Once upon a time, a group of men got together to build a very large house.

*The House*

They spent their entire lives learning different aspects of construction, architecture, engineering, art, carpentry, plumbing, and the many other systems that went into house building at that time.

They spent several years discussing the style, structure, logistics, finances, and long-term considerations of building such a house. They read documents in other languages like Greek and Latin in order to truly learn the best techniques. Thousands of hours of time and energy went into the design before a single brick was laid.

After much deliberation, they found consensus. A consensus that can only be had when they have ALL learned ALL the best practices from around the world. Wisdom is like that – knowledge comes and goes and evolves, but wisdom tends to stick around. Such is the nature of such men and their decision making. When everyone is roughly equally informed, and there is high trust, only then can true consensus be had.

So they begin to build.

And build they do!

By all accounts, they build what is arguably the best house that has ever been designed. It is often compared to buildings like the Taj Mahal and castle Neuschwanstein in Germany. Functionally, aesthetically, and financially it is held up as an example of how architecture should be done. These men admire their work along with many other learned men and women, and their work is widely celebrated.

Over the next few years, they finish up a few things; every project has a punch list. And as they all enter their old age, they move on to be farmers, lawyers, and academics to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

But they do acknowledge that there are several fundamental issues they could not solve. They simply did not have the technology, knowhow, capital, or the popular support to address them. So they documented these 2-3 issues for future owners to consider fixing when a solution might arise. Electricity and indoor plumbing were two of the big ones.

Their house became a community home in which many types of people lived. And in the decades that followed, many people came and went. They were all renters, by definition, since they did not own or build the house. But they did enjoy living there. Almost every person who spent time living in this amazing home were simply awe struck. The beauty and functional aspects of the structure were unlike anything they had ever seen – or even heard of.

And so, word spread.

The House quickly became iconic across the globe, and people from the four corners of the earth came to see, or live in, this home.

Because of its popularity, the home generated quite a bit of revenue. About a century after the house was built, several modifications were completed. A new roof, the first indoor bathroom, and even the first electric lights. As if the house could get any better!

These innovations made the house even more of an attraction. You get the idea. It was pretty cool.

One day, one of the home’s female residents noticed that there are no tampons in the pubic restrooms. Tampons too were a relatively new innovations, and they wanted some to be provided. After several years of disruptive behavior, protests, and candlelight gatherings outside the house, the new managers of the house realized two things. 1) It is not too much to ask, and 2) If they do not provide tampons, the 10% of women getting everyone riled up will cause more chaos and potential damage than it would cost to just buy some tampons.

So, they do. And for the next decade, those women are happy.

Shortly thereafter, another group of people express anger that they do not live in the upper floors. The people in the upper floors pay more rent for the better views, the balconies, etc. Yet, those on the first floor feel aggrieved. They also notice that the top floor residents all come from Oceania. One very charismatic resident notices this and spends months and years writing, complaining, and protesting this injustice. And once again, those who manage the property make accommodations. They announce that in the future, the top floor rooms and apartments will be distributed among incoming residents according to a formula that most find agreeable. And for the next few decades, the floor-status residents are happy.

And so it goes for another few decades. People find issues, they complain, and management tries to accommodate those changes. And so, they change many of policies. These policy changes become quite cumbersome – they fill several manuals, and no one takes time to read them. It’s simply too much to read, and people just want to live their lives.

Somewhere around 120 years into the life of this building, it remains more gorgeous and amazing as ever. People continue to flock to see it, and they appreciate not just the design, but the efforts of the managers who are trying to keep people happy. It remains a marvel.

One day, the female residents and the floor-status residents get to talking. They wonder how the staff and managers got their cushy jobs. Keep in mind that the jobs don’t pay all that much, and that the staff also includes housekeepers, groundskeepers, accountants, purchasing agents, plumbers, electricians, janitors, roofers, cooks, a lawyer or two, and many other trades and specialists who keep the place running.

The folks do not see all those workers – they see “bosses” with power, and they feel aggrieved. It seems unfair that those people should have so much. So this new group of allies (the “Bloc”) approach management to share their frustrations.

And like all the times in the past, changes are made. They decide to remove all boundaries and any other hiring biases that prevent true participation. As much as they try, the “Bloc” remains happy for only a few years until they ask for more. Over time they decide to allocate management positions to reflect the population of the residents of the home. But the Bloc is still not happy. So the management, now comprised of a mostly residents, decide to actively recruit managers from the Bloc and those who share their beliefs.

