Busy Day Post

I'm the water, I'm the dishes, I'm the soap
I will comfort, make you clean, help you cope
When you're tired feeling helpless
Come inside, I am the shelter

And then when you're feeling better I'll
Watch you go

dum dum dee dee dee dum dum dee dum do
All the little babies go "Oh, oh I want to"
dum dum dee dee dee dum dum dee dum yeah
Rock the little babies with one two three

Are you hungry? Did you eat before the show?
I peeled potatoes, set the table, washed the floor
I know the others treat you rough
and when you know you've had enough

You'll come and see me 'cos you know
I'm always here

Mother's little helper

Reductionism, Not Western Civilization, is the Great Satan

Those currently in opposition to the construction of a mosque near Ground Zero don't seem to want to understand the whole picture. They will not even entertain anything other than views stepped in prejudice and fear, seeing an enemy in the face of every person of Middle Eastern descent. While in stuck in this merry-go-round that passes for substantive discourse, they are trusted supporters of a system that sees the sum of its parts as more important than the whole. Today's believers in preemptive prejudice take stock in reductionism, a theory that justifies bigotry nicely. Indeed, their system of belief relies more on personal bias and illogical rationales rather than outward truth. The spread and growth of this, its own near-religion upsets me more than that of the genuine terrorists themselves.

As a person of faith, I find myself frequently put on the spot when others assume that my social causes must certainly be contradicted by my religious views. "How can you believe in women's rights," they say, "if The Bible says this?" Or, "How can you believe in marriage equality if The Bible says that?" They speak from a reductionist framework that strains to simplify, for the ease of argument, a very complex text. What is printed on one page of thousands should not be considered "The Bible". A theological disagreement with one verse out of a multitude of others does not invalidate Christianity as a whole, either for individuals or for larger gatherings.

Christian denominations have disagreed about interpretation of certain passages for a long time, which is why we happen to have different faith groups and not one singular Church which speaks for all. By contrast, Radical Muslims use the Koran to justify their violent acts, passages that other Muslims interpret far differently. These disagreements do not invalidate Islam, the Koran, nor does one group's interpretation certainly speak for all of Islam. It seems presumptuous to me to believe otherwise.

Before 11 September 2001, many Americans were utterly ignorant of Islam. I myself took a class a couple years before which spent nearly three months focusing exclusively on the monotheistic, Abrahamic religions, and what I remember most about it was how I noted the strong similarities that existed between all three. I finished the course feeling a sense of shared kinship with both Jews and Muslims, which is why I find such blatantly Anti-Islamic sentiment so out of bounds and predicated on nothing more than outright lies.

Returning to the idea of potential scriptural conflict in Christianity, one verse alone does not contradict a huge work that spans thousands of years, contains many authors, was written for different purposes, and was itself a product of whichever particular historical and culture issues were raging during its composition. If we were speaking of an anthology, would we believe that one author's contribution on page 3, paragraph 2 speaks for the entire volume? The Bible is an anthology, not a novel. No two authors are the same, and indeed other books exist that were not included in the general canon for entirely man-made reasons.

Regarding this discrepancy, one oft-quoted passage in 1st Corinthians states,

Women should be silent during the church meetings. It is not proper for them to speak. They should be submissive, just as the law says. If they have any questions, they should ask their husbands at home, for it is improper for women to speak in church meetings.

This, it must be mentioned, was part of one Pauline Epistle and directed to one particular church. Other passages in other books by the same author speak to a universality of belief and authority not separated by sex. But, as is often the case, certain people, probably power-hungry men, decided to take these two verses out of context and apply them uniformly to all women. Here below is one interpretation of these verses, though I take some liberty with a few of the author's conclusions, so I've notably left them out.

The context of this passage, and much of 1 Corinthians, is the order and structure of the church. The Corinthian church was noted for the chaos and lack of order that was rampant in that assembly. It is interesting that no elders or pastors are mentioned, and the prophets were not even exercising control. Everyone was participating with whatever expression they desired “whenever” they desired. Apparently, certain (emphasis mine) women in the Corinthian church were out of order in disruptively asking questions publicly in the chaotic services.

Certain women were out of order. Not all women, just certain women. I can think of certain men who have taken the same liberties. Again, this was a command directed towards a handful of people in a very specific circumstance and at a very specific place. But such is the way of power. It will distort anything to keep itself in control. I don't fault the writer of the text as much as I fault those who took it out of context to suit their own purposes. Such is the way of reductionism. Religion is more complex than a draconian power grab, but some only want to see it in such terms.

Consider this verse in Galatians, by contrast,

There are neither Jews nor Greeks, slaves nor free people, males nor females. You are all the same in Christ Jesus.

Same author, different time, different church. The contrasts are marked. Enclosed below is a brief definition of reductionism, religious or otherwise, included to emphasize my greater point.

Religious reductionism generally consists of explaining religion by boiling it down to certain nonreligious causes. A few examples of reductionist attempts to explain the presence of religion are: the view that religion, could be reduced to humanity’s conceptions of right and wrong; the belief that religion is fundamentally a primitive attempt at controlling our environments; or in the opinion of religion, as a way to explain the existence of a physical world.

Sigmund Freud's idea that religion is nothing more than an illusion, or even a mental illness, and the Marxist view that religion is "the sigh of the oppressed," providing only "the illusory happiness of the people," are two other influential reductionist explanations of religion.

Even as Progressives, how many of these do you hold true these days? Beyond liberal opinion, I myself have observed similar tropes even within conservative discourse. Such is the pervasiveness of cynicism, reductionism, and skepticism today. My heart as heavy as I contemplate how willingly we cast aside critical thinking. Reductionism doesn't just keep us separated, it's also fundamentally lazy logic. Why would we want to believe in a perpetual argument machine? I thought debates were undertaken to establish a clear winner and a clear loser once and for all. What's good about never-ceasing conflict based on ignorance?

The Soldier's Faith?

"Behind every scheme to make the world over, lies the question, What kind of world do you want? The ideals of the past for men have been drawn from war, as those for women have been drawn from motherhood.

For all our prophecies, I doubt if we are ready to give up our inheritance."

This Here's a Story 'Bout Your Friend and Mine (Who is it? Who is it?)

There you stand with your L.A. tan
And your New York walk
and your New York talk

Your mother left you
when you were small

But you're going to wish
you wasn't born at all

Steel and glass
Steel and glass
Steel and glass
Steel and glass

Your phone don't ring
no one answers your call
How does it feel to be off the wall?

Well, your mouthpiece squawks
as he spreads your lies

But you can't pull strings
if your hands are tied

Well, your teeth are clean
but your mind is capped

You leave your smell
like an alley cat

Steel and glass
Steel and glass
Steel and glass
Steel and glass

On Lindsay Anderson

While the gossip mags speculate about Queen Latifah's same-sex relationship, here's my addition to the debate.

A particularly looming influence on my art and writing is Lindsay Anderson. Better known for his work on the stage than behind the lens, Anderson did direct two films which I still watch frequently, 1968’s If... and 1973’s O Lucky Man!. In addition to that, he was an eloquent and influential film critic, much in keeping with British and French New Wave directors of the period. Aside from the content and the themes of both cinematic works, I am utterly fascinated by the director’s unusual personal life which in some ways is similar to mine. I understand what it is like to feel afraid to be honest with the rest of the world, but I have never taken these fears to such extremes as he did. Though the identities I claim are slightly different from his, I do understand his quandary.

