It Took a Long Time to Get to Me

Examining Happiness Beyond a Gendered Lens

Commentators have variously chimed in over the years, and from a variety of different ideological persuasions, regarding the question of whether the Feminist movement has done women and society at large more harm than good. Recently, the argument has been couched in terms of whether women's collective happiness has suffered with increased equality, and as a result, whether efforts towards gender parity are to blame. Some columnists have returned to the same old arguments against women's rights that have been used for centuries and others have placed the yoke upon basic human selfishness, greed, and societal narcissism. I myself fall into the latter category.

To begin my remarks, I don't honestly believe for a second that Feminism has made women more unhappy, or that somehow the old ways were superior, or even that women are innately less able to survive in a draining world of leap-frog and sharp elbows. The survey data cited which indicates that basic life satisfaction has declined over time must be qualified first. It must be noted that so must of the conclusions drawn are made as a kind of blanket accusation upon everyone, when they really only apply to a relatively limited slice of the population---professionals, middle class and above, usually white, highly educated, big city residents. Yet, since regrettably so much dialogue in mainstream woman-centric media is dictated by the privileged, if not in all mainstream media, the accuracy of the results are taken as gospel and never thought to be extended to anyone beyond the immediate audience. Who knows if this same attitude pertains to working class women, for example.

If one is seeking blame, of course, it can be safely assigned to consumerism, which states that one is what one buys, or rather what one wishes to buy. If one is seeking blame, one can place it upon the shoulders of a kind of toxic materialism whereby some arbitrary standard of living is the ultimate goal. In that vein, I recall the story of a close relative of mine, who was raised in a family where love was purely conditional, and was only granted at all when she jumped one hurdle after another---first rising up the ladder, then making more money, then accumulating another in a series of never ending status symbols. The expectation turned into a sibling rivalry between herself and her brother that led to a most unfortunate competition between them, whereby those who wished to have the affections and blessings of Mom and Dad knew that it only arrived in the form of dollar signs, new houses, new cars, and a thousand others ways in which those who have money flaunt it. Her case may be extreme, but I think even muted forms of this disease are prevalent among many.

In the column I cited above, Madeleine Bunting writes,

The problem, Twenge believes, derives in part from a generation of indulgent parents who have told their children how special they are. An individualistic culture has, in turn, reinforced a preoccupation with the self and its promotion. The narcissist is often rewarded – they tend to be outgoing, good at selling themselves, and very competitive: they are the types who will end up as Sir Alan's apprentice. But their success is shortlived; the downside is that they have a tendency to risky behaviour, addictive disorders, have difficulties sustaining intimate relationships, and are more prone to aggressive behaviour when rejected.

The narcissism of young women could just be a phase they will grow out of, admits Twenge, but she is concerned that the evidence of narcissism is present throughout highly consumerist, individualistic societies – and women suffer disproportionately from the depression and anxiety linked to it.

In my own life among young professionals I notice similar findings to that of the survey, but not to such an alarming degree. The disorders of those who live lives of quiet desperation rarely lend themselves to screaming headlines and panicked rhetoric. Rather, I see a group of overworked, highly driven, heavily motivated, but overburdened toilers desperately seeking to make a name for themselves. At this stage in their careers, those in their late twenties pushing thirty like me are on the path towards greater visibility, an increase in salary, and the ability to achieve fullest satisfaction based on the fact that so much of their own self-worth is heavily tied up in achievement. If they don't already have a Master's Degree at this point, they are surely already enrolled and taking courses, or are at minimum making plans to be enrolled somewhere very soon. Self-worth is a positive thing at its face, but I have always felt it needs to come from within, not from the accumulation of merit badges, skill sets, and embossed pieces of paper.

Yet, as they put in unnecessarily long hours and place their careers first, many end up also denying their basic needs as humans. To be sure, I am not arguing that women who put their careers first ought to return to the days of subservient housewifery. I think that as we have had more equality in the workplace, to say nothing of the rest of society as a whole, the results have been overwhelmingly positive for all. What I am saying, though, is that letting one's work consume one's life is an excellent way to reach burn out and to sacrifice one's health in the process. A recent article in Politico detailed the sad demise of a Congressional staffer who put in 100 hour workweeks and eventually perished from the stress of her occupation. For about two days the topic was incorporated into some modest debate, then everyone moved on to something else entirely.

