cut
back
and
shrink
our
56
MACIA
is
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
Improvement
Authority.
MACIA,
composed
of
city
planners
and
elected
local
government
officials
from
Lansing,
Lansing
Township,
and
East
Lansing,
formed
in
2008
to
address
how
a
common
thoroughfare,
Michigan
Avenue,
could
be
improved.
For
more
information,
visit
their
website:
57
MACIA
thought
that
big,
local
institutions
like
MSU
and
Sparrow
Hospital
were
heard
more
than
small
business
owners,
community
leaders,
and
residents.
On
the
“About”
page
of
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website,
(Footnote
57
cont.)
OMA
student
writers
have
linked
to
aggregated
conversations
from
discussions
with
these
local
community
members
via
the
“Corridor
News”
link.
58
Dr.
John
Monberg
is
a
tenure-‐track
Assistant
Professor
in
the
Dept.
of
Writing,
Rhetoric,
and
American
Cultures
(WRAC).
At
the
time
of
the
initial
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website,
he
had
a
joint
appointment
in
WRAC
and
the
College
of
Communication.
His
research
interests
include
Internet
studies,
usability
and
user
research,
and
urban
studies.
71
vision.”
So,
to
me,
it
seemed
helpful
instead
of
just
having
hot-‐button
arguments,
a
knee-‐jerk
reaction
on
one
side
or
another,
the
web
could
be
a
space
where
we
could
have
lots
of
technical
resources,
lots
of
links
to
projects
that
have
worked
in
other
areas.
And
so,
if
somebody
wanted
to
make
an
argument
for
a
new
vision,
instead
of
relying
on
a
few
bullet
points,
this
would
be
space
with
a
broader
array
of
planning
resources
they
can
draw
upon…
His
observations,
and
his
knowledge
of
websites
that
allowed
for
local
community
sharing
of
ideas,
became
his
impetus
to
propose
the
OMA
website
to
MACIA
as
a
university
service-‐
learning
project.
OMA’s
branding
process
was
largely
framed
through
Dr.
John
Monberg’s
TC
491
course
and
previous
exposure
to
urban
web
2.0
websites.59
To
frame
the
class,
Dr.
59
TC
491
is
a
special
topics
course
in
the
College
of
Communication
at
Michigan
State
University.
Dr.
John
Monberg
themed
his
2009
section
“Ethnography
and
Interaction
Design.”
72
Monberg
perused
and
aggregated
such
websites.
Figure
3:
Dr.
Monberg’s
aggregation
of
public
participation
websites
As
early
models,
they
allowed
students
to
imagine
the
kind
of
website
genre
that
they
were
trying
to
create—from
scratch.60
They
also
allowed
students
to
find
other
such
websites
that
could
serve
as
models
for
the
OMA
website.
60
Dr.
Monberg’s
students
used
Ruby-‐on-‐Rails
(RoR)
to
code
the
OMA
website.
It
was
originally
hosted
on
the
MSU
WIDE
website
using
Liquid
Web.
When
Liquid
Web
was
73
But
extant
models
of
these
websites
were
not
usually
robust:
they
filled
a
community
need,
but
did
not
have
the
same
kind
of
professional
look
or
capabilities
imagined
for
the
OMA
website.
Figure
4:
New
York
City’s
public
deliberation
website
(For
the
interpretation
of
the
references
to
color
in
this
and
all
other
figures,
the
reader
is
referred
to
the
electronic
version
of
this
dissertation.)
Dr.
Monberg
had
students
find
other
models
of
web
2.0
and
contemporary
web
design
and
make
mock
website
pages
in
small
groups.
(Footnote
60
cont’d)
updated,
it
conflicted
with
RoR.
Dr.
Monberg
found
a
new
home
for
the
OMA
website
on
the
MSU
Matrix
server.
74
Figure
5:
A
student
website
“mock
up”
for
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website
The
groups
presented
their
mock
pages,
explaining
their
decisions
for
the
look
and
feel
they
were
trying
to
create.
Eventually,
students
chose
a
sleek,
contemporary
design
with
a
long
banner
photo
of
Downtown
Lansing.
This
was
just
the
first
iteration
for
OMA,
prior
to
user
research
results.
For
TC
491
students,
the
public
deliberation
website
was
a
genre
that
was
unfamiliar
to
them.
No
one
in
the
course
had
seen
those
kinds
of
sites
before
the
class.
Therefore,
Dr.
Monberg
believed
he
needed
to
expose
students
to
extant
versions
of
public
participation
projects,
and
to
connect
that
to
students’
previous
knowledge
of
web
2.0
technologies
(such
as
online
voting,
submission
forms,
and
RSS
feeds).
In
this
way,
students
were
introduced
to
ways
in
which
to
integrate
organizational
identity
(provided
by
MACIA)
with
individual
needs
for
participation
and
public
naming.
Dr.
Monberg’s
role
as
instructor
heavily
shaped
both
the
research
process,
as
well
as
how
website
design
best
practices
were
integrated
into
the
design
process
of
OMA.
Because
Dr.
Monberg
was
an
instructor
with
obligations
to
MACIA,
as
well
as
to
students
he
was
75
charged
with
imparting
his
expertise,
it
was
appropriate
for
him
to
select
the
processes
that
guided
students
in
making
informed
decisions
about
the
OMA
website
and
vetting
those
decisions
when
necessary.
As
coordinator
of
a
large
service-‐learning
project,
Dr.
Monberg
was
ultimately
responsible
for
the
final
deliverable
that
the
community
received
and
the
processes
that
were
used
to
produce
that
deliverable.61
Models
for
the
WCGL
Website
While
OMA
used
models
to
create
a
solely
online
brand
identity,
WCGL’s
initial
use
of
models
was
to
primarily
create
enough
of
a
structure
to
start
their
non-‐profit
organization.
Cindie
and
Manuela,
as
trained
clinical
social
workers,
were
not
concerned
about
a
website
at
first:
they
were
concerned
about
developing
a
“bricks
and
mortar”
non-‐
profit
organization.62
By
interacting
with
clients
and
other
social
workers
in
the
Lansing
area,
they
were
well
aware
of
what
kinds
of
career
programs
existed
for
women
(their
benefits,
and
their
shortcomings).
Manuela
explains:
Having
worked
with
[organizations]
under
my
other
job,
having
worked
with
a
lot
of
other
agencies….and
just,
having
been
around
Lansing
since
1980…it
gives
you
a
sense
of
what
is
here.
61
The
OMA
website
project
has
been
repurposed
since
its
beginning.
Through
Dr.
Monberg’s
recent
collaboration
with
the
Greater
Lansing
Arts
Council,
local
artists
have
been
featured
on
the
website
and
are
enthusiastic
about
using
it
as
a
forum
to
network.
The
Capital
Area
Transportation
Authority
has
expressed
interest
in
using
the
OMA
website
as
well.
62
Cindie
Alwood
and
Manuela
Kress,
Ph.D.
are
both
the
founders
and
original
co-‐directors
of
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
(WCGL).
Manuela
recently
quit
her
position
to
pursue
a
career
as
an
independent
grant
writing
consultant
for
non-‐profit
organizations
in
Western
MI.
Cindie
is
now
the
sole
director
of
WCGL.
76
But
what
they
were
not
sure
of
how
to
do
was
make
their
vision
of
holistically
aiding
women
make
career
and
personal
transitions
in
their
time
of
need
happen.
To
make
their
ideas
concrete,
they
decided
to
do
preliminary
research
to
take
stock
of
existing
models
of
career
and
counseling
services
for
women.
First,
they
created
an
inventory
of
career
and
women’s
services
in
the
entire
Lansing
area,
noting
their
programs
and
services.
Then,
they
located
organizations
like
the
one
they
wanted
to
build:
NPOs
dedicated
to
addressing
women’s
career
and
personal
issues.
They
then
contacted
these
organizations
and
had
long
interviews
with
them,
collecting
fliers,
brochures,
and
other
materials
as
initial
models
for
their
own
materials—which
they
admit
were
copycat
versions,
at
first,
according
to
Cindie:
We
actually
took
[the
Femtor’s]…actually,
our
first
mission
statement
was
their
mission
statement,
just
with
our
name
on
it,
because
we
were
doing
the
exact
same
things.
And
so
our
first
brochure,
I
think,
was
modeled
after
theirs.
But
as
they
developed
the
WCGL,
they
started
creating
models
that
made
organizations
like
the
Femtors
“jealous”
(such
as
the
visual
design
of
the
newsletter
and
the
current
version
of
the
website).
While
both
Cindie
and
Manuela
were
concerned
for
individual
women
who
were
making
career
and
personal
transitions,
they
were
primarily
concerned
with
creating
an
organizational
identity
that
was
credible.
In
order
to
do
this,
they
borrowed
heavily
from
organizations
that
they
viewed
as
models
for
their
own
emerging
organization.
In
order
to
even
attract
individuals
to
trust
their
organization,
they
first
needed
to
create
an
organization
that
those
individuals
and
organizational
supporters
could
believe
in.
77
As
founding
coordinators
of
the
same
community
initiative,
Cindie
and
Manuela
chose
to
begin
the
WCGL
as
equal
partners.
Their
decisions
about
finding
models
were
based
on
consensus;
they
did
not
start
a
method
of
looking
for
models
without
first
agreeing
to
take
that
action.
But,
their
consensus
was
carefully
considered,
given
their
discussions
with
nonprofit
leaders
(such
as
Joan
Nelson)
who
had
run
their
own
nonprofit
organizations.
They
were
striving
for
sensus
communis—ethical
consensus,
and
not
resort
to
simple
“group
think”
strategies
(Shaeffer
8;
Segal,
97).
Given
that
their
goal
was
to
start
a
sustainable
non-‐profit
organization,
their
consensus
during
the
early
stages
of
starting
the
WCGL
was
extremely
important.
Branding
as
Iterative
Process
But
although
the
models
that
these
coordinators
found
provided
initial
branding
for
these
community
initiatives,
WCGL
and
OMA
brands
evolved
over
time.
In
both
cases,
coordinators
attribute
this
to
the
involvement
of
more
and
more
stakeholders
in
the
process
of
their
representations.
Iterations
of
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
Website
OMA,
as
a
community
initiative,
had
always
been
defined
by
the
involvement
of
different
groups
of
people
with
different
expertise.
It
was
defined
by
a
visible
partnership
between
MACIA
and
MSU,
primarily
through
the
interaction
of
city
planners
with
Dr.
John
Monberg.63
Writing
and
technology
students,
as
well
as
leaders
of
local
community
63
Through
a
January
presentation
to
TC
491,
MACIA
city
planners
Lori
Mullins,
Brian
Anderson,
and
Matt
Brinkley
described
four
groups
they
wanted
to
target
based
on
MACIA
conversations:
long
term
residents,
small
business
owners,
community
organization
staff,
and
invested
students.
These
groups
shaped
user
research
interview
decisions.
78
organizations,
were
involved
in
spearheading
the
design
of
the
site
and
the
advertisement
of
that
process
and
resulting
product
to
the
Lansing
community.
While
MSU
students
were
the
coders
and
primary
scribes,
Lansing
community
members
agreed
to
provide
the
space
for
MSU
students
to
interact
with
local
community
members—the
desired
users
of
the
OMA
site.64
Per
Dr.
Monberg’s
directions,
students
used
three
different
means
of
interacting
with
potential
users:
user
research
interviews;
a
community
design
critique;
and
a
presentation
to
the
Lansing
community
(through
which
community
members
could
critique
the
website).
During
user
research
interviews,
students
could
ask
community
members
what
was
important
to
them
about
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
and
what
uses
they
could
see
for
the
website.
Students
used
these
interviews
to
determine
functions
on
the
website.
During
the
community
design
critique,
students
had
an
opportunity
to
show
a
completed
first
version
of
the
website
to
community
members.
It
was
also
an
opportunity
to
show
rough
drafts
of
these
functions
and
solicit
community
member
feedback.
64
John
Melcher,
of
the
Center
for
Community
and
Economic
Development,
agreed
to
host
both
the
community
design
critique
and
the
community
presentation
of
the
OMA
website.
79
Figure
6:
A
proposed
voting
function
for
the
OMA
website
with
community
member
feedback
in
the
margins
Finally,
students
used
the
community
presentation
to
give
a
live
demonstration
of
the
website.
Dr.
Monberg
also
viewed
the
community
presentation
as
yet
another
chance
for
80
community
members
to
give
feedback
to
student
web
designers.
In
each
case,
feedback
was
collected
that
influenced
the
look
and
feel
of
the
website.
In
particular,
Dr.
Monberg
claims
that
the
friendly,
“neighborhood”
look
that
the
website
now
has
came
from
feedback
at
the
community
design
critique.
Community
members
felt
that
the
sleek
version
of
the
website
felt
too
corporate,
and
did
not
represent
who
was
supposed
to
be
the
intended
users
of
the
website:
NPO
staff,
small
business
owners,
and
long
term
residents.
But
overall,
students
did
not
solicit
community
members
for
much
ongoing
feedback.
They
used
the
feedback
on
this
presentation
to
change
the
color
scheme,
logo,
and
associated
mottos,
but
did
not
revise
these
branding
tools
after
the
initial
revision.
To
be
fair,
the
OMA
website
project
had
such
an
amorphous
potential
audience,
which
made
the
deliverable
so
different
than
many
service-‐learning
deliverables.
While
MACIA
city
planners
supported
the
project,
they
were
not
reliable
professional
contacts
and
were
not
as
invested
in
the
OMA
project
the
way
that
a
staff
member
of
a
Lansing
nonprofit
would
be
invested
in
a
website
for
their
organization.
Because
potential
ownership
of
the
OMA
website
was
distributed,
students
did
not
always
know
which
community
members
they
should
consult
about
decisions
related
to
the
website—other
than
Dr.
Monberg.
Besides
the
logistical
difficulty
of
attracting
potential
users
to
provide
feedback,
TC
491
students
were
also
overwhelmed
by
the
technical
difficulties
of
coding
the
OMA
website
from
scratch.
In
order
to
complete
the
OMA
project
as
promised,
Dr.
Monberg’s
role
as
coordinator
needed
to
take
precedence
over
the
solicitation
of
community
feedback
over
every
decision
that
was
made
the
first
semester.
Dr.
Monberg
purposely
planned
revising
the
website
using
user
research
in
subsequent
semesters
81
before
the
end
of
Spring
semester
2009
(when
the
OMA
website
was
initially
produced
and
launched).
Iterations
of
the
WCGL
Website
In
contrast,
the
WCGL
branding
has
shifted
by
more
informal
means
over
time.
WCGL
did
not
start
out
with
professional
writers,
so
Cindie
and
Manuela
utilized
their
best
knowledge
of
flier
design
to
attempt
to
create
a
following
and
base
in
the
Lansing
community.
Manuela,
in
particular,
describes
their
early
attempts
as
“folksy.”
