Lessons in Listening, Trust, and Starting Small
By Lydia Dede Adjetey / City Thread Intern
Michelle Anderson’s book, The Fight to Save the Town tells the story of four blue-collar communities that were once thriving but over time became poor, unnoticed, and abandoned. As I flipped through the pages, I was taken back to my genesis. Growing up in Ghana, I witnessed firsthand the impact of inadequate infrastructure on accessibility and resilience.
In my neighborhood, poorly built roads, absent sidewalks, and a lack of drains made reaching places of value a challenge. The sporadic idea to be a solution to such challenges became undeniable on June 3, 2015, when heavy rains caused the river separating my community from the Tema (Ghana’s industrial city) to overflow, cutting us off entirely. It wasn’t just a flood. It was a stark reminder of the deep neglect and lack of preparedness in communities like mine.
I began to ask: Why are some communities left behind? How can we design places that protect and serve everyone? These questions became my purpose. Through my graduate education at the University of North Carolina - Chapel Hill, I am learning how local governments and NGOs can work together to answer those questions. My coursework reinforces that planning succeeds largely when beneficiaries are part of the process from the earliest spark of an idea to implementation and evaluation. More than anything, it is teaching me to move beyond “checking the boxes” and to engage wholly.
Though the circumstances of the towns in Anderson’s book are different, their paths to recovery share three principles that resonate strongly with me. To listen deeply. Start small. And build trust.
1. Listen
Oftentimes, we believe listening involves holding public meetings or gathering a list of community concerns. But the stories of the four places in Anderson’s book show that listening deeply is about empathy and long-term partnership. It requires spending time with community members, understanding their lived experiences, and connecting their stories to the broader challenges they face. In Lawrence, Massachusetts, leaders at Lawrence Community Works didn’t present ready-made solutions. Although the organization was founded to address affordable housing for the Latino community, conversations with residents revealed a more urgent need: youth programs. Parents worried that their kids would get tangled in street crime and violence and wanted structured alternatives to leaving them on their own, after school or in the summer. The organization responded with a summer program for children featuring baseball, art projects, and field trips. They later created NeighborCircles—small group dinners that built trust and encouraged residents to share ideas. Community leader Lesly Mendez noted they “tackled one issue at a time in partnership with residents” rather than acting like saviors. Deep listening means community partnership, stepping back, letting go of preconceived priorities, and co-creating solutions with the community.
2. Start Small
Big change rarely begins with picture perfect policies. Most often, it begins with small, consistent actions, fancily called tactical urbanism now. These grassroots, incremental interventions build cities from the ground up, often led not by experts or external agencies but by local people who refuse to give up. Change can be hard, and sometimes four steps forward is followed by two back. Stockton, California, once defined by bankruptcy, racial segregation, gun violence, and failed urban policies, began to rewrite its story not through a federal bailout, but through grassroots leadership. Fear of violence kept families informally incarcerated in their homes, parks sat empty, community centers were shuttered, and even the community’s medical clinic space stood vacant for years. Yet residents maximized the resources at their disposal. To stop gun violence, church-based volunteers reclaimed dangerous streets with “prayer walks” and “night walks.” A grassroots affordable housing nonprofit, Stocktonians Taking Action to Neutralize Drugs (STAND) converted drug houses into affordable housing for low-income families. Neighborhood leaders, like Stockton native Lara, rallied parents and volunteers to restore community spaces - reopening gyms, cleaning graffiti, and bringing dozens of parks back to life. These modest but visible wins rippled outward. Councilmember Michael Tubbs built on this momentum through the Reinvent South Stockton Coalition, which shut down the biggest drug market and, with nonprofit support, finally opened the long-awaited medical clinic in 2016. Step by step, Stockton chipped away at despair: homicide rates dropped, trust began to grow, and a new sense of belonging emerged. It was slow, gritty, and full of heart. This story is summed up by a message a man had written on his palms: “Dear Stockton, I won’t give up on you, ever.”
3. Build Trust
Rebuilding community starts with restoring trust. First in one another, then in institutions. Trust is the foundation on which policies, big plans, and ideas can stand, built not by speeches but by the slow, steady work of consistently showing up, listening, and following through. Trust is rebuilt the same way it’s broken: over time. Josephine County, Oregon, once prosperous, had fallen into steep decline. Its economy faltered, public safety eroded, and repeated levy failures left the sheriff’s department gutted. Amidst this collapse, Deputy Ken Selig took a different approach. Rather than relying solely on heavy-handed enforcement, he launched the North Valley Community Watch, training residents in basic policing and investigative skills so they could become active partners in keeping their neighborhoods safe. Grassroots efforts like the “To Catch a Thief” Facebook group emerged to further connect residents, share information, and deter crime. Meanwhile, activist Kate Dwyer spent years calling neighbors, bringing their questions to town halls, and returning with answers. Kate’s persistence kept civic conversation alive. These steady, relationship-based efforts paid off: after nine failed levy attempts, the tenth passed in 2017, restoring critical funding for public safety. The lesson is clear: Josephine County’s turnaround showed trust was rebuilt not through rhetoric but through relationships, and through the consistent, visible actions of people that residents knew and respected. Over time, these small, steady efforts made it possible for a once-cynical community to believe in the promise of government again.
As someone committed to championing change and making a positive impact wherever I find myself, this book resonated deeply with me. While planning can often seem like a technical exercise–zoning, mobility, projections, and cost-benefit analyses–these stories reminded me that at its core, planning is relational practice. The planning principles in school about planning with and not for the people were vividly alive in these stories. They emphasize that even seemingly small or “trivial” community concerns matter, because what may appear insignificant to others (e.g., shutting down a drug market, mowing a park, connecting a sidewalk, etc.) not only create physical change but hold the seeds of trust, ownership, and long-term improvements. Anderson’s book highlights the need for planners to recognize residents as experts on their communities, and embrace a collaborative approach to identifying issues and crafting solutions. The story of each community made me deeply appreciative that, without people buying into our ideas and plans, even the most well-crafted drafts risk sitting on the dusty shelves, approved but yielding no fruit because we failed to build a strong foundation for them.
These lessons have been central to my internship with City Thread, a nonprofit dedicated to making cities work better. In places like Austin, Pittsburgh, Providence, Denver, New Orleans, and Bentonville, I’ve seen how listening deeply, starting small, and building trust can transform urban connectivity and quality of life. Working alongside passionate advocates, I’m learning how to translate planning theory into action, how to create spaces where people feel seen, heard, and valued, and where their participation shapes lasting change. This alignment between what I study, what I practice, and what I aspire to do is why both Anderson’s work and my City Thread experience leave me more determined than ever to plan with and for stronger, more connected communities.
For cities seeking solutions to long standing issues or unsure of where you’re going, City Thread is ready to walk alongside you in figuring out what’s needed to reach your goals. Start the conversation by reaching out at hello@citythread.org. As I continue my journey in urban planning, I welcome connections and collaborations via LinkedIn to develop both personally and professionally.