And so it goes.

Over time, visitors from other places come to the House. And they go back home with stories of how the gutters are broken and leak during a rainstorm. Protestors tore down the back gate, and now homeless people are sleeping on the periphery of the grounds. There are increasing numbers of angry people protesting. Seeing the success of the Bloc, others want to join it too. The indigenous little-person community (ILPC) finds fraternity with the big person union secretaries (BPUC). The Bloc continues to grow, adding increasingly smaller numbers of disaffected people seeking to make some claim to the property – after all, it is a community home.

And slowly over time, the things that made the house special are no longer so obvious. What started as a primary destination has become nothing more than a tourist spot where you take a few photos, read a plaque or two that explains the history of the house, and you move on. After all, it’s lunch time and there are plenty of fast-food places from which to choose downtown.

Maslow always wins.

One day, a group of managers are inspecting the house; routine preventative maintenance. They check the downspouts, the oil tank, the boiler, and other systems to make sure filters are changed, cleaning has taken place, and things are running in such a way as to meet emission standards, etc. And the group encounters a small group of residents chopping at the corner foundation of the house in the basement.

The managers, now a mixed group, immediately confront them. “What the hell are you doing!?” One asks. “This place was built by my people and we own a part of it. Since you won’t let us own and control our portion of the house, we are going to destroy it”

Needless to say, those people are removed from the premises, but not without a bunch of photos showing the evil managers applying “force” to remove the innocent victims of ignorance and hate. Everyone knows that managers are inherently evil – even if they don’t show it explicitly.

Word spreads. Even people in the top floors get together at night to discuss what should be done, and this continues until about 1/3 of the House residents agree that the foundations of the home need to go. The initial lack of top-floor representation and tampons is an indication that this house was built on hate. Not only that, but the property was purchased from people who did not know what they were selling. They were not sophisticated house builders, so they had no idea what the property could eventually become. This is seen as a form of stealing and oppression.

It is all the builders and designers’ fault, and now it is the managers’ problem to fix.

Yet, despite all this, Bloc members continue to sleep soundly in the house as if all is well. After all, the managers will make sure the place runs. They always do. It’s their JOB!

Over the coming decades, new people move into the house – not to enjoy it, but to help tear it down. One column at a time, one statue at a time, one rose bush at a time. Within just about 50 short years, the house has completely lost its shine and magic. It still looks the same from a distance, but upon closer inspection it is very different internally.

One night (yeah, there are a lot of those “one nights” in this story. Deal with it), some mangers are sitting around and they get to talking. Their main concerns are the following:

• They did not design the house. They did everything they could to improve on the good work of the managers and builders who came before; yet nothing they do seems to make the residents happy. They are tired of taking the blame for the house’s flaws – real or perceived.
• They are tired. They work hard and it is becoming soul crushing to be on the receiving end of so much hate and anger. Some have even had death threats slipped under their doors at night. They did not sign up for this.
• A few of them suspect that a few of the new managers are going back to their disaffected comrades and sharing secrets. So, they don’t know who to trust. If they speak about this out loud, they risk being fired or attacked.
• The bank has increased their interest rates. They do not think the house is financially sustainable in the long run. Their warnings go unheard.

The list is long.

And as time goes on, one manager after another quits or retires. As the remaining managers attempt to recruit new ones, they decide to ensure that HR managers can only be one a Bloc member. That position is now permanently allocated only to one of the disaffected groups. The same thing with finance department - they are all from the same sub-group. Plumbers, porters, drivers, sewage treatment, trash removal, and florists tend to be the same as ever. But for senior leadership positions, the Bloc now dominates.

The Bloc finds it difficult, and often impossible to find qualified managers. So they decide to lower the standards for key positions that have little to do with the needs of the role, so that more people will qualify. And so it goes for years.

Many applaud this new approach. Things are finally changing for the better, some say.

But no one notices how few old-school carpenters are left. The welders too have all since retired. Some of the welding jobs are complex, so now they must hire outside contractors to do most welding jobs - despite having a few full-time welders on staff. Same with plumbing, computer repair, and other trades and STEM roles. Those with wisdom, experience, and an appreciation for the history and background of the House’s design are all but gone; they have been replaced by people with modern knowledge, and an attitude of contempt for home design fundamentals. Such sensibilities are a thing of the past and have lost their quaintness; they now seem ugly.