Figure
7:
A
“folksy”
early
WCGL
flier
With
no
professional
writers
to
aid
them,
Cindie
and
Manuela
tried
to
appeal
to
potential
volunteers
through
having
them
envision
what
WCGL
could
be.
These
first
volunteers
82
helped
to
do
hard
labor
in
the
WCGL
bricks
and
mortar
buildings
to
create
an
inviting
space—a
space
which
no
one
knew
about
at
first.
To
advertise
the
kind
of
space
that
WCGL
would
be,
Cindie
and
Manuela
drew
upon
their
existing
connections
to
create
the
first
executive
board.
That
first
executive
board
made
important
decisions
made
about
branding.
C.
Leslie
Charles,
a
professional
speaker
and
writer,
came
up
with
the
logo
for
the
women’s
center:
a
zig
zag,
green
half
circle
on
a
light
purple
background.
Unfortunately,
board
members
and
staff
could
not
agree
on
whether
or
not
to
adapt
the
logo.
Figure
8:
The
original
WCGL
logo
Manuela
explains:
Manuela:
…we
put
the
logo
on
that
have
now,
which
I
think
makes
us
look
like
an
OBGYN
clinic.
JR:
[laughs]
Manuela:
I
never
liked
it.
So..[laughs]
JR:
It’s
an
interesting
logo.
Is
it
supposed
to
be
grass…?
Manuela:
I
don’t
know
what
it
is
supposed
to
be
honestly.
According
to
Cindie,
Leslie
had
some
explanation,
but
no
one
currently
a
part
of
WCGL
knows
why.
Board
members
and
staff
also
debated
the
current
name
of
the
NPO:
83
Manuela:
I
also
didn’t
want
the
name
to
be
what
the
name
is.
There’s
compromises
that
you
make.
I
wanted
it
to
be
“Working
Women’s
Opportunity
and
Resource
Center.”
That’s
what
I
wanted
it
to
be.
But,
obviously
that’s
not
what
it
is.
JR:
Who
made
that
suggestion,
or
how
did
the
name
situation
end
up
working
out
the
way
that
it
did?
Manuela:
Well,
like
I
said,
a
lot
of
these
decisions…we
actually
started
out…the
person
who
made
the
suggestion
initially…we
actually
started
out
as
the
Women’s
Network
of
Greater
Lansing.
And
when
we
got
a
board
on
board,
and
started
having
board
meetings
and
all
that
stuff…that’s
when
we
changed
our
name
in
2005.
And
that’s
when
we
became
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing.
But
I
like
the
word
“work,”
because
that’s
really
the
focus
of
what
we
do.
Even
though
the
logo
and
name
were
did
not
satisfy
everyone’s
needs,
they
became
a
central
branding
tool
for
the
WCGL.
The
name
and
logo
became
a
central
stamp
on
fliers,
press
releases,
and
early
versions
of
the
newsletter.
But
eventually,
it
became
an
inspiration
for
the
way
the
website
was
set
up.
Because
the
WCGL
did
not
have
staff
or
volunteers
who
were
web
savvy,
they
first
took
advantage
of
CAC
Voices—a
website
project
that
helped
to
provide
web
space
to
local
Lansing
area
NPOs.
84
Figure
9:
The
original
WCGL
page
on
the
CAC
Voices
website
However,
CAC
was
rigidly
set
up
and
did
not
allow
for
much
customization:
it
had
its
own
branding.65
But
Cindie
was
determined
to
have
her
own
branding
on
the
web.
At
the
time,
according
to
community
activist
and
technology
expert
Matt
Penniman,
the
Power
of
We
Consortium
had
just
gotten
a
federal
grant
to
allow
local
non-‐profit
organizations
develop
their
capacity
(which
included
free
website
design
assistance
from
the
Capital
Area
Community
Media
Center).
Instead
of
using
their
capacity
grant
to
build
the
website,
they
recruited
a
professional
writing
student
(Christina
Tower)
from
MSU
to
voluntarily
create
their
vision
on
a
website
of
their
own
via
Dreamweaver
in
2008.66
65
According
to
Kendall
Leon,
a
researcher
who
worked
with
WCGL
and
CAC
Voices,
the
plone-‐based
system
required
that
users
edit
using
html.
66
The
WCGL
also
has
paid
Image
Media
Marketing
for
custom
newsletter
and
flier
templates.
85
Figure
10:
The
Dreamweaver-based
WCGL
website
The
WCGL
website,
from
informal
feedback,
has
been
a
successful
branding
tool.
According
to
Cindie,
the
website
creates
a
creates
a
warm
feeling
that
often
attracts
donors,
volunteers,
interns,
and
clients:
I
just
had,
and
this
is
no
exaggeration,
I
had
a
guy
who
was
at
the
job
group
Monday
morning,
and
he
was
from
UPS.
And
he
looked
at…he
had
looked
at
the
success
stories
on
our
website,
and
he
was
incredibly
moved,
and
when
he
came
to
the
group,
he
said
“I
want
to
talk
to
you
guys
about
giving
you
a
grant.”
And
it
was
so
totally
based
on
what
he
saw
on
the
website.
86
But
for
Cindie
and
Manuela,
the
WCGL
website
is
an
advertisement,
not
a
top
priority.67
Cindie
explains:
I
think
that
we
need
to…we
could
probably
update
our
pictures,
you
know?
We
could
throw
some
more
success
stories
on
there…you
know,
there’s
some
things
we
could
do.
But
the
issue
is…what’s
the
priority?
Even
though
they
both
note
improvements
could
be
made
if
it
was
systematically
analyzed
and
updated,
they
are
more
concerned
with
the
work
of
the
center.
The
interactions
that
matter,
for
them,
are
face-‐to-‐face—in
the
center,
and
in
the
community.
The
WCGL
uses
branding
is
used
to
mobilize
stakeholders,
but
branding
not
take
center
stage.
However,
branding
is
not
irrelevant
to
the
WCGL—especially
its
impact
on
coordination.
Cindie
is
more
easily
satisfied
by
what
multiple
stakeholders
can
agree
upon
for
the
WCGL.
Her
concern
with
branding
is
that
it
simply
helps
the
WCGL
do
recruitment
to
sustain
the
NPO.
Manuela,
however,
was
more
invested
in
branding
when
she
was
a
coordinator.
She
believes
that
branding
should
exactly
reflect
the
mission
of
the
WCGL,
and
that
coordinators
should
play
a
major
role
in
decision-‐making
for
the
WCGL.
Their
differing
ideas
about
coordinators
and
their
roles
represent
different
kinds
of
ways
of
inhabiting
the
coordinator
role
when
“going
public.”
In
both
cases,
OMA
and
the
WCGL
contributors
valued
expediency
that
sometimes
was
more
important
than
democratic
processes.
For
OMA,
both
students
and
Dr.
John
Monberg
only
had
so
much
time
allotted
for
research
and
for
production:
their
end
goal
was
to
produce
a
good
product
within
a
given
time
period.
In
particular,
their
interview
67
Through
many
informal
interactions
I
have
had
with
Cindie,
she
has
noted
that
clients
are
an
immediate
priority
whereas
writing
helps
to
support
that
work.
She
confirmed
this
in
a
member
check
interview.
87
research
with
community
members
was
a
slow,
difficult
process
and
was
not
rapid
enough
to
meet
production
deadlines.
In
the
case
of
the
WCGL,
board
members
proved
to
be
reliable
support
for
WCGL
and
contributed
highly
to
the
first
branding
efforts;
Cindie
and
Manuela
were
dependent
on
them
initially
because
they
had
no
other
support.
But
as
WCGL
matured,
the
co-‐directors
assumed
more
responsibility
for
branding
and
elicited
the
professional
aid
of
those
with
branding
expertise.
OMA
and
the
WCGL
contributors
chose
to
value
expediency
because
they
found
it
important
to
“go
public”
with
what
was
acceptable
at
the
moment—given
their
goals
and
time
constraints.
Toward
Community
Initiative
Sustainability
Given
how
difficult
it
is
for
community
initiatives
to
pursue
advertising
and
identity
formation,
why
do
they
do
it?
After
all,
NPOs
and
community
initiatives
do
not
view
advertising
and
identity
formation
as
their
mission,
but
rather
a
means
to
support
their
mission.
Even
though
NPO
and
community
initiative
staff
members
and
interns
are
supposed
to
wear
many
hats,
they
are
often
not
disciplined
as
professional
writers.
I
argue
that
NPOs
and
community
initiatives
pursue
advertising
and
identity
formation
because
they
view
it
as
a
way
to
move
toward
sustainability
of
their
organizations
and
projects.
Sustainability,
in
the
non-‐for-‐profit
sector,
is
difficult
to
achieve.
Organizations
that
are
less
that
a
year
old
have
difficulty
obtaining
grants
and
other
kinds
of
funding
simply
because
they
are
less
than
one
year
old:
foundations
and
other
funders
want
to
give
to
88
already
established
organizations,
ones
that
they
think
will
be
around.68
When
organizations
like
the
WCGL
reach
the
five
year
mark,
it
is
quite
an
accomplishment.
Although
NPOs
use
chronos
as
one
way
to
measure
sustainability,
they
use
other
methods
like
community
recognition,
trust,
and
support.
Community
Recognition
NPOs
and
community
initiatives
advertise,
in
part,
to
achieve
community
recognition.
By
community
recognition,
I
am
referring
to
individual
and
organization
knowledge
of
an
NPO
or
community
initiative,
regardless
of
experience.
NPOs
and
community
initiatives,
or
their
consultants,
can
measure
community
recognition
through
formal
means
(like
surveys,
or
focus
groups),
or
through
more
informal
means
(like
word-‐
of-‐mouth
and
face-‐to-‐face
encounters).
Both
OMA
and
WCGL
have
usually
used
different
means
to
measure
their
respective
community
recognition.
To
measure
feedback
on
the
website,
OMA
has
used
more
formal
means
of
feedback
(as
mentioned
above).
However,
OMA
and
its
stakeholders
have
not
used
formal
measures
to
discover
community
knowledge
of
the
website,
or
how
well
existing
advertisements
have
impacted
community
member
support
of
OMA.
While
the
WCGL
has
not
created
a
systematic
survey,
they
did
install
and
use
Google
Analytics
for
a
year
to
figure
out
what
was
most
important
to
users
of
their
website
(which
they
used
to
create
priorities
for
services).
However,
the
WCGL
usually
relies
on
what
they
hear
from
clients,
volunteers,
and
partners
(educational,
NPO)
to
discover
what
if
and
how
they
are
recognized
in
the
Lansing
community.
68 I
learned
this
information
from
informal
conversations
with
Manuela
and
Dr.
Dean
Rehberger
(WRAC)
at
Michigan
State
University
who
both
do
an
extensive
amount
of
grant
writing.
I
have
not
found
more
objective
sources
that
verify
these
claims
to
date.
89
Interestingly,
both
OMA
and
the
WCGL
have
relied
on
face-‐to-‐face
encounters
for
community
recognition
and
promotion.
Dr.
Monberg
and
Steph
Carlisle
have
promoted
OMA
in
informal
conversations
with
city
leaders
and
co-‐workers,
respectively.69
Similarly,
Cindie
and
Manuela
actively
promote
WCGL
through
attending
city
luncheons
and
events
of
other
local
NPOs
(through
which
they
try
to
make
short,
oral
pitches
for
WCGL).
Unlike
print
and
digital
branding,
the
WCGL
uses
this
face-‐to-‐face
method
of
branding
as
an
interactive,
more
personable
way
of
gaining
community
recognition
one
person
at
a
time.
Community
recognition
indicates
awareness
of
public
audiences,
but
does
not
guarantee
their
commitment
to
acting
on
an
organization’s
behalf.
Trust
Although
community
recognition
is
a
step
towards
sustainability,
NPOs
and
community
initiatives
realize
that
it
does
not
guarantee
that
community
members
will
commit
to
them.
To
commit
to
an
NPO
or
community
initiative,
potential
stakeholders
(volunteers,
donors,
funders,
etc.)
need
to
develop
trust
in
the
organization.
One
step
towards
that
is
community
recognition.
As
Cindie
says,
“What
is
said
about
us
[WCGL]
on
the
streets
is
our
reputation.”
While
trust
in
NPOs
and
community
initiatives
is
intangible
to
some
extent,
NPOs,
community
initiatives,
and
their
consults
can
be
measure
it
in
a
few
ways.
NPOs,
community
initiatives,
and
their
consultants
can
measure
trust
by
the
group’s
ability
to
consistently
recruit
from
a
pool
of
potential
volunteers,
interns,
and
donors.
Because
of
their
investment
in
OMA,
some
students
from
TC
491
committed
their
time
69
Steph
Carlisle
was
a
professional
writing
student
who
interviewed
community
members
and
posted
those
interviews
to
the
“Our
Stories”
section
of
the
OMA
website.
She
agreed
to
have
her
name
revealed
in
this
study.
90
voluntarily
to
updating
and
promoting
the
website
during
Summer
2009.
WCGL
has
also
been
able
to
experience
a
great
deal
of
success
with
recruitment
with
its
interns:
the
MSU
Social
Work
program
and
Spring
Arbor
University
consistently
promote
the
WCGL
as
a
great
place
to
intern,
which
prospective
interns
note
and
pursue.
Besides
recruitment
of
interns,
the
WCGL
is
also
able
to
receive
some
consistent
grant
support
and
donations
from
individuals
and
families.
While
OMA
was
conceived
of
with
government
support,
WCGL
survived
most
of
its
organizational
life
without
it.
Because
the
city
of
Lansing
government
had
never
seen
an
initiative
like
the
Women’s
Center,
they
did
not
think
of
it
as
a
legitimate
non-‐profit—
especially
because
they
thought
it
had
a
“women
only”
focus.
To
try
to
gain
some
foot
holding
among
established
institutions,
Cindie
and
Manuela
tried
(and
failed)
to
have
recognition
of
their
efforts
in
the
Lansing
State
Journal
(LSJ).
With
a
successful
pitch
to
the
City
Pulse
and
years
of
effort,
the
city
of
Lansing
finally
recognized
WCGL
as
a
501(c)
3
in
July
2010—five
years
after
its
inception.
WCGL
is
proof
that
sometimes
community
initiatives
need
to
gain
trust
and
support
from
the
ground
up.
As
OMA
and
WCGL
demonstrate,
trust
is
a
difficult
end
to
achieve
while
branding.
Community
initiatives
can
measure
both
the
quality
and
character
of
their
ties
to
their
local
communities
by
interacting
with
other
groups
over
time.
Often,
this
trust
does
not
look
like
the
city
of
Lansing’s
declaration
of
WCGL
as
a
501(c)3;
instead,
it
is
often
relayed
through
private
interactions
with
stakeholders.70
Support
70
These
private
interactions
include
the
efforts
I
mentioned
above,
the
sending
of
private
e-‐mails,
the
participation
in
face-‐to-‐face
interactions,
the
delivering
of
donor
checks,
the
participation
in
fundraisers,
and
the
awarding
of
grants.