Lindsay Anderson’s sexual orientation stayed a secret until his death. The subject was a matter of massive speculation among many a cast and crew as well as those who knew him personally, but never revealed for any reason. Anderson’s profuse journals, published after his death, reveal a man in a kind of perpetual masochistic torment, a person who fell in love with every single leading man in his films or frequent stage plays, nearly all of whom were straight. Perhaps he found something safe in that fact, being assured that his feelings would never risk being reciprocated. He lived alone most of his life and never partnered, though he did surround himself with friends and associates at all times, which I suppose kept away loneliness.

During his life, had his homosexuality been common knowledge, Lindsay Anderson would have been horrified had anyone tried to label him a “gay director”. Unlike his contemporary John Schlesinger, Anderson’s films never explored overtly gay themes like those found in the latter director’s controversial Midnight Cowboy or Sunday Bloody Sunday, one of the first films to confront homosexuality and bisexuality. While the two of them might have hailed from the same country and may have been of the same persuasion, their whole ethos and attitude towards their work and they themselves could not have been more different. Schlesinger was openly out and Anderson was resolutely closeted.

A Lindsay Anderson film contains elements of homoeroticism based on setting or scene, but one careful to preserve plausibility denial. If..., for example, takes place in the all-male environment of a British public school, the American equivalent of an elite private boarding school. There are elements of the plot which are clearly homoerotic and violent, but can be easily excused as part of the experience of hazing and initiation rituals: humiliation, submission, pain, dominance. Since much of the movie was based on Anderson’s actual experiences as a public school student, one wonders how much of the conduct young Anderson found perversely appealing and which he found totally appalling. He was said to have greatly enjoyed the experience of being at college, though for the life of me, I can’t see how one could.

Since his death in 1994, Anderson has been criticized by film critics for fetishizing the male form in his works in ways that I have alluded to above. It is indeed interesting to note that the British director’s greatest influence was the super-macho auteur, American John Ford. Anderson even published a well-regarded book on Ford's work. Perhaps Anderson was drawn most strongly to the intensely masculine, a regrettable attraction for someone already inclined towards the impossible in romance. It is a tragedy when anyone lives in a state of being that denies the prospect of joy or happiness, but I can also understand Anderson’s desire to be seen through more than one lens.

The tragedy of his life is that of a man who, I believe, wanted desperately to be straight, and found a way to live as something close to one, but at such a cost!

Quote of the Week

"Hypocrite: the man who murdered both his parents and pleaded for mercy on the grounds that he was an orphan."- Abraham Lincoln

Change Is Not An Enemy or an Empty Slogan

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable: "Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood up and prayed about himself: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men--robbers, evildoers, adulterers--or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I give a tenth of my entire income.'

"But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.' "I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted."

When we speak about inequality, in any form, it reveals how indebted we are to hierarchies. We can rightly criticize the existing power structure as elitist and exclusive, but without proper action our words are meaningless. What we label our efforts, be it liberation theology or any number of related terms is pointless unless we put it into action. I still recall how, on the stump, Barack Obama proclaimed that making needed change began from the bottom up, not the top down. His Presidency and example prove how easy it is to let the ways of the world creep in and commandeer our best intentions. Well done, as Benjamin Franklin noted, is better than well said.

As a Young Adult, my status and station is decidedly lower than those older than myself. This is a fairly obvious fact, of course. So before I go any further, I know that I do have it very good in many ways. Having the privilege granted me by fortuitous birth of being white, male, educated, and middle class puts me in a prized place others would give almost everything to attain. I am sincerely thankful for the sacrifices of those who came before me who reinforced these privileges. But in response to the Young versus Old debate, one every generation apparently must confront for itself, something really needs to be said. What I'm about to say is endemic of a great generational divide, one that is both new to our times and old as the Earth itself.

Being told constantly that we are lazy, uncommitted, and massive ingrates tends to get to us. Some people our age can be disinclined to work hard and keep alive the process of societal evolution, but not everyone. What I and other activist Young Adults regularly contend with regarding efforts to create revolutionary reform from the bottom up with are people older than ourselves who are quite comfortable where they are and don’t really want to entertain change. Change on their own terms is what they want, and this rarely provides anyone the ability to observe that a different methodology and school of thought exists and has existed for a long time. Modifying where one chooses to look may be a more successful strategy.

The people in question I am talking about have fought their battles. They're counting the days towards retirement. They talk about passing the baton wistfully, speaking frequently about their declining physical energy and stamina, but they're also often covetous of power and influence. I’ve recently spoken with several people who are the age of my parents and grandparents; an attitude overheard more than I'd like is one that believes any change undertaken is a simple question of individual prerogative, not one mandated for all. That is to say, in their opinion, “I can choose to keep up with new things if I wish, but ultimately no one has the right to force me or anyone else to keep up with the times”. Ironically, they enjoy their own privilege in this statement and they want to be accommodated accordingly.

I never believe that anyone ought be left behind or not included in the discussion, but it depends entirely upon the expectation of the request. The anxiety verbalized stems from a fear from being left behind, justified or not. Though it's not terribly Quaker of me, my immediate reaction is one not terribly tactful or diplomatic, but I'll seek to soften how I feel as I cite my reservations. To such people I would say this:

1. Change is inevitable.


2. Adaptation is a life skill.


3. There’s no reason to feel threatened by new ways. One's hard work will not go unnoticed, nor will be somehow entirely disregarded.


4. What you've published or accomplished with your life is not helpful if you're out of print, literally or figuratively.


5. If you seek immortality beyond your physical existence, you must be discussed well beyond your own time in the sun. This means you must modify your message to suit the times, not place sole obligation upon others.

I can empathize. It must be difficult to accept the reality that, having been cutting-edge once upon a time, one has now given way to being dated and no longer terribly relevant. The easiest way to stay current is to keep oneself and one's ideas current. This doesn't mean attempting to be young only to look foolish. It means being an elder statesperson or a mentor. Young Adults need both, people who manage to be comfortable with their age and comfortable with themselves. Wisdom never dates. Attempting to span the gap between youth and age, however, will always create problems. Be yourself.

Expand your sphere of influence. Find a compelling message, then expand it beyond a very small orbit. Small ponds beget short half-lifes. The size of the universe you inhabit is directly proportional to how quickly your ideas will cease to be debated. One of the reasons I cite my activist allegiances as often as I do is to make sure that the wisdom and knowledge contained within them doesn't die there. In some way, it is my own private evangelizing, though I seek not to win converts through direct action. I merely want people to find comfort in knowledge the way I did when I first came across these exciting ideas. There was a time in my life where I believed that helpful, inspiring, compelling information should only be the domain of the few who could understand the filing system. Now I think that the solution ought to be free for everyone, distributed on street corners, and should be translated into as many languages as possible. Let's start the process of translation now.

Saturday Video

The Demise of Cathy

And now for something completely different.

One of my friends, in addition to having a super-important serious job, is an independent cartoonist. This, shown below, was her recent take on the demise of the strip Cathy.



