By Steve McQuiddy

Recent months have brought us stories of troubles on the Lane Community College Board of Directors, elected positions that decide policy and direction for the college serving a wide range of people from the Cascades to the Coast. Perhaps the solution to their problems is closer than they might think. 

When I began teaching at LCC in the early 2000s, I attended a workshop aimed at helping us better understand different perspectives and facilitating more effective communication. The premise was simple: Be willing to question your preconceptions. 

It was run by a facilitator who traveled around the country, giving workshops to public institutions, private corporations and other organizations. He had a well-tested program and was highly experienced in dealing with all manner of situations.

For one activity, he had us sit at circular tables, seven or eight at each one. Each table was assigned the same problem and charged with making a decision as a group. It was essentially the item known as “The Prisoner’s Dilemma,” a theory that tests individual self-interest against group cooperation and trust. The historical version pits two prisoners against each other, forced to make a choice based on guessing what the other might do, with the potential rewards ranging from going free to being severely punished. 

In our case, it was a matter of choosing one of two cards: One said we would stay with the larger group; the other said we would go it alone. If the entire group of nearly 100 people made the same choice half a dozen times, we would all receive an equal reward. However, if at any stage in the sequence, one table chose to depart from the group, that table would win everything and the rest would lose — unless another table also chose to depart, in which case those departing would lose.

It boiled down to a simple choice: If we all stuck together, we would all win together — but only if we could trust that everyone else would choose for the benefit of the larger group rather than just themselves.

We went through the first few decisions, and all the tables chose for the benefit of the group. The facilitator cocked his head and started to say something, but instead had us continue. 

We went again; everyone chose the same. Again the same. And again. As we neared the end, some tables took a little longer to discuss and choose. But each time, every table chose for the benefit of the group.

When we finished, the facilitator stood silently for a while. Then he said softly that he had never seen this before. I can still see his expression, a mixture of awe and confusion. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Yet it did.

This is what I call the spirit of LCC. It’s different there. Ego and competitiveness often take a back seat to a higher commitment, to the greater good over personal gain. Sometimes the process is not the most efficient time-wise, and it is true that not everyone is purely altruistic in every instance. But the spirit is strong, and the long-term rewards can be felt widely and deeply.

I retired from LCC in 2021. Many of the people I worked with are also gone, so I cannot say with authority if that spirit continues today. But I can say that I noticed it when I was a student there in the early 1980s, that it was there when I returned as a teacher 20 years later, and it continued until my retirement after another two decades. So I daresay that special spirit transcends generations. 

Perhaps one place the LCC board can look for direction is right in front of them: The people who work at the college.

Steve McQuiddy is the author of Here on the Edge, a Dayton Literary Peace Prize finalist. He taught writing at LCC for 20 years.