91
Once
a
NPO
or
community
initiative
can
gain
community
recognition
and
trust,
they
are
better
positioned
to
gain
enough
support
to
self-‐sustain.
Community
recognition
involves
the
creation
of
the
brand;
trust
involves
positive
interactions
with
the
brand,
or
the
recognition
of
other
successful
positive
interactions
with
the
brand
(e.g.,
when
community
foundations
receive
community
member
quotes
as
evidence
of
the
impact
of
an
NPO
or
community
initiative
on
them
in
a
grant
application).
These
kinds
of
success
are
intentionally
evidenced
in
community
initiative’s
public
advertisements
to
garner
support.
For
both
OMA
and
WCGL,
their
websites
are
places
where
evidence
of
community
recognition
and
trust
is
fore-‐grounded.
On
the
OMA
website,
community
recognition
and
trust
is
demonstrated
by
MACIA’s
involvement
and
support
for
the
OMA
site.
There
are
also
a
few
instances
of
community
member
posts
(although,
as
mentioned
in
chapter
2,
it
is
difficult
to
tell
the
difference
between
student
posts
and
community
member
posts
in
many
instances).
WCGL
foregrounds
established
organizations
less
on
their
website;
they
do
not
list
partners
on
their
web
pages
(although
they
do
in
uploaded
documents
like
the
newsletters),
for
instance.
Instead,
they
highlight
new
and
retiring
volunteers,
interns,
board
members,
donors,
and
staff
members
in
two
paragraph
biographies
in
the
newsletters.
In
addition,
they
publish
“success
stories”
of
clients
who
have
“graduated”
on
their
website.
In
each
of
these
posts,
stakeholders
reveal
something
personal
about
themselves
and
why
they
support
WCGL.
Although
they
do
so
in
different
ways,
OMA
and
the
WCGL
both
publically
recognize
their
stakeholders
(through
full
or
display
names)
and
their
contributions.
They
do
this
for
a
few
reasons:
to
sustain
relationships
with
existing
stakeholders,
and
to
invite
new
stakeholders
into
the
fold.
By
naming
stakeholders,
OMA
and
WCGL
also
92
create
more
than
a
uniform
collective:
they
acknowledge
the
diverse
kinds
of
people
who
make
their
work
possible.
By
noting
diversity,
OMA
and
WCGL
make
it
possible
for
audiences
to
imagine
the
kinds
of
community
networks
and
cooperation
that
they
want
to
promote.
While
OMA
and
WCGL
may
appear
as
uniform
entities
to
the
publics
they
recruit,
they
are
actually
driven
on
more
dissensus
than
they
present
in
public
forums.
For
these
community
initiatives,
more
dissensus
appears
behind
the
scenes.71
This
behind-‐the-‐
scenes
dissensus
is
often
generative,
because
people
with
different
viewpoints
are
allowed
to
assert
their
opinions
and
consider
merits
of
choosing
one
kind
of
action
over
another
(West
150).
Community
initiatives
have
pressure
to
present
a
“normed”
face
to
the
public,
for
which
they
are
rewarded
(in
recruitment
and
monetary
support).
For
this
reason,
coordinator
roles
are
presented
to
community
initiative
local
publics
in
a
neutral
way
that
does
not
reflect
internal
politics.
Roles
and
Community
Initiatives:
Challenging
Ideological
Positions
Community
initiatives
create
roles
to
get
work
done.
As
I
have
explained,
in
chapters
3
and
this
chapter,
there
are
several
roles
that
OMA
and
WCGL
invented
for
this
purpose:
coordinator,
committed
assenting
contributor,
and
occasional
assenting
contributor.
With
each
of
these
roles,
there
were
varying
responsibilities.
Coordinators
direct
other
contributors,
and
even
recruit
board
members
that
make
decisions
about
their
salaries.
71
A
few
of
Dr.
Monberg’s
freshmen,
who
wrote
some
improvement
articles
for
the
OMA
website,
felt
pressure
to
speak
positively
about
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
and
the
creative
economy
even
though
they
did
not
agree
with
Dr.
Monberg’s
perspective.
While
this
is
a
form
of
dissensus,
this
is
typical
of
instructor/student
interactions,
regardless
of
instructor
intent.
93
Committed
assenting
contributors
are
regular
staff
members
and
volunteers.
These
contributors
stay
involved
with
community
initiatives
for
long
periods
of
time,
and
generally
agree
with
how
roles
and
tasks
are
defined
and
carried
out.
They
often
work
closely
with
coordinators.
Finally,
occasional
assenting
contributors
may
serve
one
term
in
a
role
(such
as
board
member
or
intern
or
special
events
volunteer)
in
a
way
that
does
not
conflict
with
other
roles
or
beliefs,
but
leaves
after
this
period.
There
still
can
be
quite
a
bit
of
variation
in
any
of
these
roles,
which
depends
not
only
on
individuals
and
their
context,
but
also
organizational
context
as
well.
Community
initiatives
require
some
degrees
of
consensus;
if
a
stakeholder
does
not
agree
with
some
action
a
community
initiative
is
taking,
they
may
simply
withdraw.
However,
as
I
explain
in
this
chapter,
dissent
exists
and
impacts
rhetors’
long
term
involvement
in
the
community
initiatives
of
which
they
are
a
part.
Rhetoricians
might
find
less
subtle
instances
of
dissenting
behavior
in
community
initiatives
that
are
more
activist-‐oriented
than
those
I
researched.72
Type
of
Public
Rhetor
(Ideology)
Deliberative
Democrat
Table
3:
Individual
rhetor
roles
in
the
public
sphere
Social
Position
Preferred
Voicing
Strategies
-‐Assumed
to
-‐Turn-‐Taking
be
from
-‐Deliberating
middle
or
-‐Trying
to
upper
class
Create
Consensus
Limitations
-‐Does
not
question
public
forum
framework
72
Guiseppe
Getto
and
Tony
Michel
write
about
this
kind
of
dissenting
behavior
among
student
union
volunteers
in
the
California
State
University
system.
This
publication
has
been
accepted
with
revision
to
College
English.
94
TABLE
3
(cont’d)
Activist
-‐Assumed
to
-‐Verbal
-‐Does
not
practice
be
from
Interruption
listening
to
those
outside
marginalized
-‐Sarcasm
their
own
group
group
and
-‐Alternative
working
class
Modes
(like
images)
Discursive
-‐Sometimes
-‐Verbal
-‐Is
not
interested
in
Combatant
assumed
to
be
Interruption
listening
to
others,
or
from
the
-‐Ad
hominems
preserving
the
public
working
class
-‐Shouting
forum
framework
Table
4:
Group
roles
in
the
public
sphere
Types
of
Social
Positions
Preferred
Limitations
Public
Rhetors
Voicing
(Activity)
Strategies
Coordinator
-‐Often
a
FT
-‐Finding
Models
-‐May
not
see
how
employee
in
the
-‐Creating
Visions
their
vision
may
non-‐profit
sector
-‐Reporting
not
represent
-‐Editing
contributors
or
other
stakeholders.
Committed
-‐Often
a
volunteer
-‐Prescribed
-‐May
represent
Assenter
whose
professional
Moderating
own
interest
as
interests
are
met
in
-‐Validates
other
organization’s
some
way
by
members
interest,
or
a
participation
in
the
-‐Presents
group
group’s
interest.
project
progress
in
public
and
internal
deliverables
Committed
-‐Often
a
volunteer
-‐Asking
questions
-‐May
view
Dissenter
whose
professional
-‐Unprescribed
organization
as
in
interests
are
met
in
moderating
need
of
change;
some
way
by
-‐Looks
for
outside
willing
to
challenge
participation
in
the
models
other
committed
project
-‐Advocates
for
members
with
outside
assessment
regularity,
without
always
thinking
of
consequences.
95
Occassional
Assenter
Occassional
Dissenter
TABLE
4
(cont’d)
-‐Often
a
-‐Follows
participant
who
submission
has
limited
interest
guidelines
in
a
project
-‐Uses
prescribed
modes
-‐Often
a
-‐Asks
questions
-‐Uses
alternative
participant
who
has
limited
interest
modes
in
a
project
-‐Views
own
interest
as
slightly
aligned
with
organization;
willing
to
accept
organization
limitations
within
reasonable
limits.
-‐Only
participates
when
projects
align
with
self-‐
interests,
or
feels
strongly
compelled.
-‐Views
organization
interests
as
important,
but
not
committed
to
continually
challenging
members
and
their
decisions.
-‐May
voice
concern
over
a
project,
but
will
not
continue
if
concerns
are
not
met.
These
roles
are
needed
for
groups
to
function,
and
differ
from
public
spheres
roles
presented
by
scholars
like
Iris
Marion
Young
and
Heidi
McKee,
which
focus
more
on
individuals
representing
themselves
in
public
conversations.
Scholars
like
Young
and
McKee
outline
traditional
public
sphere
roles
that
focus
on
the
individual,
include
deliberative
democrat,
activist
and
discursive
combatant.
These
traditional
roles
alone
do
not
account
for
how
groups
work
together
to
go
public,
and
do
not
stay
static
over
time:
96
they
represent
a
snapshot
of
how
individuals
act
at
a
given
moment.
However,
these
individual
roles
may
impact
how
group
roles
play
out.
This
is
one
area
that
merits
further
investigation.
Implications
for
Further
Research
on
Roles
NPO
Branding
In
this
chapter,
I
have
tried
to
illustrate
how
roles,
and
coordination
in
particular,
impacts
community
initiative
public
naming.
For
these
community
initiatives,
public
naming
(and
branding
in
particular)
involves
finding
and
using
models,
and
using
an
iterative
process
that
works
toward
community
sustainability.
While
these
cases
may
not
account
for
all
instances
of
NPO
and
community
initiative
branding,
the
differences
between
these
organizations
and
approaches
provides
a
good
snapshot
of
the
diversity
of
strategies
that
may
be
used
to
brand.
This
snapshot
differs
from
“how
to”
models
created
by
NPO
marketing
firms
and
journals
that
do
not
draw
upon
specific
cases.
What
my
case
studies
of
OMA
and
WCGL
illustrate
is
where
advertising
models
in
both
the
business
and
nonprofit
realms
typically
fall
short:
branding
evolves
over
time,
but
not
always
reliably
for
community
initiatives.
For,
unlike
businesses
and
corporations
that
can
spend
much
money,
time,
and
staff
to
ensure
their
brand
is
always
crisp,
community
initiatives
might
settle
for
what
works
(as
long
as
it
does
work).
Community
initiatives
advertising
and
identity
creation
is
an
intensive
endeavor,
which
means
that
community
initiatives
must
reconsider
and
redesign
organizational
identity
using
the
available
means
of
persuasion
to
do
so
(which
usually
means
using
the
latest
technologies
and
the
designs
they
can
afford).
Community
initiative
advertising
is
always
dependent
on
ongoing
assessment
of
public
rhetoric
in
local
communities,
which
is
often
conducted
by
or
in
consultation
with
97
coordinators.
Coordinators
may
consider
themselves
to
be
visionaries;
as
experts;
or
as
facilitators.
These
roles
may
be
influenced
by
personal
ideology,
professional
expectations,
and
simply
by
the
needs
of
the
given
situation.
Regardless
of
these
tendencies,
coordinators
are
charged
with
paying
attention
to
the
needs
of
stakeholders,
and
aiming
for
organizational
sustainability—especially
through
branding.
To
even
begin
advertising
or
engaging
in
public
naming
practices
successfully,
rhetors
must
be
aware
of
circulating
topics
in
their
community
and
beyond
and
how
they
are
named.
In
the
next
chapter,
I
will
discuss
which
topics
were
discussed
on
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
were
also
discussed
on
other
Lansing
local
media
sites,
as
well
as
the
different
kinds
of
strategies
writers
used
to
define
them.
I
will
also
discuss
how
OMA
and
the
WCGL
are
a
part
of
and
contribute
to
larger
conversations
in
the
Lansing
area.
98
CHAPTER
5:
REDEFINITION
AND
THE
PUBLIC
SPHERE:
TOPICS
ON
LOCAL
MEDIA
SITES
Roles
set
the
stage
for
which
topics
are
used
when
rhetors
become
local
publics.
As
I
demonstrated
in
the
“models”
section
in
Chapter
4,
rhetors
use
PNAs
in
response
to
other
PNAs.
This
is
a
function
of
historical
conditions,
influenced
by
access
to
local
public
rhetoric
and
the
moment
of
access.
When
rhetors
access
topics
that
they
later
use
in
their
PNAs,
they
may
be
using
or
creating
topics
that
are
of
interest
to
local
publics.
As
Kennedy
asserts,
“A
[rhetor]
can
also
use
[generic]
topics,
many
of
which
became
traditional,
to
gain
the
trust
or
interest
of
an
audience.”
(5).
Publics
trust
topics,
or
topoi,
which
therefore
can
be
used
to
open
“lines
of
persuasion
that
can
be
used
in
a
particular
discourse
situation,”
(Welch
170).
Because
of
repetition,
kopoi
topoi
(common
topics)
can
lose
potential
for
original
invention,
but
are
highly
retrievable
(113).
How
“common”
topics
are
depend
on
the
situation
in
which
a
rhetor
finds
him-‐
or
herself.
Topics
can
become
“common”
through
repetition
over
time.
Chronos,
in
combination
with
other
factors
such
as
access
and
ideology,
impact
which
topics
become
common.
Although
intentional
mimesis
has
been
associated
with
pedagogical
exercises
with
no
bearing
on
the
public
sphere,
mimesis
is
also
a
useful,
habitual
activity
that
makes
public
debates
and
discussions
possible.73
Through
using
the
same
words
and
phrases,
73
Imitatio,
another
name
for
mimesis
is
significant
to
the
history
and
the
contemporary
practice
of
rhetorical
training.
David
Fleming
and
James
Porter
note
that
imitatio
is
indispensible
to
the
training
of
writers.
This
chapter
extends
their
argument
about
imitatio
beyond
the
classroom,
and
extends
discussions
about
“reuse”
of
writing
in
professional
and
civic
contexts.
99
local
publics
can
express
consensus
and
dissensus
about
topics
of
shared
concern.
Mimesis
is
mundane,
yet
allows
for
interesting
opportunities
in
local
public
spheres.
Community
initiatives
use
topics
in
strategic,
but
not
always
scripted
ways.
Rhetors
on
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
have
their
motives
for
writing,
for
acting
on
these
websites—
which
may
or
may
not
have
to
do
with
ongoing
conversations
in
the
local
Lansing
area.