(Click to embiggen)

It strikes me as strange how attached we are to our punching bags. If we are ever to have peace and not constant conflict, it seems to me we'd first need to cast aside the means and methods of how we project our fears and anxieties. Cartoons like Cathy remind us that the offense we take from them is a result of how close to the truth they are sometimes. The female protagonist of the aforementioned comic strip was very much an over-the-top portrayal, constantly fixated on the same insecurities and phobias. And yet, I'm sure many of us knew people just like her, and perhaps even see bits of ourselves in what was essentially a caricature or perhaps even a pastiche of so-called modern womanhood.

I've surveyed a fairly wide range of Feminist critique over the past couple days, and it seems as though the basic sentiment is that Cathy reinforced negative stereotypes of women, reducing them all to neurotic complainers, desperately seeking the perfect swimsuit or man, for that matter. This is a sentiment not received well with many, particularly those who sought to avoid the Cathy stereotype or who are not exactly concerned with the eternal pursuit of men. I acknowledge their concerns with an open mind.

Yet, what has also been uniformly noted is that the strip broke a tremendous amount of new ground. Its basic premise has been co-opted into many successful chick lit books and chick flick films. Times change constantly and no doubt what has been written today may be seen as shockingly behind-the-times at some future date. Cathy was very much a product of her time. I often cringe to see racial and homophobic stereotypes in literature, art, and film from the past. Whether I toss aside the works altogether, or seek to look past the parts that are not in keeping with my own moral compass is my call alone to make. To me, it's a matter of individual choice, though the past has its own wisdom and guidance I am glad I learned, with life lessons I'd have disregarded altogether had I kept to a far stricter standard.

I love silent film, but I also recognize that depictions of people of color, if they even appear, frequently resort to minstrelsy as a means of comic relief. It's not terribly amusing to see African-Americans shown as childish buffoons whose cartoonish dialect is a frequent punch line, but I know audiences roared with laughter at the time. Likewise, the director John Ford worked closely with John Wayne in numerous Westerns, films which advance a conception of repressed, rugged masculinity that never really was, one where acting tough, unsentimental, and, when the situation demanded it, violent, was the norm. However, I can't help delighting in the beautiful black and white cinematography and the shot composition.

We may only be left with one of those unsatisfying on-one-hand, but on-the-other hand kind of resolutions.

I'm reminded a bit of Woody Allen's opening monologue for the film Annie Hall.

"There's an old joke. Two elderly women are at a Catskills mountain resort, and one of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know, and such small portions."

Lightness

I wept and I fasted
I prayed and I've lasted
At least six months longer
Than the one before

Some think it foolish
To guide all the mulish ones
Taking the path where
The world says to go

The kids are all cranky
Their minds beyond manky
And I have to show them
A sponge and a mop

If this is a marriage
The fault is the carriage
Guilt-wrapped and gold-plated
Confused for the top

Some people don't question
The reason for blessing
The idols so plentiful
Frequently sought

The kids are all cranky
Their minds beyond manky
And I have to show them
A sponge and a mop

Review: Summertime

On this day when the highly anticipated film Eat, Pray, Love is set to be released in theaters, I thought I might provide a bit of contrast. Namely, I decided I'd write a movie review (for the first time in ages) about a much older film that covers much of the same territory. While it's not a perfect fit, many of the same plot elements are present. Released in 1955, Summertime stars Katharine Hepburn and Italian actor Rossano Brazzi. Originally a play, the screenplay stays faithful to the original by preserving a primary interplay between two major characters, a device that is commonly used in that form. As the action begins,we focus upon the trials and tribulations of a middle-aged secretary (Hepburn), seeking something very different while on her summer vacation. Appropriately, she has chosen to visit Venice after saving up for years in order to go, she informs us. The point of the trip, she alludes to in an off-hand fashion, is to find herself and spread her wings, though even this pronouncement is jittery and quavering.

A self-proclaimed independent woman flaunting the still very traditional trends of the day, Jane Hudson (Hepburn) is content in the beginning to pass her time eating in restaurants, taking pictures of the city, and engaging in small talk with fellow tourists. Hepburn had a way of playing nervous, ill-at-ease characters with exacting detail, and through the person of Jane we see a woman who can barely conceal the outward display of her life of quiet desperation. One would never call her confident. She's clearly an emotional wreck, stuck together with glue. Authentic repression requires dexterity or at least self-confidence and there is nothing skillful about any personality this self-doubting and uncertain.

Seeking a reason for this obvious discomfort with the self, we are led to believe that Hepburn's character, Jane Hudson, is simply approaching spinsterhood. What could be more frightening than the promise of being of being alone forever, of course? This might suffice for an answer, if it were not for one crucial, and very brief scene that shows a woman in absolute anguish and fear regarding the promise of real love. The response I got after viewing it was not that her neuroses and doubts always had kept her from finding a relationship partner, but rather that she had recently been severely heartbroken and had taken a trip to Italy to heal. We never know for sure, but I find the latter scenario a bit more plausible than the former.

Enter shopkeeper Renato de Rossi (Rossano Brazzi). de Rossi takes an immediate like to Jane. While sitting in a large open air cafe he spies her sitting by herself and smiles appreciatively. Her immediate reaction is to furiously put on a pair of sunglasses and shrink away from the attention. She is flattered/humiliated at the outset and not in the right frame of mind to be receptive to it even a little bit. So, he continues to pursue her, hoping to find her in better spirits eventually. He succeeds in his efforts, only to have (SPOILER ALERT) one nagging detail threaten to destroy the nascent affair and ruin her fantasies. He is married, but in the process of separation, a detail he explains that he intended to tell her eventually, but didn't say up front, not wanting to scare her away. Even after her Puritanical streak drives her away once, she seeks him out a second time, whereupon they engage in a brief, but passionate love affair.

A Feminist critique of Summertime is occasionally difficult. Hepburn's character is a contradiction in terms. She claims to be self-reliant and strong, and yet she is neither of these in reality. The shopkeeper de Rossi is a tender, gentle lover all in all and seems to instinctively know that being forceful is the only way the relationship will ever get underway. I wouldn't say that he ever broached consent, but rather that, from his perspective, he probably found it difficult to know how to properly approach someone so violently conflicted within the self. She is her own worst enemy, more so than any man ever could be. Is she the portrait of Fifties-era spinsterhood, a living example of why every woman needs a husband? Perhaps, but I don't think so.

Here's why. The film does not end up happily ever after for either character. Neither he nor she find their needs satisfied, which is in line more with a tragedy than a romance. Perhaps the basic idea is that falling in love, to say nothing of romance, can only be accomplished with the expectation that it will not be easy and will require pushing past fears that are simply not justified. Feminist critique often talks about fears that are very justified and often not taken seriously by others. Here, it would seem that the general message is that love is imperfect, it doesn't always arrive in socially acceptable forms, and yet to turn away from it would be throwing away the chance at contentment. This is subversive now, and subversive then.

The Answer to Answers

Winding paths
through tables and glass

First fall was new
Now watch the summer pass
So close to you.

Too late to keep the change,
Too late to pay,

No time to stay the same
Too young to leave.

No pass out sign on the door
set me thinking

Are waitresses paying the price
of their winking?

While stars sit in bars and decide
what they're drinking,

They drop by to die 'cause it's
faster than sinking.

Too late to keep the change,
Too late to pay,

No time to stay the same
Too late to keep the change,
Too late to pay,

No time to stay the same
Too young to leave.

