In the 2005 movie, “Crash,” writer-director Paul Haggis sets up a series of scenes designed to tease out the snap judgements we all tend to make upon first encounters with new people: the redneck-sounding white cop, the black youths lingering on the street, the Mexican locksmith making a house call—all caused kneejerk, “protective” reactions among members of a different race or class. By the end of the film, however, our impressions of all but one of the characters changes 180 degrees.
 

Partnerships are the lifeblood of community development, but one type of potential collaborator that tends to be an untapped resource are local faith-based organizations and institutions.  

Communal gardens have become a fixture of neighborhood revitalization and community-building programs. Whether it be individual plots in one garden or one big lot that residents cultivate together, there is a growing escalation of a phenomenon with deep roots in American history, culture—and psyche.

Ask most Americans why Detroit went bankrupt and virtually emptied out—plummeting from a population of 1.8 million to 700,000—and you’ll probably hear comments like the “globalization of the auto industry,” “race riots” and “corrupt, inept government officials” (often a code for black politicians). When the question is about Detroit today, the most common perception seems to be that it is rebounding rapidly, thanks to an influx of external saviors and moguls.
 

Historically, the relationship between “towns” (cities and neighborhoods) and “gowns” (universities) have been rich with potential, but also fraught with challenges. Universities offer so much in the way of employment, external exposure and concentrated expertise, yet both invisible and visible barriers and points of tension exist that can get in the way of truly productive cross-sector collaboration.