Online
Sites
for
Local
Public
Rhetoric
Official
News
Sites
Local
Newspapers
Local
TV
Local
Radio
Local
Magazines
Local
government
websites
Student
Newspapers
Social
Media
Facebook
Groups
Twitter
(Organization
Users;
Individual
Users)
Live
Journal
Groups
Citizen
Media
Citizen
news
websites
Group
blogs
Individual
blogs
Table
5:
Online
sites
for
local
public
rhetoric
However,
what
they
write
and
how
they
frame
their
writing
matters:
their
writing
reaffirms,
adds
to,
and
challenges
old
ideas
and
practices,
sometimes
adding
something
entirely
new.
These
categories
are
not
solid,
but
pourous
and
instructive.
Rhetors
can
use
these
categories
to
measure
the
usefulness
of
contributions
of
PNPs
to
local
community
public
rhetoric
in
the
Lansing
area
and
beyond.
100
Affirming
Local
Public
Rhetoric
Rhetors
use
affirmation
as
one
method
of
defining
a
topic.
Through
affirmation,
rhetors
reaffirm
norms:
they
are
supported
through
the
use
of
similar
conclusions,
even
if
the
data
changes—based
on
time,
but
usually
not
substance.
In
fact,
norms
are
produced
through
repetition.74
However,
affirmation
need
not
be
negative:
some
norms
are
not
negative,
but
are
instead
positive.75
As
I
will
explain
in
this
section,
there
are
several
ways
that
community
initiatives
like
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
and
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
project
can
and
do
affirm
existing
norms
in
local
communities,
the
non-‐profit
sector,
and
in
professional
settings.
Collectively,
WCGL
and
OMA
use
repetitive
methods
and
techniques
to
establish
their
own
credibility
and
common
ground
with
those
in
local
Lansing,
MI
area.
Credentials
as
Affirmation
The
WCGL
view
credentials
as
a
community
norm;
this
is
key
to
their
identity
as
an
organization.76
Like
any
bricks-‐and-‐mortar
direct
service
organization,
they
value
client
trust
and
confidentiality
One
of
the
primary
ways
that
they
build
that
trust
with
clients
is
by
advertising
expertise
of
those
staff,
interns,
and
volunteers
who
are
trained
in
social
work
and
psychology.
Stakeholders
can
find
and
read
announcements
in
the
WCGL
newsletters
when
a
staff
member,
board
member,
intern,
or
volunteer
starts
working
with
74
Affirming
local
public
rhetoric,
as
I
describe
it,
is
a
way
of
asynchronously
assenting
to
another
rhetor’s
ideas
and
practices.
75
For
example,
it
is
a
community
norm
in
the
Lansing
area
for
community
initiatives
and
rhetors
to
entrust
umbrella
organizations
like
the
Capital
Area
United
Way
and
the
Capital
Region
Community
Foundation
with
general
funding
or
earmarked
funding
to
distribute
to
Lansing
area
direct
service
non-‐profit
organizations.
76
Credentials
are
recognized
professional
degrees
or
licenses.
101
the
WCGL.
These
announcements
often
take
the
form
of
biographies
that
list
educational
degrees
and
training,
and
have
some
personal
information
that
may
or
may
not
be
relevant
to
the
position.77
Of
course,
stakeholders’
past
relevant
experiences
constitute
different
kinds
of
credentials,
which
may
have
different
values
to
different
stakeholders
at
WCGL.
Nevertheless,
the
WCGL
use
credentials
as
a
way
of
functioning
as
an
organization.
Pragmatically,
the
WCGL
uses
credentials
to
function
in
a
few
important
ways.
In
the
long
term,
the
WCGL
writers
use
credentials
for
argument-‐building
in
documents
like
letters
of
intent,
grant
proposals,
brochures,
and
the
website.
In
the
short
term,
the
WCGL
uses
credentials
to
meet
the
needs
of
clients
with
assuredness
of
certain
levels
of
training,
and
accountability.
The
WCGL
interns
may
not
have
bachelor’s
degrees
or
master’s
degrees
yet,
but
their
performance
and
professional
futures
are
at
stake
when
they
complete
their
internship.
The
WCGL
knowledge
of
interns
and
their
training,
and
knowledge
of
the
kinds
of
training
that
their
counselors
have
received
is
assurance
of
a
certain
level
of
quality
that
is
necessary
for
future
stakeholders
when
they
are
assessing
their
role
in
the
WCGL.
Credentials
also
play
an
important
role
on
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
public
deliberation
website.
While
degrees
were
not
listed
and
experiences
were
not
enumerated
on
the
website,
educational
status
and
professional
credentials
still
appear
and
influence
the
website.
On
the
homepage
at
the
top
of
the
page,
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website
is
proudly
listed
as
a
product
of
collaboration
between
Michigan
State
University
(MSU)
and
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
Improvement
Authority
(MACIA).
This
information
is
somewhat
misleading,
given
the
fact
that
user-‐research
with
local
community
members
in
77
Credentials
are
important
to
all
potential
WCGL
current
or
potential
stakeholders,
while
personal
information
may
be
more
important
to
WCGL
staff
and
interns
who
may
have
personal,
face-‐to-‐face
interactions
with
new
clients
and
donors.
102
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
(residents,
small
business
owners,
community
leaders,
and
students)
was
a
central
component
of
the
process
of
building
the
website.
However,
these
institutionalized
initiatives
also
provided
stability
to
the
initiative:
because
this
project
is
supported
by
a
major
university
and
a
local
government
collaborative,
community
members
may
believe
this
project
will
likely
be
continually
funded
and
is
likely
run
by
professionals.78
However,
it
is
also
clear
from
the
“About”
page
that
this
project
had
been
influenced
by
students.
TC
491
student
names
are
listed,
and
they
are
associated
with
MSU
Telecommunications
(although
some
students
are
actually
professional
writing
majors
and
are
not
associated
with
telecommunication).
The
OMA
website
lacks
a
history
of
its
creation,
as
well
as
acknowledgement
of
community
stakeholders
who
were
involved
in
user-‐testing.
Additionally,
the
OMA
website
does
not
acknowledge
all
of
the
students
who
contributed
to
its
creation.
Students
from
Advanced
Technical
Writing,
the
Evolution
of
American
Thought,
and
Digital
Rhetoric
and
Writing
have
contributed
technical
aspects
and
writing,
and
in
some
cases
attribute
partial
or
full
names
to
posts.
This
is
most
likely
because
while
this
project
was
spearheaded
by
an
MSU-‐MACIA
collaboration,
the
intended
users
were
community
members—and
the
creators
of
the
site
did
not
want
to
underscore
their
own
involvement
(as
a
means
of
encouraging
Lansing
community
members
to
take
ownership
of
the
website).
TheOMA
website
project
was
originally
intended
for
78
Without
his
expertise
in
working
with
Ruby
on
Rails
or
creating
functional
web
2.0
websites,
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website
would
not
be
even
materially
possible
or
likely
as
a
purely
volunteer
project.
103
community-‐government
relations,
and
student
involvement
was
to
be
minimal
compared
to
eventual
community
member
involvement.
Roles
as
Affirmation
On
both
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites,
writers
connect
credentials
to
roles
that
were
adopted
by
members
of
each
community
respective
community
initiative.
However,
the
WCGL
had
much
more
control
of
role
adoption
than
OMA.
The
WCGL
used
face-‐to-‐face
interviews
with
some
documentation
(such
as
resumes,
letters
of
application,
and
application
forms)
to
vet
role
assignments.
While
the
WCGL
clients
are
accepted
without
heavy
vetting,
WCGL
staff,
board
members,
interns,
and
volunteers
have
a
more
rigorous
vetting
process
and
training
process.
Also,
while
the
WCGL
clients
do
not
have
to
commit
to
even
one
whole
session
of
counseling
or
a
group
to
be
considered
clients,
the
aforementioned
the
WCGL
volunteers
do
make
formal
commitments
of
time
and
specified
effort
to
WCGL.
When
these
volunteers
do
not
perform,
they
may
lose
their
position.
This
process
may
be
invisible
in
advertising,
but
the
process
of
making
initial
commitment
and
of
ending
commitment
is
often
highly
visible
in
the
newsletter.
The
OMA
website
project
does
not
foreground
past
roles
as
much
as
present
roles.
On
the
OMA
website,
present
roles
are
foregrounded:
one
could
act
immediately!
On
the
homepage,
there
are
clear
actions
to
take:
create
a
story,
propose
an
improvement
idea,
map
an
opinion.
As
potential
users
quickly
discover,
they
need
to
register
with
the
site
to
do
more
than
just
read
what
other
users
have
posted.
They
need
to
create
a
user
name
and
password
to
register
with
the
site,
They
learn
the
code
of
ethics
for
the
site
on
the
“About”
page,
and
learn
they
can
monitor
other
users
by
“reporting
abuse.”
But
they
also
learn
that
they
could
interact
with
fellow
users
in
positive
ways,
too.
They
could
vote
for
another
104
user’s
improvement
idea.
They
could
reply
to
other
users’
posts
of
all
kinds.
They
could
upload
and
tag
pictures.
And,
thanks
to
efforts
from
involved
students
to
populate
the
site,
they
could
see
many
models
for
how
to
do
this.
However,
these
models
had
inspired
more
student
posts,
but
had
not
largely
inspired
regular
or
large
community
member
participation
on
the
website.
While
it
is
obvious
that
“Our
Stories”
are
interviews
of
community
members,
it
was
not
apparent
to
someone
outside
of
the
local
area
that
most
of
the
website
users
are
past
students
of
Dr.
John
Monberg’s.
Without
knowing
the
context
of
this
class,
or
trying
to
use
the
MSU
directory
to
discover
whether
or
not
OMA
display
names
correspond
to
the
names
of
current
MSU
students,
readers
or
possible
users
may
not
know
that
many
users
have
been
students.
If
they
pay
attention
to
the
times
in
which
posts
most
frequently
occur
(during
Fall
and
Spring
semesters
and
almost
always
on
the
same
dates)
or
the
objective
tone
of
some
posts,
they
may
be
able
to
figure
this
out.
This
objective
tone
is
very
different
than
the
heavy
online
debates
that
Dr.
Monberg
saw
in
response
to
online
news
articles
prior
to
launching
the
OMA
site.
Ideas
as
Affirmation
Frequently,
writers
on
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
use
commonly
held
beliefs
as
a
basis
for
making
their
own
arguments.
“Obesity
as
epidemic”
and
“economy
as
depressed”
are
two
acts
of
affirmation
that
demonstrate
how
this
happens.
“Obesity
as
epidemic”
is
an
affirming
naming
act
that
is
used
as
support
for
a
poster’s
solution
on
the
OMA
website.
In
the
article
“Corridor
Prosperity”
by
Sarah
Villareal,
it
appears
only
as
a
picture
of
a
man’s
belly
with
measuring
tape
paired
with
the
caption:
“Obesity
is
a
major
issue.”
While
the
writer’s
goal
is
“decreasing
obesity,”
they
focus
their
article
on
prescribing
walkability
as
a
105
desirable
alternative
to
driving
on
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.
This
article
constitutes
the
extent
of
discussion
on
OMA
about
obesity,
but
much
can
be
found
about
obesity
in
local
Lansing
news
archives.
While
some
focus
is
on
the
origins
and
extent
of
obesity
in
the
local
Lansing
news
archives,
more
of
an
emphasis
is
placed
on
solutions
in
local
Lansing
public
rhetoric.
Instead,
local
media
features
local
events
like
“Stroll
East
Lansing”
and
programs
like
MSU
Foodcorps
(which
aims
to
change
the
kind
of
food
available
for
K-‐12
children
in
school
cafeterias).
Although
there
is
no
consensus
about
absolute
solutions
to
obesity,
there
does
not
appear
to
be
heavy
debate
within
articles
about
validity
of
solutions
as
there
is
in
local
articles
about
the
economy.
Each
Lansing
local
media
site,
including
the
WCGL
website,
has
a
different
perspective
to
offer
about
the
economy.
As
I
described
before,
C.
Leslie
Charles’
article
about
“Crisis
or
Challenge”
focused
on
defining
a
different
kind
of
solution
to
economic
crisis:
compassion
and
grassroots
and
action
(a
la
becoming
involved
in
efforts
like
the
WCGL).
Although
her
solution
is
new,
her
timing
and
her
description
of
the
severity
of
crisis
matches
that
of
the
local
news
media:
the
crisis
is
urgent,
and
we
need
to
act
now.
During
the
same
time,
alternative
solutions
were
posed
to
the
same
issue.
Jeremy
W.
Steele,
of
the
Lansing
State
Journal,
posed
Obama
as
a
solution
to
stopping
financial
fallback
in
the
private
sector:
his
argument
is
that
as
president,
Obama’s
plan
could
potentially
stall
foreclosures.
Alternatively,
Rob
Brezny,
of
the
City
Pulse,
believed
that
intervention
in
the
public
sector
could
be
more
valuable:
military
spending,
he
claimed,
was
obscene
and
the
money
could
be
directed
instead
to
needed
social
services.
Although
Jeremy
and
Rob
believe
more
in
institutions
than
Leslie,
ultimately
they
all
agree
that
the
economy
is
in
106
crisis
during
and
right
after
Fall
2008
and
needs
intervention.
Leslie’s
agreement
with
local
rhetoric
in
which
Jeremy
and
Rob
participate
is
not
explicit,
but
does
share
common
ground
with
other
writers—a
necessary
move
for
building
her
own
recommendations
for
dealing
with
the
economic
crisis.
Implications
and
Complications
Affirming
local
public
rhetoric
is
necessary
for
local
community
organizations
and
initiatives.
It
helps
to
create
stasis:
the
conditions
under
which
local
communities
can
agree
to
talk
about
the
same
issues,
and
sometimes
reach
the
same
conclusions.
But
it
also
indirectly
points
to
the
insider
status
of
those
who
constitute
the
staff
and
volunteers
of
community
initiatives:
often,
these
are
the
communities
they
live
in
and
the
communities
in
which
they
come
from.
They
are
shaped
by
ideas
and
practices
valued
by
these
communities,
and
are
not
always
looking
to
change
them.
This
does
not
always
mean
that
they
are
not
aware
of
the
limitations
of
these
ideas
and
practices,
but
sometimes
that
they
simply
agree
with
them.
But
affirming
local
public
rhetoric
does
not
always
mean
complete
agreement
about
every
detail
of
an
idea
or
practice.
For
example,
Leslie’s
agreement
about
economic
crisis
did
not
ensure
that
she
shared
Rob
or
Jeremy’s
view
that
big
government
was
the
solution
to
that
crisis.
This
specific
instance
demonstrates
that
affirming
local
public
rhetoric
is
not
simply
about
accepting
norms
or
trends
completely,
but
simply
about
coming
to
one
moment
of
consensus.
Another
moment
may
be
addition
of
a
solution,
or
a
challenging
of
another
norm.
Leslie’s
new
solution
to
the
crisis
is
finding
empathy
for
others,
and
being
107
grateful
for
one’s
position;
this
challenges
Rob
and
Jeremy’s
view
that
the
responsibility
belongs
to
national
government
to
resolve
the
economic
crisis.