Drain the Swamp? Drain the Attraction to the Swamp, First

Generation after generation of politicians running as Washington outsiders have railed against the established system. Lambasting corruption and inherent evil has been an effective populist message for a long while. We saw it from one party in 2006 and 2008 and now, in 2010, we observe it in another. Every generation appears to have been sold the same basic message. But after each wave of reformers finds the going perilous and true change difficult, we engage in an equally long-running tradition, that of demanding why. Why is this institution so resistant to change and so stubbornly ingrained? Where does one even begin?

One must first examine why people go to Washington in the first place. I should qualify that by "people" I do not mean only newly elected politicians. Much to their credit, some come to do great good. Some come for specialized experience and educational opportunities available nowhere else in the country, if not the world. Many, however, come to acquire power, plain and simple. I am aware that this description sounds overly simplistic, and to a degree it is, but after one has observed it first hand, it is difficult to understate this unfortunate reality.

Those whose God is power alone willingly sacrifice their humanity and integrity in the process of obtaining influence. Even good people are often tainted by the prevailing climate. Those who intend to stay a long while in DC make their peace with the existing framework somehow, either by compromise measures or occasionally through outright rationalizations.

How it came to be as it is and what factors converged to form Washington culture is a matter for historians and sociologists. I'm sure that answer exists somewhere. Sometimes I feel as though capital cities or any sources of very centralized power can easily become repositories of great evil. And yet, without them, as we know, it is much more difficult to properly govern. As it stands, the politics of the District, themselves a reflection of the strongest sources of power, those found at the White House and Capitol, are based around competition for influence.

Proving one's importance is the District's favorite parlor game, followed closely by name dropping. One also mustn't forget the practice of social climbing. Humility, as you might guess, is not listed here, nor is a refusal to overstate one's credentials for the sake of wishing to impress someone else. Not everyone is a high roller, but you'd be surprised how many pretenders to the throne exist.

If this sounds like Louis XIV's court in Versailles, circa 1700, it's because, in many ways, it is. The whole system is kept up by glass house residents throwing stones, or by true believers in the Emperor's latest brand new suit of clothes. As we have discovered once more, one person alone cannot fix what has been broken for so very long. Neglect and lack of adequate leadership produce swamp land. The longer unhealthy attitudes and practices go unchallenged, the more difficult they are to be reversed.

Draining the stinking scum will treat only the external issues. We would be better off taking on the reasons why people are drawn to it in the first place. Some of these unhealthy compulsions are likely due to human nature, but some of them could easily be curtailed with adequate oversight and strong leadership.

Yet, even so, we might be more wise in collapsing the house of cards and starting over. This has certainly been an attitude expressed by others I've solicited on this subject. What exists now has been in force for a very long time. Modest changes, in the District's current form, are about all we can truly expect going forward. I certainly am not advocating active revolution since I deplore violence of any sort, but I am instead suggesting that revolutionary changes are needed. Right now, too many people are indebted to the way things have always been.

This includes journalists, politicians, bureaucrats, lobbyists, government agency workers, non-profit do-gooders, and everyone both directly and indirectly influenced by the prevailing winds. Though the system is entirely broken, few wish to dismantle it and to assemble something else. Most are comfortable with the devil they know, casting a rather skeptical, fearful eye at the prospect of something potentially worse arriving next.

Remember again, friends, why people come to Washington, DC. Power is often paranoid and afraid of losing stature, which is confirmed each and every election cycle. Beyond politics, a very particular kind of personality is at force here behind the scenes. For those high-achieving, resume-padding, Type A, sharp elbowed, uber-competitive sorts, the ends often justify the means. And even though not everyone thinks or acts this way, there are more than enough present to create tremendous problems.

These problems are ancient. They do not pertain only to the modern era. We might do better pondering where we fit into the equation, and how individually we contributed to a cesspool environment, through both our complicity and our silence. We might ponder how to prevent this process from forming in the first place, in areas small enough or new enough that we individually have some modicum of control or guidance over the proceedings.

Hear these words. Some know them by heart, some haven't heard them in years, some have never heard them at all.

Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples: "The teachers of religious law and the Pharisees are the official interpreters of the law of Moses. So you must obey them and do everything they tell you. But do not do what they do, for they do not practice what they preach.

They crush people with unbearable religious demands and never lift a finger to ease the burden. Everything they do is for show. On their arms they wear extra wide prayer boxes with Scripture verses inside, and they wear robes with extra long tassels.

And they love to sit at the head table at banquets and in the seats of honor in the synagogues. They love to receive respectful greetings as they walk in the marketplaces, and to be called 'Rabbi.'

"Don't let anyone call you 'Rabbi,' for you have only one teacher, and all of you are equal as brothers and sisters. And don't address anyone here on earth as 'Father,' for only God in heaven is your spiritual Father. And don't let anyone call you 'Teacher,' for you have only one teacher, the Messiah.

The greatest among you must be a servant. But those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

Truth in Short Supply: Baltimore Yearly Meeting

My contribution to the Spirit Rising: Young Quaker Voices anthology was entitled, "Reviving the Slumbering Light". I was responding to a particularly unfortunate experience I experienced a couple years ago at a monthly meeting. The title could also easily apply to Baltimore Yearly Meeting's annual gathering. What I mean by this will soon be as clear as I can manage.

Before I begin, I want to note up front that I do not see myself as the eternal curmudgeon. Every community has at least one and I'm also aware of how easily they show themselves on an online forum. We don't often act responsibly regarding constructive criticism. It seems that when problems must be voiced that it is necessary to fall into one of two extremes: the risk-averse hand-wringer or the chronically misanthropic complainer. "Rocking the boat" need not be an emasculating experience, nor have we any need to cherry pick someone's best intentions from his or her baseless insults and petty grievances. Though I seek that which is God within everyone, some people make the process very difficult.

As I collect my thoughts, I am inspired by the early Quakers who, out of a desire to speak Truth to power, found themselves frequently misunderstood. It is in emulation of that great and noble tradition that I write, risking the same response. To be sure, had I chosen to write immediately after arriving home, I would have spoken from a place of frustration and anger; my prose would have reflected it. Now, after processing what I went through, I believe I am better able to objectively outline that which caused me no small distress.

Here is what I mean. Baltimore Yearly Meeting was run with as little transparency and accountability as I have ever seen in a spiritual gathering. I find this dumbfounding, since many of the problems present defied common sense. To cite one example, chain of command was nonexistent. Friends were confused as to what person or persons on staff (or on an appropriate committee) needed to be approached for specific purposes.

I shudder to think what would have happened had a person had an accident or severe illness requiring immediate medical assistance. Moreover, no pre-packet of general information was provided to attenders before showing up on site. Ideally, at minimum this packet would have lain out important details, phone trees, room assignments, and emergency contacts. It could have been printed out beforehand for those who would have preferred a paper copy or provided in PDF or Word format to those who sought to be environmentally friendly.

Here another example: orientation was held only once, which is fine for those with the financial and time resources to attend for a full week, but is very inconvenient and unfair to many Friends who arrived after the proceedings had gotten underway. Signs pointing attenders across the campus of Frostburg State to scheduled events were minimal. It is my understanding that efforts were made to increase their presence, but these efforts need to continue and to be greatly expanded. In short, the gathering was run by long time attenders for people who were also long time attenders.