Fast forward to current decade. Most of the tradesmen now live far away, building small communities incorporating the best practices of old and new. They have many fond memories of the House, but it is not their house. It never was. It belongs to everyone as it should.

Recently, the house begins to tilt ever so slightly. There are regular protests against the House, counter-protests against the Bloc, and there are all sorts of vendors and dealers clamoring around the property with suggestions on how to fix it. And despite knowing nothing of construction or architecture, many factions of the Bloc begin to claim that it is their people who really build the house.

The original designers were now seen as evil

Bloc members, now too numerous to count or identify, work at night jackhammering the corner foundations and working to replace the foundations with plastic columns from overseas that are not designed to hold up a house. Yet they work tirelessly and then return to the upper floors to enjoy their status as top floor residents. How far they have come!

Each weekend there is a celebration of one sort or another. And the residents dance around bonfires, get drunk, dance naked, spray paint the facade with unintelligible graffiti, and carouse until the early morning hours. It’s like a weekly Burning Man without the desert. And the residents continue to go back to the House to sleep soundly in their beds, knowing that their favorite change is coming soon. Real soon. THIS time things will be better – now that the “good guys” are in charge.

And in the background, the House now stood as a testament to positive social change, but derided as exemplifying horrible and outdated design, engineering, and architecture. Celebrations abounded!

Soon, however, Bloc members notice over time is that there is simply not enough money to hire outside contractors to repair and maintain everything. They often debate in public and over dinners and drinks. The consensus seems to be that not only is the original design of the house bad, but the workers and managers of the past are the cause of their “systemic issues”.

And the remaining managers and workers endure the insults and the hate, and the ridicule. “Oh, poor loading dock manager feels wittle feely feels.” And “it must suck to be on the other side! Now you know how WE feel!”

And so they count down their remaining years until retirement. Most have heard about the new remote locations all over the place; a thousand Galt’s Gulches” if you will. They have abandoned the past and now look to a humble, safe, and secure future that builds upon the best of the past, while avoiding the pitfalls of such rapid change without a vision or a plan that everyone can support.

In places far away, in locations few care to visit, small groups of architects, engineers, designers, artists, workers, military, lawyers, police, political scientists, financiers, and craftsman of all types gather to discuss what went wrong and how they can take the best elements from the House and design MANY smaller Houses.

This time, they decide that they will NOT be inclusive, and they will not be tolerant, and they will not allow their empathy to be exploited.

Thus, they begin to build a thousand homes. Smaller and less ostentatious versions of the House, that look little like the original model. The new houses have all the best design elements and even a few new ones. The foundations of these homes are the same foundations as the House, with different aesthetic elements that match the local surroundings.

And like the original designers of the House, they begin to build. This time quietly and in secret. Despite their growing numbers few notice their absence, or their new growing communities far from the House and the cities that surround it.

As our story ends, hundreds of thousands of small farms pop up across the rural areas. Some are quite impressive and stand as sustainable examples of how to best mix old and new. And these communities have all agreed to a long-term vision for future generations. In fact, most of the communities communicate with each other in informal ways to share ideas and protect themselves from the depredations that had beset the House.

Back at the House, the garage was burned down last week by a small militant group comprised of Lithuanian bobby pin manufacturers. They are protesting the lack of bobby pin sales and demanded action. But since no none needs nor wants bobby pins, there was not much anyone could do.

A few more trees were cut down last night, this time in protest of deforestation in a distant jungle and the resultant impact on the environment. The trees were set on fire to make the point clear. And as people danced around the fire, jacked up on shrooms and 4loco, the tampons were also cast into the fire. Tampons had become symbols of oppression, so the House was emptied of all feminine hygiene products, along with the dispensers. All that remain in the all-inclusive restrooms were squares of paint that belied the removal of something. Over time those spots too were painted over and forgotten.

In the distance, in the far unlit unknown, small campfires burn too. Surrounded by children roasting marshmallows, parents toasting the end of a week of hard work, and a celebration of challenging but fulfilling, well-lived lives.

Tip deeplydisturbed for their post.