Another
complication
of
affirming
local
public
rhetoric
is
that
it
does
not
always
have
to
do
with
existing
norms.
New
norms
can
be
created
very
rapidly
by
extensive
repetition
of
neologisms,
or
new
terms
for
the
local
community
(although
those
terms
may
not
be
new
to
other
communities).
I
was
surprised
to
find
that
urban
terms
that
I
initially
thought
would
be
exclusive
to
OMA,
and
perhaps
found
in
Capital
Gains
magazine
(a
local
city
planning
magazine)
were
much
more
extensively
explained
and
applied
in
local
news
media.
“Smart
zones,”
“complete
streets,”
and
“brownfields”
all
had
a
huge
local
media
presence
in
the
Lansing
area,
but
part
of
that
can
be
attributed
to
public
policy.
In
some
of
the
articles
that
I
found
about
all
three
of
these
terms,
there
was
some
mention
of
public
policy
that
included
these
terms.
Because
of
the
efforts
of
reporters
to
explain
what
new
municipal
measures
had
passed,
these
terms
gained
quick
importance.
Whether
or
not
these
terms
are
used
by
ordinary
residence
in
everyday
life
or
even
political
discussions
about
Lansing
are
another
matter.
Adding
to
Local
Community
Public
Rhetoric
Another
way
that
rhetors
define
a
topic
is
through
addition.
When
I
say
“addition,”
I
mean
that
new
ideas
and
structures
are
added
to
local
communities
that
do
not
overtly
challenge
old
ideas
and
structures
but
mostly
expand
upon
them.
There
is
a
new
organization,
but
it
is
recognizable.
There
are
new
stories
told,
but
these
stories
are
mostly
in
line
with
what
stories
have
been
told
before.
While
these
writers
may
seek
to
add
to
and
challenge
what
has
happened
before,
the
framing
is
non-‐confrontational.
108
Missing
Histories
As
I
mentioned
in
chapter
3,
one
substantial
contribution
of
the
articles
on
WCGL
and
OMA
making
known
community
histories
or
events
that
may
not
be
widely
known
about
or
acknowledged
elsewhere.
Women’s
Equality
Day
was
an
event
that
was
not
publicized
beyond
the
WCGL
newsletter.
In
the
August
2007
WCGL
newsletter,
Women’s
Equality
Day
is
the
first
featured
article
on
page
1.
Through
the
article,
readers
learn
that
“the
date
[August
26]
was
selected
to
commemorate
the
1920
passage
of
the
19th
amendment
to
the
Constitution,
granting
women
the
right
to
vote.”
Like
the
Lansing
State
Journal
(LSJ)
article
that
reports
on
the
event,
the
article
also
highlights
specific
women
who
are
featured
guests:
Diane
Madsen,
who
runs
an
organization
to
end
discrimination
against
female
high
school
athletes,
for
example.
What
the
LSJ
article
does
that
the
WCGL
article
does
not
do
is
include
interview
responses
to
the
festivities
of
the
day.
For
example,
Girl
Scout
Laura
Hoesl
discusses
not
taking
the
right
to
vote
for
granted
once
she
gains
the
opportunity.
However,
there
are
connections
between
both
the
LSJ
and
the
WCGL
with
the
event.
Shala
Cole,
a
WCGL
intern
at
the
time,
talks
about
Women’s
Suffrage
and
the
celebration
of
it
as
a
“stepping
stone”
into
future
possibilities
for
women.
While
there
is
much
overlap
between
the
information
about
the
significance
of
the
event
and
the
kinds
of
activities
possible,
the
archiving
of
the
article
on
the
WCGL
website
is
the
only
public
record.
LSJ
charges
for
their
full
text
article
covering
the
event,
although
the
information
about
what
the
significance
of
Women’s
Equality
Day
is
still
publicly
available
as
an
abstract.
Although
the
history
of
how
this
event
occurred
in
Lansing
is
archived,
very
little
of
it
remains
on
the
public
record.
109
Community
activists
in
Lansing
also
are
part
of
the
missing
community
history
on
the
public
record.
While
prominent
non-‐profit
directors
like
Joan
Nelson
from
the
Allen
Neighborhood
Center
(ANC)
are
frequently
featured
in
local
media
to
give
opinions,
some
simply
are
featured
because
of
their
positions.
Rick
Kibby
is
an
example
of
a
long-‐term
community
leader
not
highlighted
extensively
by
local
media.
While
the
ANC
video
on
the
website
features
him
as
a
key
informant
about
the
history
of
the
ANC,
most
local
media
simply
report
his
positions
(City
of
Lansing
representative,
director
of
the
Lansing
Eastside
Commercial
Development
Corporation)
and
not
his
personal
opinions
or
story.
From
his
story
on
the
OMA
website,
readers
learned
that
he
has
been
a
citizen
in
the
area
since
1972
and
that
he
was
dedicated
to
doing
needed
community
work
to
make
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
thrive
(and
isn’t
a
fan
of
red
tape).
Although
readers
did
not
learn
what
this
means,
the
article
also
points
to
his
work
as
a
community
archivist.
While
this
account
of
Rick’s
history
is
rather
thin,
it
was
a
first
attempt
to
tell
Rick’s
individual
story
to
the
community
and
recognize
his
long-‐term
dedication
to
Lansing’s
Eastside.
But
stories
of
community
activists,
like
Rick,
do
not
constitute
all
of
the
missing
histories
on
public
record.
Community
organizations,
unlike
WCGL
and
OMA,
may
have
little
to
no
representation
on
the
Internet.
On
the
“Our
Stories”
section
of
the
OMA
website,
the
Association
for
the
Bingham
Community
(ABC),
a
local
neighborhood
organization,
is
featured.
The
ABC
does
not
have
their
own
website,
and
ABC
has
contact
information
on
the
ANC
and
LSJ
websites.
From
the
OMA
article,
readers
learn
that
the
organization
hosts
“Neighborhood
Night
Out”
and
combats
illicit
and
illegal
activities
like
prostitution
in
conjunction
with
the
Lansing
Police
Department.
Most
notably,
the
ABC
through
long
time
110
active
members
like
Denise
Kelly,
are
invested
in
“changing
perceptions
of
the
neighborhood,”
transforming
it
into
a
community.
The
ABC
has
not
been
a
beneficiary
of
the
Capital
Compassion
Fund
Grant,
through
which
they
could
have
their
website
designed
by
an
organization
like
the
Capital
Area
Community
Media
Center
(CACMC).
The
OMA
website
was
the
only
way
in
which
their
story
is
told
online.
Currently,
they
do
not
have
their
own
web
presence.
New
Activities
In
addition
to
providing
missing
histories,
both
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
advertise
activities
for
community
members
to
participate
in.
The
WCGL
provides
many
face-‐to-‐face
events
that
create
a
positive
sense
of
community
in
the
Lansing
area.
For
example,
many
of
their
fundraisers
not
only
support
their
operations
and
client
services,
but
also
support
womens’
well-‐being
in
the
Lansing
area.
“Walk/Run/Roll”
is
their
annual
competitive
race
that
they
havve
created,
which
allows
women
do
a
5K
and
compete
for
medals.
While
it
may
not
be
the
only
race
for
charity
in
the
area,
it
is
the
only
women’s
race
of
its
kind.
Another
substantial,
unique
fundraising
event
that
the
WCGL
sponsors
is
“She
Laughs,”
a
comedy
night
featuring
local
female
comics.
Both
of
these
opportunities
not
only
bring
women
together,
but
also
focus
on
creating
wellness
and
a
sense
of
community—an
extension
of
the
Center
itself.
While
the
WCGL
offers
unique
face-‐to-‐face
events
and
activities,
OMA
offered
unique
digital
opportunities
for
residents.
Although
city
governments
are
increasingly
going
digital,
they
still
do
not
offer
many
interactive
digital
activities
for
citizens
to
communicate
with
them
about
their
needs
and
ideas.
And
while
citizens
do
participate
in
online
forums
about
local
government,
this
usually
comes
in
the
form
of
comments
or
voting
on
official
or
111
unofficial
online
news
forums.
OMA
offers
the
same
kinds
of
opportunities
for
anonymity,
commenting,
and
voting,
but
also
presents
the
opportunity
for
the
presentation
of
new
stories
and
new
ideas.
Although
other
websites
that
are
community-‐oriented
allow
for
tagging
and
commenting,
no
other
citizen
website
that
I
have
encountered
allows
for
the
same
kinds
of
possibilities
for
affecting
public
policy,
or
for
relatively
free
expression
of
ideas.
New
Ideas
Not
surprisingly,
the
WCGL
and
OMA
websites
present
opportunities
for
new
ideas
to
be
shared
with
the
local
Lansing
area.
One
of
these
new
ideas
is
presented
by
former
intern
Barb
Dawson,
in
her
article
“Mentoring:
A
Bridge
Out
of
Poverty.”
Her
article
is
essentially
a
distillation
and
review
of
Ruby
Payne’s
book
Bridges
Out
of
Poverty.
In
particular,
she
underscores
the
reason
why
mentoring
is
a
useful
tool
for
those
in
poverty:
it
allows
middle
class
culture
to
be
taught
to
those
who
are
part
of
the
working
poor.
While
many
local
news
stations
talk
about
poverty
as
a
growing
issue
because
of
skyrocketing
unemployment
(around
25%),
very
few
focus
on
long
term
solutions
that
address
systemic
cultural
problems
like
social
class
disparities.
Another
concept
that
Lansing
residents
may
not
be
familiar
with
is
“new
urbanism.”
The
term
“new
urbanism”
does
appear
in
the
Capital
Gains
article
“Lansing
Gets
Green
with
Grand
Rapids,”
but
is
only
defined
as
“smart
[municipal]
growth”
when
it
is
referenced.
The
OMA
website
did
not
have
an
explicit
definition,
but
had
an
article
called
“New
Urbanism”
through
which
many
new
inferences
could
be
made.
For
example,
author
Sean
Thomas
identified
his
group
as
responsible
for
the
following:
“improving
streetscape
and
landscape
features
an
order
to
identify
and
distinguish
the
corridor
as
a
destination,
encourage
112
pedestrian
circulation,
and
support
a
vibrant
urban
experience.”
This
was
as
abstract
as
his
article
became:
during
the
rest
of
his
article,
he
talked
about
particular
solution
ideas
(specifically
curbside
recycling
bins
and
trolleys).
He
introduced
new
urbanism,
and
discusses
advantages
to
the
movement:
the
concrete
benefit
to
the
local
environment,
and
the
change
to
citizen
“consciousness.”
From
his
first
paragraph,
he
writes
a
rich
definition
of
new
urbanism
appears
to
involve
both
new
attitudes
tied
to
new
methods
of
addressing
communal
issues.
Another
idea
that
he
presents
about
is
rain
gardens.
On
the
OMA
website,
rain
gardens
are
listed
as
a
proposed
idea
for
the
Lansing
area.
However,
this
idea
was
accepted
long
before
it
was
proposed
on
the
OMA
website
in
Spring
2008.
In
the
local
media,
Capital
Gains
excerpts
from
a
LSJ
article
that
is
no
longer
public.
As
per
usual,
Capital
Gains
presents
a
definition
of
rain
gardens
and
their
function
that
is
translatable
for
a
lay
audience:
Rain
gardens
provide
a
natural
way
to
manage
storm
run-‐off.
By
using
strategic
planting
of
indigenous
plants,
the
gardens
collect
the
storm
water
and
naturally
reduce
pollution.
Water
that
feeds
the
plants
doesn't
end
up
flooding
streets
or
over-‐
flowing
storm
sewers.
And
when
those
overflows
are
prevented,
the
region's
rivers
and
waterways
stay
cleaner.
In
addition,
the
city
of
Lansing
updates
the
story
of
the
2007
addition
of
these
rain
gardens
to
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
by
sharing
news
of
their
selection
for
an
EPA
study
on
the
impact
of
these
rain
gardens
on
urban
cities.
While
the
rain
gardens
proposal
is
not
new,
it
is
obscure
information
presented
about
rain
gardens
in
the
Lansing
media.
It
is
yet
another
portal
to
access
information
about
rain
gardens
that
may
inform
them
more
about
their
113
significance—especially
if
funding
for
renewal
of
these
rain
gardens
is
brought
into
local
discussions
in
a
few
years
down
the
road.
Implications
and
Complications
While
I
wish
to
highlight
what
both
WCGL
and
OMA
offer
to
the
Lansing
community
via
their
websites,
I
do
not
wish
to
overstate
their
additions.
For
example,
just
because
new
information
about
community
histories
is
available
on
these
websites
does
not
mean
they
are
comprehensive,
nor
does
it
mean
that
more
extensive
information
is
not
available
in
verbal
circulation
in
the
local
community.
In
addition,
new
programs
and
events
are
based
on
old
ideas:
races
for
charities,
user-‐centered
web
2.0
technologies,
and
comedy
nights
are
not
new.
What
makes
these
structures
new
are
their
specific
features,
and
the
ways
in
which
they
are
being
used.
Finally,
while
mentoring
out
of
poverty,
new
urbanism
and
rain
gardens
may
be
new
ideas
for
the
Lansing
community,
they
were
not
started
here—not
by
these
community
initiatives.
Rather,
they
were
put
into
circulation
here.
New,
used
in
this
context,
means
not
the
norm,
not
abundant,
and
recently
put
into
circulation.
New
can
also
mean,
however,
renaming
existing
ideas
and
practices.79
For
example,
the
term
“wayfinding”
refers
to
the
use
of
signage
in
a
city
to
help
pedestrians
navigate
streets
and
find
their
intended
destinations.
However,
it
is
only
used
in
the
title
of
a
LSJ
article
about
new
LCC
signs
in
the
local
media.
In
contrast,
“Complete
Streets”
is
a
much
more
abundant
term
that
describes
roads
that
are
friendly
and
wide
enough
for
both
those
who
ride
bikes
and
those
who
drive
motor
vehicles.
“Complete
Streets”
is
simply
more
widely
found
on
local
media
sites
than
“wayfinding”
because
of
public
policy
initiatives
in
79
Renaming
involves
rhetors
providing
a
different,
unfamiliar
name
to
describe
something
with
which
their
audience
is
already
familiar.
114
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor,
and
conversations
that
were
started
in
the
early
2000s
about
going
green
and
making
streets
more
friendly
for
those
who
wanted
to
bike
for
recreation
and
transportation.
Regardless,
both
of
these
terms
are
specialized—they
are
used
in
city
planning
discourse,
but
are
used
to
describe
concrete
objects
that
ordinary
people
encounter
every
day.
These
instances
illustrate
that
additions
are
not
really
removed
from
everyday
life,
but
often
just
involve
different
perspectives
and
slightly
different
methods
of
dealing
with
ordinary
issues.