For those like me who had never been before, we felt for all the world as though we were engaged in a massive scavenger hunt. Even those who had attended many times before got confused by the lack of adequate organization and often arrived late to activities. While I know that the phrase "Quaker organization" is an oxymoron in some corners, I think surely we can do much better than this. Had I not attended a prior gathering where these sorts of problems were not found in bushels, I might not hold these same expectations.

I arrived seeking spiritual refreshment in the company of others with the same inclination, and I regret to report that I did not find it. Instead, I felt in many ways as though I was a new member of a country club or fraternity. Whether Friends intended it to be structured in such a fashion or whether this is a consequence of ignorance and neglect, I know not, but the feel of the gathering was about as far from Beloved Community as I can imagine.

I aim to help out and assist others as part of my leading from the Spirit, but when the work of pertinent committees and individuals is kept hidden without any easy means of comprehension or discernment, it makes me not want to undertake the effort needed to obtain this information. To try to better explain precisely what it is I mean, here is a example of a conversation I had.

Me: I'd like to know more about the __________________ committee.

Long-time Friend: Surely you must know ____________________.

Me: No, actually, I don't.

(Thinking to myself) No one's ever really introduced themselves to me before. How would I know them if they don't make it easy for me to participate? How can I participate if I am expected to do so much legwork up front?

Long-time Friend: Well, talk to _______________________.

Me: I don't know them either.

It has been my experience that committee work is often rewarding. I don't want to be seen as though I'm bashing the committee system as a whole. But I think also that many of us are well aware of what happens when one or two people take control over a committee. When these people think that working together is some threat to their own power, then Quaker process completely breaks down. In unfortunate situations like these, other committee members often feel as though it's not worth the trouble of an argument or a conflict to correct this Friend in a spirit of love.

I saw this at Yearly Meeting and my impressions were confirmed by other Friends I spoke with privately. Several threw their hands up in the air, stating that this had been the way things always had been ever since they'd been attending. It is from these conversations that I understood the dysfunction was systemic and totally entrenched.

This regrettable dynamic kept most Young Adult Friends from wanting to engage in daily activities. Instead, they kept to themselves. I did discover that most Young Adult Friends in attendance tended to trend more to the younger end of the spectrum, towards the late teens and early twenties. I am a full decade younger than them and yet, I have to say I felt a sense of kinship in their company more than I felt with most older adults. There were maybe two or three other Young Adult Friends in attendance who were in their late twenties and early thirties, which is problematic in and of itself, but another subject altogether.

On this general topic, a Friend gave a group presentation at BYM, directly discussing waning Young Adult participation. He titled the talk "Where Have All the Children Gone?". To answer his query literally, and in part, I'd answer that they simply don't want to deal with the exhausting drama and needless conflict. They see adults, their presumed elders, acting childishly or not especially Friendly, and they want no part of it whatsoever. One cannot blame them. I myself have noticed in my own monthly meeting that a great divide in attitude and mentality exists between the Young Adults and Older Adults, and the two are often in tension with each other.

Are we asleep, Friends? If we are, it should be easy enough to rouse ourselves from slumber. I recognize that change becomes progressively more and more difficult to enact as we grow older, but straightforward reforms like these are vital to the survival of our faith. My concerns speak well beyond just one Yearly Meeting. As I set down these words, I seek to keep a foot planted firmly in two camps, both with people with my age, and also with those older than me.

There is certainly enough blame to go around, should we choose to devote our energies towards finger-pointing. I, however, would much rather discuss strategies for continued growth and healthy dialogue. What I do know is that unless we are willing to speak the same language, we should expect to stay here forever. It's not fair to demand that others must learn our language to gain admission and then act incredulous when they take offense.

This Is Why I Left Alabama

Pick You Up at 8

New Age

"Can I have your autograph?"
he said to the fat blonde actress

"You know, I've seen every movie you've been in
from Paths of Pain to Jewels of Glory

And when you kissed Robert Mitchum
gee, but I thought you'd never catch him"

Over the hill right now
and you're looking for love
You're over the hill right now
and you're looking for love

I'll come running to you
honey, when you want me
I'll come running to you
honey, when you want me

"Can I have your autograph
he said to the fat blonde actress
You know, I know everything you've done
anyway, I hate divorces

To the left is a marble shower
it was fun even for an hour, but

You're over the hill right now
and you're looking for love
You're over the hill right now
and you're looking for love"

I'll come running to you
honey, when you want me
I'll come running to you
honey, when you want me

Something's got a hold on me
and I don't know what
Oh, something's got a hold on me
and I don't know what

It's the beginning of a new age
It's the beginning of a new age
it's a new age

Spreading the Lessons Learned Inside the Liberal Bubble

Earlier this week I had the opportunity to speak informally at length with several college-aged young adults. Most were at least a decade or so younger than me, and it was interesting to compare how a younger generation's perspective was both different and similar to that of my own. We covered a wide variety of subjects in a relatively short period of time, but one particularly interesting discussion grabbed my attention. To some extent, it might as well have sufficed for the main idea of every related topic we covered. Many were within a few semesters of graduation, and starting to contemplate what life after college would have in store for them.

While discussing the societal flaws in gender roles and gender distinctions, a male student spoke with deep concern regarding the limitations of the liberal bubble which he currently inhabited. He had learned to feel very comfortable in a place where everyone more or less thought as he did, cultural policing was kept to a minimum, and where he was free to openly display parts of himself without fear of censure. Yet, he also knew that he was a dweller in an extremely tiny universe whose freedoms ended within a few steps of campus. Adjusting to the greater world after having been immersed in a place much more permissive and encouraging was not a comforting thought to him. Moreover, he also wondered whether what he had learned would even be applicative to the world beyond the gates of academia.

To be sure, many colleges and universities provide a relatively sheltered environment where experimentation and searching for identity are encouraged. Many students, myself included, explored matters of personal identity that had often been forcibly repressed or submerged. And, as is often true, once I graduated and entered the so-called world of Adulthood™, I put those ways behind me. I have, however, often wondered if whether being an "adult" implied an obligation to retreat back into the universal closet in which we all live, living in constant fear that others will be unrestrained to out us or other us.

The student I mentioned above was mulling over what it would be like to live in a world where there were not co-ed restrooms, protests, frequent references made to gender studies and queer theory, compost heaps, ethical consumerism, petition signing, and a near uniformity in ideological identification. I understand his reservations well. If I could inhabit this world, there are any number of things about myself I would openly reveal, knowing I would be unlikely to make someone else uncomfortable. Being mocked or misunderstood for any reason is to know human cruelty. And, like him, I also know that the good work I seek to do can never be accomplished within a sheltered environment, only when I enter spaces where the behavior of others cannot be easily predicted or controlled.

A female student asked me why I spoke openly and frequently about some of the identities I claim for myself, Feminist being the most notable, followed closely by Quaker. Her exact question was, "Why do you keep advertising yourself?" My response to her was that it was a proactive gesture I had learned to adopt long ago, largely to prevent others from jumping to conclusions without first knowing the facts. What a wonderful day it will be when we all don't have to add caveats to what we say or who we are without someone else making an assumption that is entirely off base. Whenever anyone feels a compulsion to say, "I'm not a Feminist, but...", "I'm not religious, but...", or the ever-popular "I'm not racist, but..." herein lies proof of our compulsion to distance ourselves from potential hurt stemming from minimal information.

