I spent this last weekend at our Austin regional burn, Burning Flipside. Burns are always a magical place, filled with interesting people that are bent on connecting with and contributing to each other (and just generally bent).
But there is something special about Flipside.
For one thing, it’s the oldest regional burn, having existed since 1998. For another, its culture is based upon the fine art of Sass. As in: being sassy, snarky, and sarcastic; not taking oneself too seriously; fucking with other people.
And, most interesting to me, Flipside has a shockingly high amount of volunteer contribution.
I got curious about what causes this. Why would people pay to come to a weekend when they have worked for weeks or months to prepare art, experiences, and camps? Why would they show up to said weekend and then still spend a good chunk of their time volunteering? And, why would they go between volunteering to help with all the activities their camp is providing, and for positions to help the festival overall?
Burns have gotten a lot of flack in recent years, as Burning Man has become more commodified. But this level of engagement has always been what fascinates me about them, and you see it most at the regionals, where almost any role can be a volunteer position. Volunteer engagement is a hurdle for any organization, yet the burns harness people’s energy in a huge way.
In this article, I want to explore how they do it, from my view. But first…let me tell you about a day in the life of Flipside.
A Day in the Life of Flipside
It’s Saturday. Our camp is set up and ready for visitors. We’re Facelazers, promising connection and uncomfortably long eye contact to anyone who comes by. We’ve got the big pavilion facing the road, with rugs and pillows for cuddling, and lots of space for AR-esque events. Oh, and, of course, the anyone-can-man-it Bad Advice Booth.
I start out from camp and wander down the road. All around me, tiny art projects bloom like flowers. A tent decorated with vines and flowers. A strange effigy made from woven sticks and bones. Signs for “FU Telecom” and the “Badlands HOA”. There is a sarcastic version of every city institution, that some camp or other takes it upon itself to run.
Across the road, Wally’s Cowboy Kitchen is serving up its nth meal of the burn. All day and night, Wally cooks food for whoever comes by. Nobody pays.
I walk on down the road. There’s Wonderlounge, a giant tent and bar with a dance pole in the middle on which anyone can play. They make their own vinegar shrubs and feed people hand-mixed drinks all weekend long.
There’s Snail Tinder Mail, where you can write a profile for yourself and put it in a giant binder, then pick out the profiles of others you like to write letters to. They provide all their own stationary and deliver the letters for you.
There’s So Sassy, with a giant actual dumpster that has been outfitted with a keg inside, and someone sitting on a chair on top with a bullhorn harassing people who walk past.
There’s the Flipsonian, a fake museum someone created with tons of exhibits, a telescope, and a “gift shop” where everything is free.
There’s KFLIP, Flipside’s own radio station, playing local artists 24/7, and doing live commentary about things like the cow that wandered on property from a neighboring farm.
I head to the effigy field. Whereas Burning Man sticks with their traditional effigy theme, Flipside tends to get a little more…creative. This year’s effigy is an oppossum crawling out of a trash can. If you scream hard enough inside the trash can, fire comes out of the possum’s throat.
I’m headed to the fire station. Last night, I got informally recruited by the firefighters, when I got a ride from their gorilla cart going across the festival. They said they were understaffed, and anyone could join, so…for some reason, I decided to.
The training is a 1-hour affair. They teach me basic equipment, who to radio and what to do if there is a fire. Most importantly, they give me a cool T-shirt. My crew is Trigger, Dogstar, and Henry the Naked Firefighter. Several of the firefighters are retired army vets. Some are randos like me. I’m impressed by how quickly they adopt me into their tiny crew, despite my lack of how-to.
I return at 6:00, after teaching a workshop at Facelazers, for a 6-hour shift.
We start by driving around the festival, keeping an eye out for anything untoward. Then we’re called to the effigy field. The fire truck has given all of its water to the shower camp, which provides a much-needed cleanliness option to everyone at the burn, and we need to refill the water tank from a giant water bladder behind the effigy. This seems…normal.
The big excitement of this shift is a structure that will be burned at midnight. There is an art project called Wee Camp that bills itself as the tiniest camp at the burn. This goes uncontested, since the entire camp is made of miniatures. Wee camp has also built a tiny effigy out of popsicle sticks, toothpicks, and matches.
At midnight, we firefighters suit up in full gear (they let me borrow some) and head over to Wee Camp. We establish a perimeter and set up our tiniest pump and hose. The whole thing plays out as if it were the real effigy burn: safety checks, keeping people back from the flames (about as much as a small hearth fire), an announcer, even tiny sparklers to mimic firespinners dancing around. There are 7 firefighters in full gear! “We use it as an exercise…and ‘cause it’s funny”, one tells me.
After Wee Burn, I shed my uniform and go dancing for the night. Cello Goblin is playing at the Yayborhood, and I don’t want to miss it.
Why Do We Volunteer?
As I think back on that night, three immediate things got me to join the fire team. And, there were a few underlying motivations.
The immediate things were:
Modeling
A direct request
Timing
Modeling
Many of my campmates were volunteering, not just for camp but for core festival positions like ranger, greeter, and medic team. I had met them heading off to or coming back from shifts. It didn’t look fun, per se, but I saw it happening around me, so when the idea was brought up, it pinged an easy past association of “people I like do this! I should do it too!”
Direct Request
The volunteer firefighter I met asked me to be one, too. She gave me all the information I needed - “Here’s where and when the training is” - and seemed very excited about me taking the role. I felt both informed and chosen.
I was primed to take the role. But, despite similar interactions in my previous two Flipsides, I hadn’t chosen to hold a core volunteer role. Why was now different?
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