Challenging
Local
Public
Rhetoric
The
final
way
for
rhetors
to
define
a
topic
is
through
challenging
existing
norms
and
practices.80
This
is
more
rare
on
community
initiative
sites,
particularly
those
that
are
not
overtly
framed
as
“activist”
in
operation.
These
challenges
exist
on
a
spectrum
from
mostly
covert
to
clearly
overt,
but
are
recognized
usually
because
of
insider
status
in
a
community
and
not
from
official
news
publications.
Challenges
may
take
the
form
of
calls
for
action,
critique,
investigation,
or
a
rethinking
of
assumptions.
Challenging
Initiatives
The
WCGL,
as
an
organization
that
provides
employment
services,
challenges
existing
structures
that
have
a
similar
function.
One
of
the
ways
in
which
they
challenge
existing
organizations
is
through
“Success
Stories”
of
former
clients,
who
are
more
often
than
not
“graduates”
of
the
Job
Seekers
group.
Shirley
English
is
a
former
client
who
describes
her
first
experience
with
unemployment
and
how
she
succeeded
in
becoming
80
Challenging
local
public
rhetoric,
as
I
describe
it,
is
a
way
of
asynchronously
dissenting
in
response
another
rhetor’s
ideas
and
practices.
115
employed
with
help
from
the
WCGL
(see
here
for
the
full
story:
http://www.womenscenterofgreaterlansing.org/success/shirley.html).
What
makes
her
story
compelling
is
the
way
in
which
she
contrasts
the
WCGL
(and
in
part,
the
ANC)
with
the
aid
she
was
receiving
from
the
“Unemployment
Agency.”
Although
she
never
says
this
explicitly,
she
strongly
implies
that
community
organizations
were
more
helpful
to
her
than
more
established
organizations
in
the
area.
Local
news
media,
interestingly
enough,
do
not
provide
press
on
government
and
private
agencies
(although
this
information
is
available
on
municipal
websites
and
the
State
of
Michigan
website).
However,
local
media
sites
contribute
to
the
conversation
about
unemployment
by
highlighting
new
solutions
(like
the
new
interactive
database
called
the
“Job
and
Career
Accelerator”)
and
by
including
job
advertisements
online
and
in
print
(e.g.,
http://www.capitalgainsmedia.com/jobs/).
While
different
organizations
provide
different
solutions,
what
makes
WCGL
really
challenge
existing
institutions
in
terms
of
its
use
of
rhetoric
is
client
testimonials—which
cannot
be
found
on
local
media,
government,
or
private
organization
websites
or
in
marketing
materials
in
the
Lansing
area.
On
the
OMA
website,
contributor
Becca
Ebner
challenged
the
notion
that
Michigan
manufacturing
may
be
dead.
Claiming
that
the
Lansing
region
is
prepared
for
changes
in
manufacturing
as
one
of
the
central
cities
for
automobile
manufacturing,
Becca
argued
that
Lansing
could
retool
itself
for
alternative
energy
manufacturing.
She
was
not
the
only
person
in
the
Lansing
area
thinking
along
those
lines.
When
she
wrote
her
post
on
March
30,
2009,
incidents
like
the
auto
layoffs
of
2005
and
the
Fall
2008
financial
crisis
had
just
struck
and
had
skyrocketed
the
unemployment
rate.
While
groups
like
Michigan
Future
said
during
the
same
period
that
Michiganders
should
prepare
for
an
information
economy
116
and
not
place
emphasis
on
manufacturing,
local
news
like
WLAJ
claimed
that
U.S.
manufacturing
leads
the
world
with
profits
like
1.67
trillion
in
2007
making
“heavy
equipment
that
cannot
be
shipped”
abroad
and
circuits
that
are
a
part
of
many
high
tech
devices
that
we
use
on
a
daily
basis.
More
recently,
concrete
actions
have
occurred
in
Lansing
that
echo
Becca’s
call
for
manufacturing
opportunities.
Prima
Civitas,
a
local
non-‐profit
organization,
received
a
two
year
grant
in
2010
to
create
a
skills
alliance
to
expand
automobile
bio-‐manufacturing;
partnering
with
Michigan
Works!
and
Michigan
State
University,
they
expect
to
hire
an
executive
director
to
spearhead
this
endeavor.
In
addition,
MSU
recently
hosted
the
Michigan
Biomass
Waste
to
Energy
Summit
as
an
opportunity
for
researchers,
local
government
officials,
and
technology
professionals
to
discuss
what
kinds
of
research
and
technological
development
was
needed
to
make
important
decisions
about
financial
incentives
and
job
creation.
It
is
difficult
to
know
whether
or
not
Becca’s
post
was
considered
in
these
discussions,
but
it
is
clear
that
her
post
was
in
tune
with
emerging
conversations
that
contradicted
the
rhetoric
of
“death”
of
manufacturing
in
Michigan
that
had
been
prevalent
in
mid-‐Michigan
in
the
mid-‐2000s.
Implications
and
Complications
From
my
examples
above,
it
is
clear
that
challenging
definitions
need
not
be
aggressive.
Rhetors
need
not
name
existing
institutions
they
are
criticizing
(in
the
case
of
Shirley
English’s
remarks
about
the
unhelpfulness
of
the
“Unemployment
Agency.”)
Rhetors
also
need
not
cite
an
entire
history
before
explaining
their
solution.
Even
when
challenging
existing
ideas,
local
communities
do
have
understood
common
ground—
shared
rhetorics,
shared
histories.
But
community
initiatives,
especially
those
who
see
117
themselves
as
acting
on
behalf
of
them,
need
to
create
and
sustain
a
positive
ethos—which
often
means
not
engaging
in
criticisms
that
do
not
lead
to
solutions,
and
endeavoring
to
illustrate
their
own
place
and
worth
versus
criticizing
existing
institutions
(at
least
publically).
But
some
topics
are
so
controversial
that
rhetors
do
not
talk
about
them
in
highly
accessible
print
or
online
discussions.
These
topics
are
so
sensitive
that
they
are
difficult
to
triangulate;
they
highlight
the
reasons
why
only
examining
official
digital
and
print
documents
are
not
enough
to
trace
local
public
rhetoric
or
unveil
the
significance
of
certain
contributions.
From
my
knowledge
of
the
Lansing
area,
I
know
that
local
residents
do
not
always
view
students
in
a
positive
light.
Small
business
owners
miss
student
business
in
the
summers,
and
local
landlords
welcome
their
rent.
However,
institutions
like
MSU
and
the
city
of
East
Lansing
consistently
create
initiatives
to
teach
MSU
students
how
to
be
“good
neighbors”
(through
recycling
campaigns,
welcome
back
letters,
etc.).
These
attempts
are
positive
ones,
however.
Unfortunately,
some
neighborhoods
have
explicitly
refused
to
allow
student
housing
on
their
blocks.
To
permanent
residents,
students
are
transient
figures
that
are
not
committed
to
improving
the
area
or
even
participating
beyond
the
MSU
bubble.
The
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website
reveals
a
more
complex
portrait
of
MSU
students,
through
the
self-‐representations
and
interviews
with
MSU
students.
Ashley
B,
a
junior
at
the
time,
revealed
in
her
interview
with
lorirose39
that
she
wanted
“a
change
in
scenery”
on
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor—some
emerging
hotspots
(like
a
“Popeyes”
or
“Sonic”)
to
make
her
become
involved.
Like
Ashley
B,
rchampayne
was
also
a
transient
student
who
will
be
soon
be
gone,
but
for
different
reasons.
Unlike
Ashley
B,
rchampayne
was
a
local
118
Lansing
resident
who
had
worked
at
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor
hotspots
like
the
Green
Door.
Yet,
he
planned
to
move
away
for
college—for
the
purpose
of
diversifying
his
skills
and
knowledge,
and
bringing
that
back
to
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.
He
functioned
as
a
representative
of
someone
who
rejects
the
MSU
student
role
literally
(as
he
decides
not
to
pursue
it),
but
was
also
a
student
whose
ultimate
goal
is
to
become
a
permanent,
contributing
resident
of
the
Michigan
Avenue
Corridor.
But
even
as
rchampayne’s
story
acts
a
foil
for
Ashley
B’s,
and
it
does
not
present
the
story
of
an
engaged
MSU
student.
Lauren
Shumann
was
an
example
of
such
a
student.
She
was
involved
in
an
MSU
project
called
“Linking
Lansing
and
U,”
which
addresses
the
issue
of
MSU
student
engagement
in
Lansing
local
communities
beyond
the
MSU
campus.
The
organization
has
busses
to
take
up
to
500
MSU
students
to
different
kinds
of
cultural
events
and
restaurants
in
Lansing.
This
is
really
significant,
given
the
kinds
of
fears
that
students
have
about
the
city
of
Lansing—because
of
stories
of
prostitution
on
Kalamazoo
street,
or
the
comparisons
of
Lansing
to
the
city
of
Detroit
by
family
members.81
One
of
the
technical
writing
student
contributors
to
the
OMA
website,
Joseph
Morsello,
revealed
in
an
interview
that:
“I’ve
pretty
much
lived
in
the
bubble
of
East
Lansing.
I
was
really
ignorant
to
what
was
going
on
in
Lansing
[before
I
went
to
Old
Town
and
participated
in
John
Monberg’s
class].”
Johnelle
Chapman,
a
former
freshman
composition
student,
concurred
that
many
of
her
classmates
who
were
not
from
the
city
had
a
really
eye-‐opening
experience
because
of
John
Monberg’s
interactive
class:
…a
bunch
of
people
in
my
class,
they
had
never
even
taken
the
bus,
they
had
never
even
been
down
there
and
know
what
was
81
Quite
a
few
MSU
students
hail
from
the
Detroit
area.
119
going
on.
They
were
like
“Yeah,
[we]
were
right
there,”
but
they
had
been
on
a
tour.
They
didn’t
really
know
the
corridor,
or
what
has
been
going
on.
People
in
the
neighborhoods
there
like
know
what
has
been
going
on
because
they’ve
been
there
like
forever.
You
know
what
I
mean?
Instead
of
people
who
had
only
been
there
a
few
times.
Joseph
also
agreed
about
the
problem
of
student
stereotypes
regarding
the
city
of
Lansing,
but,
like
Lauren,
is
optimistic
about
the
possibilities
for
MSU
creating
programs
for
MSU
students
to
overcome
those
stereotypes:
I
think
the
there
needs
to
be
an
actual
dialogue
in
which
kids
are
put
into
the
area.
Not
forced,
or
anything.
But
having
more
incentive.
Because
for
me,
my
incentive
was…this
is
my
class,
this
is
my
grade.
As
students
who
have
overcome
not
only
stereotypes
they
have
held
but
have
also
become
actively
engaged,
Lauren
and
Joseph’s
stories
are
rarely
represented
in
public.
Perhaps
if
MSU
and
other
invested
parties
gave
more
publicity
about
MSU
students
and
their
impact
of
community
engagement,
theycould
actively
challenge
prevailing
stereotypes
about
both
students
and
the
city
of
Lansing.
However,
in
order
to
do
this,
more
organizations
would
have
to
be
willing
to
own
that
this
kind
of
public
rhetoric
exists.
They
may
be
resistant
to
doing
this
because
this
move
could
be
interpreted
as
negative
publicity
that
could
actually
harm
rather
than
aid
existing
efforts
to
dispel
these
stereotypes.
Institutional
public
face
for
MSU
and
for
the
city
of
Lansing,
from
my
point
of
view,
is
much
120
less
reliant
on
word-‐of-‐mouth
and
much
more
on
public
and
print
materials.82
However,
this
reliance
does
not
entirely
suppress
unwanted
publicity;
it
simply
forces
it
underground.
Topoi
Assessment
for
Community
Initiatives:
Beyond
Initial
Scans
Community
initiatives
do
conduct
a
topoi
assessment
when
they
launch.
They
must
carefully
pay
attention
to
what
other
organizations
exist
that
do
what
they
do.
They
must
visit
local
media
sites
to
gain
a
sense
of
need
for
their
organization
in
the
community.
They
must
find
models
inside
or
outside
of
the
community
to
base
their
own
constitution
as
an
organized
group.83
But
assessment
for
grants
and
quarterly
reports
can
be
extremely
internal.
Community
initiatives
may
not
assess
local
topoi
on
a
regular
basis
to
evaluate
themselves,
or
to
plan
their
next
steps.
Post-‐data
collection,
I
was
involved
in
a
WCGL
board
member
meeting
in
which
we
discussed
conducting
a
formal
environmental
scan.
Cindie
revealed
that
the
initial
scan
that
she
and
Manuela
conducted
was
informal:
they
simply
talked
to
folks,
using
a
snowball
approach.
The
WCGL
board
members
and
grant
writing
committee
members
agreed
that
we
needed
to
collect
formal
surveys
from
Lansing
area
female
residents
to
determine
what
the
current
needs
were
in
the
community,
and
that
we
also
need
to
assess
what
current
impact
our
services
and
branding
efforts
were
having
on
the
local
Lansing
area.
The
WCGL,
82
This
contrasts
with
the
public
face
of
community
initiatives,
particularly
non-‐profits
like
the
WCGL
who
rely
on
word-‐of-‐mouth
reputation
for
community
support.
83
Local
public
rhetoric
that
the
WCGL
and
OMA
participate
does
not
involve
the
same
kinds
of
“reuse”
that
Jason
Schwartz
and
Charlotte
Ribidoux
describe.
Both
the
WCGL
and
OMA
participate
in
direct
reuse
on
their
websites
(of
their
own
materials)
and
did
participate
in
such
direct
reuse
when
creating
their
initial
models.
However,
my
examination
of
local
public
rhetoric
surrounding
these
websites
shows
this
does
not
happen
(often)
between
media
sites.
Notably,
OMA
uses
an
RSS
feed
for
Capital
Gains.
121
like
so
many
other
community
initiatives,
wants
to
contribute
to
redefining
local
topoi,
as
well
as
introducing
new
topoi.
Yet,
these
topoi
must
be
carefully
delivered
in
a
way
that
foregrounds
their
credibility
(Olbricht
164).
Their
organizational
credibility
can
be
built
through
using
methods
like
these
to
understand
what
role
they
can
play
in
ongoing
community
conversations.
To
understand
community
need,
community
initiatives
like
the
WCGL
need
to
look
beyond
just
what
current
services
exist
and
do
the
kind
of
grassroots
organizing
that
has
long
characterized
the
neighborhoods
movement
in
the
U.S.
Even
a
survey
of
media
articles
and
citizen
forums
only
partially
reveals
the
type
and
extent
of
need
that
exists
in
local
communities.
My
methods
of
rhetorically
analyzing
local
media
and
citizen
websites
serve
as
one
kind
of
indicator
that
may
inform
grassroots
research.
Grassroots
research
may
be
an
avenue
that
researchers
exploring
community
initiative
practices
may
pursue
to
discover
how
their
public
documents
meet
true
community
need.