I pause here to note that was not born into the same world as most of these students. Though I often take solace in the fact that that my upbringing could have been far more conservative and restrictive than it was, I was nonetheless raised by two parents whose working-class Southern WASP inclination produced in me a very different perspective. As is common for many, from a very young age, I knew I would have to leave the region of my birth and settle elsewhere to ever find true community. Having done so, I am certainly thankful for the opportunity, but I know I will always feel like an outsider in some ways.

I applaud the existence of restrooms not restricted to sex or gender, but I still feel uneasy if a woman enters the stall next to me. I believe in gender equality, but I know I ought to carefully consider my audience and volume at which I speak. In certain circumstances, I have found unexpected enemies and unexpected allies. Sometimes women I speak to are the most critical of Feminism and men the most supportive. I am a follower of Jesus, but I have a well-rehearsed litany of about fifteen different tried-and-true apologetic statements designed to put others at ease (and to not be treated differently, as well).

I notice often how when we encounter someone different from us, someone who claims an identity easily inclined to provoke an emotional response, our awkwardness in their company leads us in one of two paths. The first is prejudicial, where we are violently opposed and passionately offended. The second is also born of discomfort, but takes the form of people who seek tolerance and understanding but are nonetheless uncomfortable. Theirs is the path of overcompensation, and usually is characterized by people who are overly and unnecessarily helpful, understanding, and eager to make one feel included and a part. The second is, of course, much preferred to the first; it's still worth noting that a state of personal ill-ease is present in both scenarios.

It has been said many times before that true learning and understanding does not arrive without a degree of anxiety also present. But it seems as though the anxiety can be both helpful and unhelpful, depending on its form. I remember reading once that there are two types of stress, Eustress, which motives us and keeps us moving forward, and Distress, which robs us of energy and health. One usually thinks of these things as mutually exclusive, but they may not be. The degree and the intensity of each may depend on the individual and the situation. Everyone has a particular threshold for conflict. Some say that not all conflict is destructive, but how easy it is for conflict to spiral out of control. Some may need the security of a liberal bubble and some may wish to practice their conflict resolution skills on a daily basis. As much as I wish that what I learned in safe spaces could be spread far and wide, I know also that resistance is likely to be extreme in some corners.

Being open and honest with the outside world is a revolutionary gesture, but some of us may not be revolutionaries. Even now, in my private life, there is much I keep to myself and a few trusted friends because the potential pain of public knowledge is too much. In this context, I am referring to realities about myself that in liberal circles would cause no one to bat so much as an eyelash, but would be borderline scandalous to those who hold conservative beliefs.

It's tough to be a solitary activist in any form. I would often feel more comfortable sitting at a segregated lunch counter with several other people than as Rosa Parks, one person out of many hostile voices. To some extent, I have taken both roles before, but the concept of strength in numbers is enough to steel the resolve of many otherwise disinclined to act. It seems that in this day and age, we are inclined far less towards group solidarity and more towards individual rebellion. The irony of this phenomenon is that that we're all individually rebelling to some degree, but we know not of the similar struggle of our neighbor. I long for a day where we'll put aside the possibility for individual loss in place of the promise of communal gain. We have become masters of risk-averse thinking, which while it provides no losses, it also provides no gains.

Until we do this, the liberal bubble may only provide a short respite from the rest of the world. We often look back on our salad days as an all-too-brief reprieve from the numbing boredom and frantic pace of adulthood. We'd eagerly return to it if we could. Ideally, we would view it much differently, as the point at which our conscience and perspective was seasoned and formed. We would see it with nostalgia, the same way we reflect fondly upon a love affair or the beginning of a successful project. Progressives have a habit of creating safe havens, but precious few of these ideas and concepts trickle out beyond these borders. Each of us could address this problem in our own way, but to do so requires us to take note that everyone's contribution is different and based on different factors. We seem to think quite often times that everyone is entitled to his or her own way of solving a problem, provided it agrees with ours.

Irony of the Week

Quote of the Week

"At no point do I wish to be in conflict with any man or masculine thought. It doesn't enter my consciousness. Art is anonymous. It's not competitive with men. It's a complementary contribution."- Barbara Hepworth

Saturday Song

Never Presume

"Never presume"

The unofficial
National Anthem

played where introductions
come across like
opening moves of
a military campaign

At first is the
shock and awe

dished out by
those who can
light a fuse

but can't take
the consequences

never presume
to assume
any gesture

across the gambling table
is anything but
a smokescreen

disarming, sure
but watch for the feign

the jab to the solar plexus
that prefaces a powerful
right to the jaw

who, I ask
thrives on the beginnings of
a coronary bypass?

fueled by restaurant food
but just as akin
to blockage?

No, No, No, No, No, No. No, No, No

And if she tells you "come closer"
And if she tempts you with her charms

Tell her no no no no no-no-no-no
No no no no no-no-no-no
No no no no no
Don't hurt me now for her love belongs to me

And if she should tell you "I love you"
And if she tempts you with her charms

Tell her no no no no no-no-no-no
No no no no no-no-no-no
(don't take her love for your arms)
No no no no no
Don't hurt me now for her love belongs to me

I know she's the kind of girl
Who'd throw my love away
But I still love her so
Don't hurt me now, don't hurt me now

If she tells you "I love you"
Just remember she said that to me

Tell her no no no no no-no-no-no
No no no no no-no-no-no
(don't take her love from my arms)
No no no no no
Don't leave me now for her love belongs to me

From Talking Points Memo

Baltimore Yearly Meeting Pictures

I depart in a couple hours, so I thought I'd share the pictures I took. The indoor light was wrong for my camera during Meeting for Business and Plenary Sessions. Smaller groups were intimate and involved, so I didn't want to seem intrusive and take pictures. So what is left are shots of inanimate objects.

Marginalizing Ourselves While Trying to Not Marginalize Others

Equality does not imply a society without diversity. But to accept the world as inherently unequal to any degree, and one which will never change---this perpetuates the same problems. It is easy to make assumptions based on privilege, but I understand enough with listening and self-reflection to know that I do not understand those different from me in totality. I never will. Still, points of commonality between us do exist.

As a Quaker, I am called to seek the Divine within every person, and no pejorative distinction ought to be drawn between any person for any reason. This is often referred to as a spiritual discipline for a reason. Discipline implies continual exertion and constant effort. Much like with any other difficult endeavor, some have worked longer and have progressed farther, but no one's journey is any greater or lesser than that of another. I am more concerned with those who have begun the process, not where this journey ranks in the eyes of others.

Making blanket assumptions for any reason have been the surest way to bruised feelings and anger. I am well aware that confronting problems of inequality such as race, gender, and class without examining their systemic roots only speaks to half of the equation. Talking only about person-to-person discrimination and not the insidious, deeply enmeshed bigotry that most of us do not even recognize we exhibit will not accomplish a long sought goal. It is true that we must commit ourselves to the hard work necessary, even when it produces discomfort and even a touch of guilt. This we know well. Unfortunately, we can let our own soapbox issue blind us to the Truth of others. Knowing our audience by listening and observing is crucial.