I firmly believe we are meant to be social with each other, we are meant to date and be in close relationships, and we are meant to find a balance between our obligations and our free time. I myself have engaged in conversation with many people my own age who haven't just pushed back the date at which they intend to be married, assuming that they even want to be married at all, they've also filled their schedules so full that they simply don't have time to devote to look for a relationship or to socialize with friends. Delayed gratification is fine, of course, within reason. If this were some temporary state of being, much like buckling down at college and studying for finals, it could be excused, but far too many people live their lives as though they are preparing to take their final examinations. I don't think the Grim Reaper makes one take the Death Preparation Test (DPT) upon condition of being accepted into the world of the deceased.

We are a highly individualistic people, yes, but I have long believed that this degree of individualism works against us time in and time out. More recently, the reason we can't seem to agree upon the most basic of reforms is that too many of us are looking out for number one. Over the course of my life I have personally observed a thousand inspiring speakers, each saying some variation of the same thing, namely that we have got to think more collectively rather than individually if we ever wish to make the next leap forward. They have some fine old company in this endeavor, beginning arbitrarily with Jesus, and moving as far forward or backwards in time as one wishes. And yet, the problem persists.

What is the solution? Well, solutions are easy enough, provided people adopt them. Learning that we are finite beings with a finite amount of energy is a beginning. Closely linked with it is the realization that work ought to be provide us a sense of satisfaction of having achieved a job, a paycheck, of course, and a resulting sense of pride in having done a job well rather than a ceaseless Sisyphean struggle. Acknowledging that it really doesn't matter how many committees you happen to be a member of is another. Recognizing that one shouldn't settle for good enough while also taking into account that learning how to say no is an essential life skill is still another. After a time, some people really think that they are their resumes or the letters either before or after their name, and you can be sure they'll want you to know it, too. But namely, we've got to understand that it's not about us: it's not our careers, or our paychecks, or our starter homes, or the Holy Grail of the corner office someday, or any of these superficial concerns.

For too many of us, for every step up we take, with it comes the compulsion to accumulate accessories. Our possessions often weigh us down; they do not enrich us. Rethinking the idea of achievement and success is where we're really lacking and until we even consider dipping our toe into the way things could be, expect more unhappiness for everyone concerned. We might not be equal, but we will be equally miserable until we choose to change.

I Am a Child (I'll Last a While)

A Poetic Reprise, with Explanations

Today is going to be another errand day, but I did want to leave you all with something.

I've posted this poem before, but I've never bothered to tell the story behind it. Once upon a time, in a younger incarnation, I was friends with someone who was documenting the life story of a minor celebrity. This minor celebrity, by then nearly 60, wasn't the most emotionally stable of characters and lived, with no apology, in a state of suspended adolescence. He dated a series of women in either music, art, or both who attempted to leech off of his name in an effort to jump start their own flagging careers. So I wrote this poem as a means of examining that situation, all the time recognizing that both of the principle characters in question had major personal problems, hoping to make it clear that I was placing the fault equally upon both of their shoulders.




Parasite

Woman
latches on to her
latest significant other

quotes verbatim an
exaggerated litany of
his greatest hits

minus

of course
the tragic missteps

her role as spokesperson for
a private P.R. campaign
unprepared for

heavy scrutiny
aiming for
easy ego-stroking

flattery famously conceals
desire for legacy absorption
parallel parasites
blind to their hosts

Health Care Reform Starts with Those Who Are Willing to Change Existing Policies

I again write today about what has become a completely inadvertent, but nonetheless growing series of personal anecdotes which reveal both the depths of our broken medical system and the shocking limitations and abuses of a system of social services designed to care for the poor and disabled. In so doing, I have uncovered a tremendous number of objectionable practices that would never be considered acceptable among the more fortunate. Established policies designed to assist and give comfort instead punish the genuinely needy. For example, in the process of applying for a variety of safety net programs, I have been threatened with complete termination of coverage if I didn't follow every step exactly as requested and in a supremely timely, if not obsessively punctual fashion. In some states and municipalities this sort of conduct would be not just be bad form, it would also be against regulations. Not here.