Indeed,
this
could
be
a
useful
exploration
for
researchers
who
are
extending
and
testing
claims
in
this
study.
In
chapter
6,
I
will
further
detail
both
the
limitations
of
my
study
and
my
recommendations
to
researchers,
practitioners,
and
teachers
who
are
interested
in
the
dynamic
advertisement
and
recruitment
work
that
community
initiatives
do
in
order
to
sustain
themselves
and
impact
local
communities.
Additionally,
I
explain
how
my
“taking
inventory”
approach
has
been
useful
for
the
WCGL
and
for
OMA,
and
what
uses
it
may
have
for
those
interested
in
this
kind
of
work—
regardless
of
what
kind
of
role
they
serve.
122
CHAPTER
6:
FUTURE
EXPLORATIONS
IN
PUBLIC-‐MAKING
Taking
Inventory
of
Local
Public
Rhetoric
Throughout
this
dissertation,
I
have
enacted
a
process
of
taking
inventory
of
local
public
rhetoric.
This
process
involves
a
few
concrete
steps:
a) identifying
the
origins
and
history
of
a
community
initiative
b) identifying
and
analyzing
current
advertising
and
recruitment
strategies,
as
well
as
they
relate
to
past
practices
c) identifying
how
an
organization
is
part
of
a
larger,
ongoing
conversation
in
the
local
public
sphere
Via
conducting
interviews
and
textual
analysis,
I
have
been
able
to
explore
these
aspects
of
the
Our
Michigan
Ave
website
project
and
the
Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
website
and
organization.
Researchers,
community
initiative
staff
members,
and
consultants
can
take
advantage
of
this
heuristic,
albeit
in
different
ways.
Table
6:
Taking
inventory
of
community
initiatives
Researchers
Origin
&
History
Current
&
Past
Practices
-‐Talk
to
staff
-‐View
public
contact
and
advertisements
research
-‐Interview
staff
participants
and
research
-‐Read/view
annual
participants
reports,
website,
-‐View
archived
relevant
advertisements
advertisements
123
Ongoing
Local
Conversations
-‐Look
at
the
materials
to
determine
key
words
-‐Make
a
list
of
local
media
sites
-‐Perform
word
searches
for
public
documents
-‐Use
Google
News
to
access
additional
archived
articles
Community
Initiative
Staff
Consultants
TABLE
6
(cont’d)
-‐Talk
to
staff,
-‐Talk
to
staff,
and
board
members,
long
term
dedicated
volunteers
volunteers
-‐Look
at
past
and
-‐Reading/viewing
in-‐progress
annual
reports,
advertisements,
as
website,
relevant
well
as
any
advertisements
organization
guidelines
-‐Talk
to
staff
-‐Talk
to
staff
contact,
and
contact
suggested
-‐Ask
to
see
stakeholders
(if
relevant
requested
by
advertising
contact)
samples
-‐Read
website
-‐Decide
which
issues
the
organization
wants
to
keep
a
pulse
on
-‐Select
media
sites
to
check
on
a
regular
basis
-‐Archive
relevant
articles
-‐Discover
key
words
for
NPO
client
-‐Do
a
key
word
search
on
a
few
local
media
sites
-‐Base
advertisement
framing
on
results
Because
researchers
can
afford
to
complete
thorough
investigations
over
time,
they
can
afford
to
delve
into
archives
and
schedule
moderately
long
(30-‐45
minute)
interviews
with
key
stakeholders
of
a
community
initiative.
Because
of
this
time
to
dwell,
researchers
may
discover
new
trends,
forgotten
histories,
and
dissent
within
a
community
initiative
that
has
not
been
made
public—or
has
been
long
forgotten.
Community
initiative
staff
members
do
not
have
as
much
time
to
dwell,
yet
spend
many
more
hours
within
their
community
initiative
and
garner
trust
to
which
researchers
may
not
have
access.
Therefore,
they
have
access
to
private
conversations
that
can
influence
relationships
and
public
documents.
Additionally,
community
initiative
staff
members
know
which
issues
are
most
salient
to
their
community
initiative
and
can
systematically
keep
track
of
what
developments
happen
in
the
community
as
they
happen—which
can
influence
grant
making,
events
planning,
and
124
more.
Consultants
are
more
constrained
than
researchers
and
community
initiative
staff
members
because
of
time
constraints.
They
often
need
to
limit
their
research
to
what
will
be
useful
for
the
production
of
public
documents
for
the
community
initiative,
although
this
research
can
aid
in
the
framing
of
these
documents.
By
meticulously
taking
inventory,
researchers,
community
initiative
staff
members,
and
consultants
can
increase
their
understanding
of
community
initiatives,
their
public
writing
practices,
as
well
as
ways
to
improve
these
practices
and
associated
deliverables.
While
I
advocate
taking
inventory
as
a
rhetorical
approach
to
analyze
how
local
publics
assemble,
I
have
also
learned
about
the
limitation
of
an
approach
that
is
limited
to
interviews
and
textual
analysis
over
a
short
period
of
time.
Although
I
use
my
data
that
I
obtained
through
these
methods
extensively
throughout
this
dissertation,
I
also
depend
in
part
on
my
role
as
a
volunteer
in
these
situations
to
add
richness
to
my
analysis
and
theory-‐building
activities.
Post-‐data
collection,
I
am
certain
that
rhetoricians
pursuing
a
similar
study
in
the
future
should
conduct
observational
research,
even
if
it
is
for
a
limited
period
of
time.84
Such
observations
allow
for
rhetoricians
to
capture
cross-‐talk
and
deliberation
over
public-‐making
activities
that
I
have
explored
in
this
study.
These
are
more
informal
moments
that
are
often
forgotten
by
interviews
once
they
are
formally
interviewed
(which
made
Phase
3
of
my
research
impossible,
as
I
explain
thorough
in
84
Many
Rhetoric
and
Composition
scholars
who
study
professional
communication
esp.
see
Barton
for
a
broad
overview
of
observational
research)
or
service-‐learning
(such
as
Adler-‐Kassner
et
al),
or
the
combination
of
these
(esp.
Bowdon
and
Scott),
conduct
observational
research
or
have
their
students
do
so
when
working
with
nonprofit
organizations
on
client-‐based
projects.
While
these
projects
are
often
short
term,
researchers
may
benefit
from
observational
tools
that
these
scholars
have
developed
for
themselves
and
their
students
(see
Adler-‐Kassner
for
an
example
set
of
protocols).
125
chapter
2).
Without
capturing
them,
rhetoricians
can
only
construct
a
fairly
fragmented
process
of
public-‐making.85
Public-Making
Lessons
for
Rhetoric
and
Composition
Scholars
While
Rhetoric
and
Composition
scholars
often
claim
the
public
sphere
as
their
natural
habitat
for
intellectual
investigations,
there
is
still
much
about
the
public
sphere
to
be
explored.
Public
rhetoric,
as
a
collective
cognitive
map
for
these
explorers,
can
use
routes
I
have
charted
for
further
explorations.
Publics
depend
on
chronos.
While
kairos
is
a
hallmark
of
successful
assemblages
of
publics,
it
only
serves
to
highlight
culminations.
For
community
initiatives,
deliverables
are
indicators
of
rhetors
responding
to
the
moment,
but
do
not
full
reveal
chronos
needed
to
understand
the
processes
of
public-‐making.
Chronos
is
more
than
the
mundane
backdrop
against
which
kairos
shines
so
brightly,
as
scholars
such
as
Elizabethada
Wright
claim.
Rather,
coordinators
use
chronos
to
organize
productivity—by
setting
goals,
establishing
roles,
creating
tasks,
and
measuring
progress.
Scholars
can
only
understand
the
role
of
chronos
by
discussing
these
processes
with
community
initiative
leaders
and
contributors.
While
virtual
and
public
spaces
where
deliverable
live
may
aid
scholars
trace
deliverables
and
people,
spatial
conditions
indicate
only
some
of
the
“where”
and
“how”
of
public-‐
making.
When
scholars
taken
into
account
both
spatial
and
temporal
conditions,
a
fuller
context
of
public-‐making
can
emerge.
85
I
do
recognize
that
interviews
and
observations
may
impact
the
way
that
rhetors
in
community
settings
may
decide
to
act.
Nevertheless,
these
methods
are
the
best
ways
to
garner
information
about
motivations,
intentions,
and
other
factors
that
impact
public-‐
making.
126
Roles
are
important
in
shaping
publics.
Roles
are
also
temporal,
and
are
shaped
by
both
kairos
and
chronos.
Community
initiatives
create
roles
to
engage
in
public-‐making;
they
also
create
roles
in
response
to
public-‐making.
These
roles
are
crafted
for
involvement
in
teams,
and
are
different
from
the
roles
one
occupies
when
engaged
in
public
debate
(as
the
individual
roles
for
rhetors
in
the
public
sphere
have
long
emphasized).
These
roles
include
coordinator,
committed
assenter,
committed
dissenter,
occasional
assenter,
and
occasional
dissenter.
Named
positions
that
correspond
with
these
roles
are
recursive:
they
change,
or
are
eliminated,
in
response
to
perceived
success—internal
and
external
to
community
initiatives.86
Roles
create
an
ethos
for
community
initiatives,
in
addition
to
shaping
the
kinds
of
praxis
community
initiatives
and
their
supporters
want
to
engage
in.
Roles
are
influenced
by
ideologies,
but
are
also
heavily
defined
by
activities
that
result
from
them.
Previous
public
rhetoric
is
always
shaping
current
public
rhetoric.
Community
initiatives’
recruitment
efforts
illustrate
why
previous
public
rhetoric
sparks
new
public
rhetoric.87 When
community
initiatives
seek
grant
money
from
grant-‐making
organizations,
they
need
to
revise
or
add
to
existing
programs
to
and
survey
current
conditions
in
order
to
justify
seed
money.
They
may
adapt
their
previous
deliverables
to
account
for
new-‐to-‐them
public
naming
practices
to
achieve
this
successfully.
Additionally,
86
Possible
positions
include
volunteer
coordinator
(committed),
development
coordinator
(committed),
grant
committee
secretary
(committed
or
occasional),
newsletter
contributor
(committed
or
occasional),
fundraising
event
participant
(committed
or
occasional).
87
The
WCGL
is
using
Michigan
Gov.
Rick
Snyder’s
proposed
cutbacks
to
state-‐wide
employment
programs
as
further
justification
of
why
the
WCGL
is
needed
in
the
Lansing
community
and
can
uniquely
serve
the
working
poor
in
an
in-‐progress
grant
application
of
a
national
funder.
127
as
programs
change
and
organization
capacities
change,
there
are
needs
for
different
roles
in
the
organization.88
Also,
changes
in
the
community—what
quickly
become
common
topoi—may
quickly
impact
what
is
kairotic
for
community
initiatives
to
say
and
do.89
Because
of
these
constantly
shifting
variables,
community
initiatives
need
to
always
be
aware
of
extant
public
rhetoric
to
use
to
make
successful
arguments
for
themselves.
These
concepts
may
not
be
unfamiliar
to
Rhetoric
and
Composition
scholars.
In
Rhetoric
and
Composition,
scholars
have
long
believed
that
people
use
the
past
to
influence
current
conversations
in
the
public
sphere.
However,
these
scholars
may
reconsider
the
importance
of
retracing
chronos
in
thinking
about
community
initiative
processes
(especially
those
in
which
they
are
trying
to
intervene);
the
range
of
possible
roles
for
rhetors
(which
is
collective
and
coordinative,
in
addition
to
representative);
and
ever-‐
evolving
histories
of
local
public
rhetoric
(continuously
archived
online,
with
differing
access
points)
are
essential
for
(nearly)
concurrent
productions
of
it.
Public-Making
Lessons
for
Practitioners
Of
course,
this
study
has
pragmatic
implications
for
practitioners
who
actively
use
PNPs
to
advertise
community
initiatives.
Community
initiative
coordinators
and
contributors
need
to
be
well
aware
of
the
following
conditions:
88
For
example,
when
Manuela
left
the
WCGL,
the
WCGL
did
not
have
money
to
replace
her
coordinator
position.
As
a
temporary
replacement,
the
WCGL
quickly
developed
a
grant
writing
committee
to
perform
her
former
duties.
89
Since
the
WCGL
officially
opened
its
doors
in
2005,
“unemployment”
has
become
a
more
common
topic.
This
has
both
enhanced
the
need
of
the
WCGL
and
has
made
it
more
difficult
for
the
WCGL
to
attract
donors.
128
No
matter
how
stable
a
community
initiative
may
seem,
community
initiative
coordinators
and
contributors
must
consistently
pay
attention
to
internal
and
external
conditions.
Not
only
must
they
pay
attention
to
funding
trends
from
donors,
but
also
play
close
attention
to
the
ways
in
which
current
staff,
clients,
and
volunteers
are
recognized.
Newsletter
“thank
you”
sections
can
be
just
one
formal
method
of
recognizing
current
contributors.
Even
when
efforts
are
made
to
make
contributors
feel
welcome,
other
exigencies
can
prevent
a
contributor’s
involvement
from
being
relatively
short
term.
Asking
for
time
commitments
can
allow
both
contributors
and
leaders
to
negotiate
the
kinds
of
roles
contributors
will
have,
including
advertising
for
new
contributors.
In
addition
to
internal
archives,
community
initiative
contributors
and
contributors
should
actively
find
ways
in
which
to
keep
an
active
pulse
on
what
is
happening
via
local
media
(which
often
includes
relevant
news
about
national
and
international
affairs).
While
this
kind
of
investigation
prior
to
incorporation
may
provide
useful
information
about
the
initial
need
for
a
community
initiative,
this
information
may
prove
useful
to
community
initiatives
in
progress.
This
kind
of
knowledge
may
aid
community
initiatives
in
judging
their
current
impact
and
relevance,
as
well
as
provide
them
with
useful
information
to
determine
what
to
do
with
programming
and
advertisement
in
the
future.
By
constantly
engaging
in
self-‐assessment,
community
initiative
leaders
and
contributors
can
re-‐orient
themselves
in
productive
ways—ways
that
encourage
fluid
response
to
ever-‐
changing
conditions.
129
As
I
described
in
Chapter
1,
community
initiatives
often
do
not
operate
in
isolation
when
they
advertise
themselves.
Often,
community
initiatives
will
partner
with
paid
or
unpaid
consultants.
Because
these
consultants
negotiate
writing
and
media
projects
(often
advertisements)
with
community
initiatives
as
relative
outsiders,
they
should
heed
the
following
advice:
When
working
in
partnerships
with
groups
that
are
different
than
your
own,
timetables
rarely
align.
While
paid
consulting
firms
may
induce
community
initiatives
to
work
on
their
timetable,
university
groups
usually
must
work
on
the
timetable
for
the
community
groups
for
which
they
work.
Sustainability
of
a
project
in
the
short
or
long
term
depends
on
timetables
aligning
in
ways
that
are
mutually
beneficial.