At a worship sharing group this morning at Baltimore Yearly Meeting's Annual Gathering, a Friend responded to my earlier vocal ministry by assuming that I was not aware of this dynamic. While it is true that many well-meaning liberals and Quakers are entirely unaware of what she stated, I have to say I took some offense to what she said. Her ministry was phrased in such a way that entirely invalidated what I and other Friends had to say. We had, you see, been instructed to speak to a query, one which asked us to identify, in our interpretation, what in particular regarding the Testimony of Equality we found most pertinent to our own experience.

I noted that my interpretation of Equality sought to find points of commonality between seemingly different people: those separated by gender, race, sexual orientation, class, and economic opportunity, among others. By contrast, the Friend's message seemed to note that it was presumptuous for me to speak what I did, implying that I didn't really understand the complexities. To her, none of these distinctions I noted above really mattered a bit. To her, Equality meant that God's love applied to everyone but almost seemed to posit that there would always be inequality within humanity. It should be also noted that she believed that privilege would always crop up and there was no way that it could be set aside. Anyone who states that positive change is an impossibility tends to upset me, since I do not have such a sour view of the work that I do.

I am very aware of privilege through my own Feminist work and it seems to me that presuming ignorance is just as toxic as directly displaying prejudicial conduct. If we examine the meaning of the word "prejudice", it may be helpful to break it neatly in two. Pre-judge. Being prejudicial means I am judging you before I really know you. Or, it means that I am judging you specifically so that I don't have to know you.

Feeling misunderstood for any reason makes it easy to be touchy, but when we fail to know how to identify allies from our presumed enemies, we have created a brand new issue and another roadblock to greater understanding. Progressives are guilty of this all the time, and Friends are often frequent offenders for the same reason. So it would seem then that being discerning goes far beyond listening for the leading of the Spirit. Discernment may be its own discipline. We may pride ourselves for seeking tolerance and acceptance within marginalized groups, but when we inadvertently marginalize ourselves, then irony and tragedy are found in copious quantity.

Someone I admire quite a bit has this quote as her e-mail signature. "Engrave this on your heart. There isn't anyone you couldn't love if you knew their story." But to know their story, we must first listen without prejudice.

Photographic Evidence

I intend to review this book. So, watch for it soon!



I was also very glad to see this.

The Woman with the Water Jug

Today in Bible study I encountered a particular passage. Sometimes one receives precisely the message one needs at the time. The topic centered around the idea of salvation, in all its many incarnations. I have recently become frustrated with people who believe that any movement, system of belief, or gathering is only for them when it benefits them personally. In all of the things I do, I have experienced periods of emotional, intellectual, and spiritual famine. Yet, I have continued forward, striving to receive the guidance that was once present so acutely that I never needed to doubt it.

To provide some needed context, Jesus spoke to draw a sharp distinction between the water of this world that slakes the thirst only of our physical bodies and the restoring water that is present only with belief and salvation. A woman carrying a water jug spoke to him, taking his words literally, rather than metaphorically. She was eager to find a way to make her life easier and thought she had discovered the means.

The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water so that I won't get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water."

He told her, "Go, call your husband and come back." "I don't have a husband," the woman replied.

Jesus said, "You're right! You don't have a husband--for you have had five husbands, and you aren't even married to the man you're living with now. You certainly spoke the truth!"

The literal interpretation of this causes me to bristle a bit, but if we look at it a bit differently, the message is quite useful to the current day. The woman with the water jug led a difficult life, one complicated by not having the support and assistance of a husband. And by husband we mean someone responsible and reliable. The man she happened to be living with evidently felt no compulsion to help her, and it is quite feasible that her frequent divorces revealed a pattern of bad decisions and poor choices. Perhaps she married for all the wrong reasons, not realizing that any relationship should not be undertaken purely for selfish ends. Jesus' intent, I firmly believe, was not to shame or guilt her, but rather to underline the consequences of her actions.

"Sir," the woman said, "I can see that you are a prophet. So tell me, why is it that you Jews insist that Jerusalem is the only place of worship, while we Samaritans claim it is here at Mount Gerizim, where our ancestors worshiped?"

The Samaritans were, as is evident from the Parable of the Good Samaritan, considered a half-breed race. They had Hebrew lineage but they had over time intermarried with Gentile tribes. From a Jewish perspective, that Jesus even bothered to speak to her in the first place was most unusual. Most wouldn't have even bothered. This explains the response of the Samaritan woman, who, speaking out of bitterness, shows a plain resentment in how she phrased her question. "[Y]ou Jews," she says, dismissively.

The woman, clearly made uncomfortable, had tried to change the subject, talking instead about theological and political differences. We ourselves have been guilty of the same behavior, particularly when a personal revelation cuts too close to the bone. We feel exposed, so we try to transfer the blame to someone else. Someone has pointed out a hard truth about us that we try to keep hidden, so we lash out, putting them on the spot. We're really talking about ourselves, but we disguise our hurt feelings with the introduction of another topic altogether.

Jesus replied, "Believe me, dear woman, the time is coming when it will no longer matter whether you worship the Father on this mountain or in Jerusalem."

So it doesn't really matter where we worship or under what conditions we worship. What matters only is how we worship, and with that what our intentions are. For those who are not people of faith, one could say that it doesn't matter the package in which our devotion arrives and exists. The distinctions don't matter, nor do the words. There is no sole place of worship or an exchange of ideas. The details shouldn't get in the way of the personal revelation.

Concluding for the Night

Plenary Session was very interesting. The most compelling point was one raised during Question and Answer Session. I raised my hand to ask if a war (The Civil War) could have been avoided completely if the attitudes and methods of the first group of abolitionists who lived during the Colonial period had not completely died out. The speaker, Dr. Maurice Jackson of Georgetown University, has recently completed a study of an influential anti-slavery Quaker activist, Anthony Benezet.

For roughly 30-40 years, no standout leaders in the movement sprang up, and a more ideological, violent group replaced it after decades of lying fallow. Though war might have been a foregone conclusion, there is some discussion as to whether it would have been as bloodthirsty as it became had a different school of thought persisted.

Evening Update

I have been to enough of these gatherings to know that finding time to blog is often a matter of twenty or thirty minutes here or there. As it stands now, I have twenty minutes until Plenary Session tonight. Each day's events culminate with a lengthy talk by a featured speaker. I don't know much about tonight's speaker, I must admit. I hope to know much more shortly.

In other news, I've already taken a lot of pictures and will post them to my Flickr stream at the end of the gathering. The bookstore here on site is absolutely huge and features handmade goods in addition to books. While I was there, I picked up a history of Quaker women ministers, and, good Feminist that I am, I intend to read and review it.

And on that note, I must conclude.

Part One: Arrival

I finally arrived, and in one piece. However, I arrived fifteen minutes too late to register at the regular time. So I've been killing time conversing with a Friend until I can register late at 5.

More updates to come.

Travel Day

Dear Readers,

I leave for Baltimore Yearly Meeting in a few hours, so I leave you with a song for now. As I mentioned before, if I have wifi access, I'll try to blog daily as I normally do. If not, then I'll resume posting sometime late Thursday.

Boyhood and the Culture of Violence

The more I examine masculinity as it pertains to me, the more I analyze how biologically indebted I am to it. These long entrenched rules show themselves in ways that go far beyond the way I was socialized. The Patriarchal ethos includes a culture of violence that simply isn’t relegated to pitched battle, gang activity, or the five o’clock news. Those of us who would rid ourselves of a restrictive set of guidelines established by men for men need to see our own role within it. Violence has been embedded within humanity for a long time and I for one have been contemplating how early in my life it arrived. Returning to my childhood has not been easy, but I’ve found the experience worth the pain.

