The basic problem ... A few years have passed since I published a homepage for a proposed theme camp, which some of those reading this might remember, during which time Burning and Black Rock city have changed greatly. Until today, my proposal had not been modified in response, leaving it increasingly dated and ever more poorly conceived for the Black Rock City of today. I've decided to do something about that.

Looking back at my virgin year, the sound that I associate with the Burning Man of that time is a silence, an almost unearthly silence, usually broken with no more than softly spoken voices and the infrequent sounds of radio broadcasts coming from speakers that seemed so far away, though they were but a short walk away. But this was not the suffocating, muffled silence of a library or a church, but a silence that seemed alive, every gentle whisper as clear to those that would hear it, as if it were a shout. Yes, one could hear screaming and explosions on the Playa, but most of the noise was to be found on the Esplanade or the open Playa, peace and relaxed companionship often being as close as the second ring street outward, when one was near 6:00, the exploding pyramids and empty dance floors being found at the ends of the broken ring that was the city. Silence, but not dead silence - heavily made up zombies racing through the dust to snatch and carry away damsels who would find delight in their distress, conversations around every corner - but nothing that would overwhelm many of those who wished to focus their attention elsewhere. The environment that greeted one seemed to be exactly what would hope for, in the setting for a literature reading, an interactive theatrical event - relatively light hearted events at which people would be doing the one thing that the loudspeakers in too many commercial establishments in the cities back home had made impossible: speak with each other, and really listen, taking in and perhaps savoring every turn of phrase, every thought, as each lived in the fleeting moment.

That time is gone. The inconsiderate few brought with them their sound systems and recorded music, which they would blast down onto "dance floors" - clear patches of ground - on which nobody was to be found, even the "DJs" whose music this was having vanished, leaving their music to be played by automated systems, if reports were to be believed, reports that were in no way surprising. Lack of courtesy in the playing of loud music had been so common and widespread a problem as to have become a cliche decades before Burning Man had even begun, a problem that a particular member of the Burning Man LLC, not to be named here, recommended be solved simply by having those bothered by the music talk to those playing the loud music, and then going for help if the talks proved fruitless. When somebody pointed out that this very strategy had been tried in college dormitories for years, with a consistent track record of failure - the offending parties, taking the visit as a warning that those in authority might be arriving soon, and would respond by blasting their stereos for a few seconds at unpredictable intervals, reducing the likelihood that any sound would be heard when the authorities arrived - said member of the LLC flippantly replied

"Burning Man is not a dormitory. Heh."

One could wait for some of the true believers to admit that they were wrong, and maybe even apologize, but even should such unlikely events occur, experience would still have its lessons to teach, and those lessons would still have discouraging implications. The time to deal with a discipline problem of any sort is before it has become the norm; as the saying goes, "by nipping it in the bud". Wait until almost seems to be doing something anti-social, one will find nothing but unyielding defiance should one then try to put a halt to the behavior. Success becomes a near impossibility. While we might talk about the road that could have been taken, and should have been, the fact remains that we are where we are, and we probably can't go back, at this point. The inconsiderate loud sound camps are with us, and are likely to only become increasingly common in the years to come. One can get angry with those whose unwise choices made this a reality if one must, but one should build ones plans around reality as it is, now, building our plans around the way in which the boom box crowd is likely to behave, given past behavior.

The good news is that this might very well be possible. We can't do everything that we could have done, given a better, more mature management style earlier, and should have been able to do today, but there are still possibilities to be explored - possibilities that might very well have virtues of their own.

What to do ... The first thing to understand about the kind of anti-social behavior that leads to noise complaints is that it often is anti-social. The offending parties can often be seen visibly relishing the anger of those they bother, working to increase that anger in much the same manner a troll will, raising the key question. How does one deal with trolls? By walking away from them, in one sense or another, making a special point of not telling them where one will be, online - and that's exactly how we'll deal with them, offline, if there ever is a "we".

Camps have, in the past, often centered around large, expensive, built up central locations, with stages and domes and other shelters that can't easily be moved. You set up your quiet camp in one location, announcing your location, and somebody will be easily able to move his sound system in next door and drown you out, just to be perverse. But let's say that we abandon the idea of a fixed camp, which we invite others to visit to see what we're doing, and instead take what we're doing to them. We hold these little literary and theatrical events at locations we choose maybe an hour or two in advance, and converge there. Where is "there"? Maybe inside another camp that will have us as guests and would welcome the entertainment. Maybe on one of the larger art cars. Maybe out on the open playa. Probably there will usually be no stages and no props, just ourselves, a few books and journals, and our water bottles so we don't get dehydrated. Go for the bare bones, minimalist approach, using only what we need and no more, and the logic of the situation will reverse. We'll be more mobile than the loud sound camp people, able to pack up and move away at a second's notice.

This also might mean that we won't be adding to the visual aspect of the event, because we won't be able to stick around and watch any installations to protect them from vandalism, meaning that the LLC's promotional efforts will be marginally undercut, but really, they have nobody to blame for that but themselves.

Live Radio Theatre ... While we might put some of our readings and performances on the radio, at low power, we probably won't for FCC related reasons, and no, this possibility is not the reason for the name of the camp. Think about the problems of organizing a "camp" with no fixed location for its events, and maybe not even one for where its members sleep. How can people know where to gather to do or even discuss anything?

By bringing their cell phones, should Playa coverage be good, and small portable hand held radios - walkie talkies if we can afford them, something home wired if we can't. Center camp offers an obvious location for small groups to gather to make plans over a little forbidden coffee, and maybe hook up with a few new people. We decide what we're going to do in the morning, choosing a variety of locations acceptable to all, and appoint somebody "grand poobah" for each event. About an hour before each event, the poobah gets on the radio and tells people where to gather. Nobody finds us deliberately. This is guerilla theatre, of one kind or another, our audience stumbling across us by pure chance.