However,
before
starting
a
project,
both
need
to
assess
whether
all
stakeholders
will
commit
to
working
a
project
for
enough
time
that
is
necessary
to
make
the
project
successful.
If
one
stakeholder
cannot
commit
to
the
necessary
timeframe
to
accomplish
their
goals,
the
terms
of
the
partnership
needs
to
be
rethought.
Before
entering
a
partnership,
each
stakeholder
group
needs
to
make
sure
they
have
a
representative
to
make
the
partnership
sustainable.
Without
this
delegation,
communication
breaks
down
and
outside
consultants
risk
creating
a
deliverable
that
is
representative
of
their
work
but
is
perhaps
not
representative
of
the
community
group.
Within
each
stakeholder
group,
each
member
needs
to
have
a
clearly
defined
role—and
must
have
a
stake
in
that
role.
By
articulating
and
negotiating
these
roles
at
the
start
of
a
project,
stakeholder
groups
can
hold
themselves
and
each
other
accountable.
130
Each
stakeholder
group
needs
to
be
aware
that
the
deliverables
(e.g.,
websites,
videos,
brochures,
newsletters,
etc.)
that
they
create
in
the
partnership
are
kairotic,
yet
are
subject
to
chronos—their
circulation
value
will
wane
with
time.
They
may
serve
as
useful
archives,
or
may
be
minimally
updated
in
the
future.
However,
their
use-‐value
is
unpredictable;
as
a
best
case
scenario,
they
are
usable
at
given
moments
in
time.
But
as
local
conditions
change,
community
initiatives
need
to
respond
in
new
ways
through
revised
deliverables.
By
understanding
the
conditions
that
shape
the
partnership
and
the
use
of
deliverables,
consultants
can
contribute
to
a
community
initiative’s
successful
use
of
PNPs
in
their
public-‐making
activities.
Future
Research
in
Local
Public
Rhetoric
Throughout
this
dissertation,
I
have
discussed
the
limitations
of
my
study:
short
time
duration;
limited
negotiation
of
research
with
stakeholders;
reliance
on
participant
memory
and
texts
rather
than
first-‐hand
observation,
etc.
Regardless
of
these
limitations,
my
study
opens
a
host
of
new
possibilities
for
studies
on
local
public
rhetoric.
The
following
are
just
a
few
research
questions
that
public
rhetoricians
may
choose
explore
in
response
to
this
study:
How
does
access
to
resources,
like
technology
software,
differ
for
community
initiatives
in
the
same
local
community?
How
are
conditions
of
access
altered
by
partnerships
with
other
organizations?
What
kinds
of
tools
and
strategies
do
community
initiatives
use
to
negotiate
the
schedules
of
several
stakeholders?
How
does
this
impact
stakeholder
frequency
of
131
participation,
as
well
as
how
stakeholders
perform
their
roles
(e.g.,
in
assenting
or
dissenting
ways)?
How
do
changing
roles
impact
the
kinds
of
rhetoric
strategies
that
publics
use
in
their
public-‐making
activities?
How
do
different
ideologies
perform
in
the
same
role
(e.g.,
a
contributor
role)?
How
does
that,
in
turn,
impact
a
local
public
and
their
public-‐making
practices?
How
do
misconceptions
of
time
impact
how
topics
are
defined?
How
often
do
these
topics
become
accepted
or
abandoned
by
local
publics?
These
questions
are
not
fully
unexplored
by
Rhetoric
and
Composition
scholars
who
investigate
local
publics
like
community
initiatives,
but
current
studies
are
also
limited
to
moments
of
production,
rather
than
moments
of
dissemination
and
evaluation.90
This
makes
sense
because
Rhetoric
and
Composition
scholars
value
production
as
mutuality
in
their
partnerships
with
community
initiatives.
Community
initiatives
depend
on
the
production
of
deliverables,
especially
those
that
are
made
with
resources
that
colleges
and
universities
can
afford;
such
deliverables
(like
video
advertisements)
are
difficult
for
community
initiatives
to
afford,
and
are
usually
beyond
their
normal
routines
of
production.
However,
Rhetoric
and
Composition
scholars
do
not
usually
discover
what
happens
to
these
deliverables
post-‐partnership.
Fortunately,
both
Professional
Writing
90
While
notable
service
learning
figures
like
Nora
Bacon
have
called
for
longitudinal
studies
of
service-‐learning,
Rhetoric
and
Composition
longitudinal
studies
of
service-‐
learning
focus
on
students
and
critical
consciousness
rather
than
impact
on
NPOs
or
community
initiatives
that
are
involved
in
such
partnerships.
Even
in
professional
writing
studies,
professors
focus
on
how
student
values
influence
production—and
how
community
partners
respond
to
both
process
and
product
within
a
semester
(see
Kastman
Breuch
for
a
poignant
example
of
instructors
losing
management
of
these
processes).
No
studies,
to
my
knowledge,
have
focused
on
what
happens
to
documents
post-‐production
in
community
initiatives.
132
scholars
and
other
communications
specialists
have
developed
protocols
for
analyzing
the
“now
what?”
of
deliverables
that
are
produced
by
organizations.91
These
protocols
incorporate
user
research
best
practices
to
evaluate
both
professional
standards
and
impact
of
materials
on
actual
or
potential
stakeholders.
Rhetoricians
who
work
with
local
publics
should
take
advantage
of
assessment
tools
in
their
pursuit
to
both
study
and
intervene
in
the
public-‐making
practices
of
community
initiatives.
My
next
steps
as
a
researcher
and
local
public
advocate
will
involve
learning
more
about
dissemination
and
evaluation
processes
that
are
currently
used
by
community
initiatives
and
their
research
consultants.
I
am
already
aware
of
a
few
methods
that
are
used
to
analyze
digital
writing,
which
including
usability
research;
user
research;
and
web
analytics.92
After
analyzing
those
methods
and
their
effectiveness,
I
will
craft
strategies
for
community
initiatives
to
evaluate
their
own
dissemination
and
evaluation
processes
effectively.
I
believe
that
community
initiatives
can
benefit
from
learning
how
to
analyze
their
own
impact;
while
I
will
do
the
initial
evaluation
of
their
impact,
I
will
aid
the
community
initiatives
that
I
analyze
in
my
next
study
in
learning
how
to
do
self-‐
assessment.
As
a
local
publics
rhetorician
committed
to
capacity-‐building,
I
am
aware
of
the
need
for
this
kind
of
tool—especially
because
community
initiatives
may
not
have
91
David
Kolb’s
work
on
the
reflection
cycle
(often
referred
to
short
hand
as
“What?
So
What?
Now
What?”)
is
often
used
by
community
initiatives
(like
the
Ohio
State
University
Service-‐Learning
Center)
to
guide
reflections
on
community
engagement
activities.
92
Piwik
is
one
of
several
free,
open
source
software
web
analytics
programs
that
is
the
freeware
counterpart
to
Google
Analytics.
Academics
and
specialists
who
specialize
in
non-‐
profit
capacity-‐building
may
teach
NPOs
how
to
install
and
use
this
software
to
analyze
their
own
web
authoring
practices.
133
partnerships
with
researchers
that
allow
for
continual
assessment
of
the
stakeholder
impact
of
their
communications.
But
I
do
not
mean
to
undercut
how
members
of
community
initiatives
work
diligently
to
reflect
on
their
work
and
to
sustain
their
initiatives.
As
I
have
learned
through
this
study
and
my
volunteer
involvement
with
OMA
and
WCGL,
community
initiative
coordinators
and
committed
volunteers
utilize
scholars
as
one
potential
resource
in
their
efforts
toward
making
tangible
and
ideological
changes
within
their
local
publics
and
beyond.
Community
initiatives
and
scholars
take
inventory
differently,
even
when
they
have
similar
goals.
Perhaps
that
is
why
it
is
worth
assembling;
with
joint
efforts,
community
initiatives
and
scholars
can
impact
local
publics
in
ways
yet
imagined.
134
APPENDICES
135
APPENDIX
A
U.S.
NPO
WEBSITE
SURVEY
FINDINGS
Stakeholder
Representation:
Take
action
(becoming
a
volunteer,
individual
donor,
corporate
donor)
List
of
staff
volunteer
names
and
positions
Pictures
of
clients
Pictures
of
staff
Spanish
version
Staff
biographies
Board
member
biographies
and
pictures
Short
introduction/summary
of
client
story
before
story
Volunteer
stories
about
experiences
List
of
donor
names,
logos,
and
website
links
Number
of
volunteer
hours
in
a
year
by
year
Recent
website
activity
status
bar
Picture
of
physical
location
Spanish
version
of
website
for
non-‐English
speakers
Interactivity:
E-‐mail
button
Print
button
Share
button
(Twitter,
Facebook,
etc.)
Donate
button
Yelp!
Button
Facebook
like
button
for
news
events
reporting
Join
our
mailing
list
button
Sign
up
for
e-‐newsletter
button
Linked
or
embedded
map
Search
bar
User
login
Calendar
with
roll
over
Link
to
reviews
on
“Great
Nonprofits”
website
Forms
(reference,
volunteer,
donor,
etc.)
Good
Search
and
Good
Shop
Link
Facebook
Fan
Facebook
Causes
Podcasts
136
Gallery
Movies
Comments
(add
or
view)
Online
store
RSS
Feeds
Services
search
Guestbook
137
APPENDIX
B
SOLICITATION
PROTOCOL
To:
[Interviewee
E-‐mail
Address]
From:
rivaitje@msu.edu
[cc:
wcgl1710@sbcglobal.net
OR
jmonberg@msu.edu
]
Subject:
Interest
in
Discussing
[Name
of
Post]
on
the
[WCGL
or
OMA]
Website
Date:
[Month
Day,
Year]
Dear
[Interviewee’s
Full
Name],
Hi!
My
name
is
Jessica
Rivait,
and
I
found
your
[type
of
post]
post
on
[individual
topic,
official
“subject”]
on
the
[Women’s
Center
of
Greater
Lansing
website
OR
the
“Our
Michigan
Ave”
website].
I
am
interested
in
your
post
because
[brief
but
substantive
rationale
directly
related
to
content
of
that
post].
Further,
I
am
studying
the
public
writing
on
[WCGL
or
OMA]
and
the
[WCGL
or
OMA]
websites
for
my
dissertation;
I
want
to
interview
you
because
[brief
but
substantive
rationale
explaining
my
results
of
textual
analysis
and
methods
of
selecting
interview
participants].
If
you’re
interested
in
an
interview,
it
will
only
take
30-‐45
minutes
of
your
time;
you
can
choose
the
interview
locale
[suggest
and
list
possible
locales
based
on
knowledge
of
participants].
Sincerely,
Jessica
Rivait
Jessica
L.
Rivait
Ph.D.
Candidate
::
Rhetoric
and
Writing
Teaching
Asst.,
Dept.
of
Writing,
Rhetoric,
and
American
Cultures
283
Bessey
Hall
Michigan
State
University
East
Lansing,
MI
48823
138
APPENDIX
C
INTERVIEW
PROTOCOL
Warm up: Are you [participant’s full name?] I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Jessica
Rivait, and I’m the secondary researcher for the research project “Towards a Comparative Model
of Public Rhetoric: A Multi-Case Study Analysis of Public Naming Practices in a Local
Community.” Before we begin, we need to go over consent procedures and I need to have you
give your consent for the interview. You can ask me questions at any time. I’ll give you a
blank, extra copy of consent that you can take with you for your records. Do you need to get
settled (i.e., grab a coffee) before we begin?
Interview Questions (and associated follow-up questions):
Why did you choose to write about x community issue or community initiative?
How has your opinions about x community initiative developed over time?
What other opinions or facts have influenced your perspective? Where did you find or
encounter these opinions or facts? Did you find any of these on public or private
documents?
How have your beliefs and ideas about what should be done about x community issue or
initiative developed over time?
How can you measure how successful your contribution might be to the local
community? What kind of impact do you imagine or know that your writing may or has
had on the local community?
Why did you choose to present your identity as you did within the text (anonymous,
semi-anonymous, fully disclosed, etc.)?
Closing: You talked about x, x, and x private documents. Would you be willing to allow me to
look at these documents so that I can better understand our interview and your writing on the
[Women’s Center of Greater Lansing website OR Our Michigan Ave website]? I respect
whatever decision you make; I will be looking more at the public documents that you mentioned
during our conversation today. [If given permission, make e-mail or face-to-face arrangements.]
Thank you for your time. Here is my contact information [gives a business card to interviewee].
I’ll be in touch with you as I analyze what I find, and before I present my results publically.
139
APPENDIX
D
LIST
OF
LANSING
LOCAL
MEDIA
SITES
Newspapers
LSJ:
http://www.lansingstatejournal.com/
City
Pulse:
http://www.lansingcitypulse.com/lansing/
NOISE:
www.lansingnoise.com
TNCP:
http://tncp.net/
Local
TV
Stations
WLAJ
TV:
http://www.wlaj.com/
WLNS
TV:
http://www.wlns.com/
WILX
TV:
http://www.wilx.com/news
WSYM
TV:
http://www.fox47news.com/
Municipal
Websites
City
of
Lansing:
http://cityoflansingmi.com/news.jsp
City
of
East
Lansing:
http://www.cityofeastlansing.com/Home/Modules/CityBlog/CityManagersBlog/
Lansing
"Charter"
Township:
www.lansingtownship.org/
Radio
Websites
1240
WJIM:
http://www.wjimam.com/
730
AM:
www.730amthefan.com
1320
AM:
www.1320wils.com
1110
AM:
www.flc.org/flr/wunn
88.1
FM:
www.positivehits.com
99
FM:
www.99wfmk.com
92.1
FM:
www.wqtx.com
88.9
FM:
www.impact89fm.org
94.1
FM:
www.wvic.net
100.7
FM:
www.witl.com
94.9
FM:
www.wmmq.com
101.7
FM:
www.1017mikefm.com
106
FM:
www.q106fm.com
89.7
FM:
www.wlnz.org
140
Business
Magazines
Lansing
Business
Monthly:
www.lansingbusinessmonthly.com
Capital
Gains:
www.capitalgainsmedia.com
Women’s
Magazines
Capital
Area
Women's
Life
Style
Magazine:
www.cawlm.com
University
Newspapers
The
State
News
(MSU):
http://www.statenews.com/
The
Lookout
(OCC):
www.lcc.edu/lookout/
Citizens
Forums
Lansing
News
Online:
http://lansingonlinenews.com/
Lansing
Rocks:
http://lansingrocks.com/
LJ
Lansing
Metro:
http://community.livejournal.com/lansingmetro
LJ
Gay
Lansing:
http://community.livejournal.com/gaylansing
LJ
A
Free
Lansing:
http://community.livejournal.com/afreelansing
MySpace:
http://www.myspace.com/lansing_mi
The
Lansing
Blog:
http://thelansingblog.com/
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