Berkeley: a paralysis of good intentions?

I attend a conference on the future of Asian American studies--yes, another conference!--yesterday, and my mind and heart ate well on workshops speeches that enaged the experience and future of Asian and Pacific Islanders. The conference itself was about the bleak outlook of Asian American Studies at Berkeley, where enrollment is flagging, despite its origins in the 70s during hard-fought-for struggles among students for Ethnic Studies programs. I got to attend workshops about Pacific Islanders and the conflict around their inclusion and exclusion from the label "API." Another workshop was about the domestic violence: its expression in Asian famililies and the services provided for them. (As a testament to the degree that API don't want to deal with DV, I was the only attendee at this workshop aside from conference volunteers.) The final workshop I attended was a panel of Korean adoptees talking about experiences growing up and the bumpy roads along their development of their racial identities. I can hardly imagine my own conflict over what it means to be Chinese/Asian American had it been overlayed with no understanding or connection to the culture for which I was ridiculed by classmates. These syposiums and conferences, that expose me to the conversations and revolutions happening outside the School of Social Welfare, give me the social and cultural consciousness to continue as a social worker.
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A glimpse of Berkeley! I walking with a friend down Shattuck when a well-dressed, middle-aged man racing down the street past us. Behind, we heard a homeless man yelling at the top of his lungs, "HEY!" We thought, maybe someone had offended someone, but the homeless man kept yelling, saying, "HEY! YOU DROPPED YOUR CELL PHONE!" And the well-dressed man kept sprinting away, not paying any mind to the calls for his attention. The homeless guy was getting understandably frustrated, saying, "Well, I guess you don't want it that bad. Maybe I should throw it in the street." I was finally able to flag the well-dressed man and ask him if he was missing his cell phone. Only then did he acknowledge the homeless gentleman waving a phone in the air, who chided the upper middle class for "not taking the time to f*ching listen." I have to say that I agree. This is Berkeley: the upper class streamlining the streets, the locals maintaining the town's integrity not without a chip on its shoulder. Our local, celebrity writer Michael Chabon says it well in his blog essay. I don't know if I agree with the enraptured abandon he has for B-town, but his descriptions of the setting, the people, and the atmosphere are dead on.