Even at a very young age, a desire and willingness to fight existed among boys. I observed a hierarchy of power that revolved around who was the strongest physically and also the best able to defend this status through his fists. The most powerful boy was usually he who had the greatest prowess in some sport, but every so often challenges to the established order were resolved with vicious fights. I was an above-average athlete on the playground, and that was satisfying enough, but I notably never sought to be number one. A sense of paranoia and fear characterized much of my childhood, one that was separate from an anxiety disorder then untreated, one I mentioned to absolutely no one, and barely to myself.

Though I never told anyone, I simply could not fight. Even to this day, I have no heart, nor any skill for the practice. I can’t stay angry and properly motivated long enough. I’ll fume inside for all of fifteen minutes at most, then be unable to muster up anything else. Lord knows I tried over the years, but I learned instead to bluff my way through potential conflagrations and conflicts. It is fortunate that I have the muscular build and the strength to discourage physical aggression. All the while, I hated myself because, according to what I had been taught, such conduct was indicative of cowardice. Masculinity needed to be proven and justified through violence.

According to male code, I was less than a man for lacking this crucial impulse. I was supposed to fight and to win. I think this might have been my first inkling that I was a different sort of man, but at that early state in my life, I could only filter my feelings through a very simplistic, but devastating filter. One was either manly, or unmanly. I had no words to explain how I felt, so I chalked it up to some sort of peculiarity no one could possibly understand. Men are supposed to be islands of a sort, only rarely relying on other men to accomplish expected tasks. This feeling of isolation only adds fire to the smoldering, violent impulse.

Feeling different from everyone else was something I had come to expect. Now, I’ve begun to reach back into my past, back to spaces and places that were long repressed. In those days, I was afraid of being unmasked as some phony and terrified that someone might discover the thoughts I was terrified leaked from me like a sieve. Now, experiences like these are measured against specific terms and definitions which have proved to be helpful, but my ultimate intention is to parse these memories towards a far greater goal. In so doing, perhaps I might determine how to debunk the cultural demands responsible for so much unhappiness and destruction.

If other men were willing to open up about their formative years, I’m sure similar stories and fears would be in significant quantity. None of this was pleasant. I can’t imagine anyone would willingly want to live in a world afraid of the latest predator or of being blindsided by a damning accusation of being somehow less than male. And even for those who are not men, or who were not socialized at men, I’m sure there’s violence of a different sort present, if one gives it some thought.

Gleaning: Bringing in the Sheaves

With so many people still out of work and depending upon unemployment benefits, I thought I might briefly explore one particularly ancient safety net program. Republicans believe that welfare in any form swells the deficit and creates a system of entitlement, but I disagree. Pointing back to the Bible, as I so often do, I'd like to discuss the particulars and modern day application of a very ancient custom. Those who are up in arms about the very thought of welfare might benefit from a different means of framing the issue.

To wit, this past weekend I participated in a gleaning. I had no prior idea of what a gleaning was, or its function. The word itself is Biblical in origin, and has its antecedent in the Old Testament book of Ruth.

One day Ruth the Moabite said to Naomi, "Let me go out into the harvest fields to pick up the stalks of grain left behind by anyone who is kind enough to let me do it." Naomi replied, "All right, my daughter, go ahead."

In those days, Jewish farmers were required by law to leave the corners of their fields unharvested. In addition, grain that was dropped while in the process of being bundled was to be left for the poor, who then gleaned the leftover crop. The law was designed to provide food for the less fortunate and to prevent farmers from hoarding what they had. It was a kind of early welfare system. I suppose some might think of this in hyperbolic fashion as some radical wealth redistribution, though I can't say I understand their objections or their fears.

Gleaning, in a modern context, means collecting leftover crop directly from the field. This weekend, a group of fellow Quakers and I drove out to the source and filled crate after crate with ears of corn. The American consumer is apparently very picky, insisting that whatever is purchased must be large in size and aesthetically pleasing to the eye. A more damning critique of consumerism and consumer culture could not be found. We seem to be quite adept at judging a book by its cover, whether it be what we purchase or how we perceive of ourselves. If anything is the least bit unsuitable at its face, then we'll ignore it and in so doing fail to see the beauty and value within.

Nature seems to draw no such distinctions, else every ear of corn would be flawless and identical. The corn we harvested might not have been the most beautiful or the biggest, but it was just as edible and flavorful as that which had been collected prior. Ordinarily, the rows we worked would have plowed over or the crop left to rot on the stalk. Our hard work provided food for over a thousand underprivileged people and families, and was sufficient to feed them for a week. There was so much left over, in fact, that we were told we could take back with us as much as we could carry. This was quite telling.

The experience made me wonder how much food we waste and the ethical implications of abundance. How then can anyone claim that there is something inherently wrong with sharing what we have with those without our material advantages? As a matter of fact, two Friends who went along on the trip were unemployed, despite having multiple degrees and impressive credentials. Such is the nature of today's sour economy. Even though their distress at being without work was evident in their topics of conversation, they still have a roof over their head and enough food to eat. Recessions affect those at the bottom much more gravely. A few weeks back I spoke with another in an discouraging series of highly educated people without a job. She quite eagerly offered her services for free to build homes for others as part of a service project. Her motives were many, but she admitted that she found it therapeutic to distract herself from her own nagging worries by doing good work for others.

To use the corn crop as an analogy, I wonder how much wealth present among us today, literally or metaphorically, has been passed over or is considered inadequate because it does not suit refined tastes. Necessity is the mother of invention, as the saying goes, and one wonders if we might develop our own strategies to harvest the things long discounted and taken for granted. Many of us have had to make do with less, but I'd be willing to bet that modifying previously held ways of thinking could prove most helpful. Had we gleaned in times of plenty, poverty might have been lessened and misery less profound. If we are concerned only with our own fears, we might contemplate that crime is often a response which results from desperation. Rather than shaking our head or fearing that something might be taken from us by force, we might do something to address the cause for once.

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'

Where I'll Be

In Quaker parlance, a monthly meeting is where one worships on Sunday. A Yearly Meeting, by contrast is a regional gathering of monthly meetings. Usually most Yearly Meetings hold an annual gathering, most often in the summertime.

So it is that I will be attending Baltimore Yearly Meeting's annual gathering. It will be held this year on the campus of Frostburg State University, in the mountains of Western Maryland. I am looking forward to a sense of spiritual renewal, and the fact that temperatures will be fifteen to twenty degrees cooler than DC, even getting down to the low 60's at night, which is unheard of in August.

I was initially scheduled to attend Monday-Wednesday, but transportation arrangements proved problematic, so it seems that I will be there from Tuesday-Thursday now. I'm not sure about the wireless arrangements, but if available, I will make every effort to blog while on site. If money were no option, I'd stay for the entire week, but my scholarship only covered two and a half days. As condition of receiving a cost free trip, I will be obligated to write a brief summary of what I experienced and will be expected to present it at my monthly meeting's Meeting for Business at the first of September. That shouldn't prove problematic at all. I know I'll write a good bit about what I saw, and much of it will end up here.

Quote of the Week

“When they kept you out it was because you were black; when they let you in, it is because you are black. That's progress?”- Marilyn French