In the District of Columbia, no one apparently sees the problem in treating low-income and disabled residents like criminals. To make my case once more, let me provide a bit of backdrop. The District is a very unusual place in lots of ways. Though technically it is merely the physical location for the seat of national government, it is governed as a kind of odd mix between a state and a city. Like most American cities, its population consists of an often uncomfortable combination of the affluent and educated, most of whom are relatively financially secure whites, and a core of heavily impoverished and undereducated residents who are usually black. If DC were a state, and much larger based on surface area alone, there would be more of a middle ground between the have-everythings and the have-nothings, but this is simply not the case here.

The District contains its own particular system of distributing food stamps, low-income medical insurance, prescription drug coverage, and providing disability benefits to those unable to work. In roughly six months of trying to work a system that is both ridiculously ineffective and unnecessarily complex, what I have come to realize is that it is also a system based on punitive retribution, which is neither fair to applicants nor particularly effective to everyone. With every step of the process, regardless of what it might be this time, the necessary paperwork I was provided screamed out in bold, block letters, often capitalized lest I overlook it, that I better fill this latest form out perfectly and as soon as possible, else I'd find myself without anything at all.

The existing system itself is so unwieldy that I have often been provided incorrect, or at best inexact information. I don't fault those who gave me wrong information because learning all the particulars takes months, if not years, and turnover in social service agencies is often quite constant based on the fact that the job promises low pay and high stress. I was, for instance, told that I would only need to re-apply for food stamps once every six months. However, within two months I received a letter in the mail, one printed so cheaply and faintly that often reading the words was a challenge, specifying that I needed to re-certify how much income I was currently making, else I be denied next month's allotment. The return envelope was just as difficult to read and after affixing a stamp to cover the cost of postage, I took the time to write out by hand the return address, else some postal carrier not be able to discern its destination.

The implication of this was quite clear. The instant I could be have my monthly allocation reduced, or even trimmed from the rolls altogether, the better. I do certainly recognize that we've all been hurting and will continue to suffer so long as this recession, or at least the lingering effects of it doggedly persist, but I hardly think the solution is in weeding out those who depend on these services, particularly since so many of them are the very definition of working poor with their own children and families to support. When I had the benefit of an increased income and decent benefits, no one ever made me certify that I still needed them. I was trusted, for the most part, to not abuse the system. Now, I am automatically suspect.

The low-income health care coverage I use via the District's own program is sufficient, but hardly convenient. After filing for disability, I assumed once granted it that I would also receive Medicaid. Medicaid, while it certainly contains its own limitations, still provides a greater sphere of coverage than the DC program. Medicaid would allow me to have my prescriptions filled at a conventional pharmacy like a CVS, Rite Aid, or Walgreens, whereas the only way to get my medications via the other coverage plan is to visit the sole pharmacy in the District that stocks the drugs I require on a daily basis to maintain my health. It is located in a tremendously inconvenient part of town to get to, based on where I live, and it takes thirty to forty-five minutes via public transportation to arrive. Often I end up expending the better part of a morning from start to finish once one factors in sitting in a waiting room, trying to be patient while the drugs are filled. As it turns out, no one told me that according to District-only procedure I needed to apply for Medicaid separately and go through another time-consuming process. Of course, this is a means of saving money and reducing cost on their part, but in my opinion, it is silly to assume that someone who is DISABLED and has to subsist on a minimal monthly allowance wouldn't need basic health insurance as well.

To chalk this up to something as relatively straightforward as racism, classism, abelism, or the like would only be confronting a small sliver of a larger problem. I fault those who set policy in the first place, whomever that might be. To return to my own struggles once more, I believed originally (and even wrote in an earlier entry) that one of my medications was available to be filled at the low-income on-site pharmacy, though there was often a substantial delay in getting it in stock. As it turns out, I was once again told wrongly. The drug is not stocked at all because with it comes the threat of a hypertensive crisis if very specific dietary restrictions are not adhered to exactingly. Obviously, no one wants the bad press or potential lawsuits that might transpire if a patient had one of these (or if, God forbid, he or she died as a result), and this goes for doctor and District government alike. But to be deathly afraid of litigation, regardless of how baseless it might be doesn't so much reflect upon a problematic legal system as a complete lack of basic trust and compassion for our fellow beings. We could make sure that frivolous malpractice lawsuits were minimal, but unless we get to the reason why people file them in the first place, any legislation passed into law will not achieve its purpose.

Returning again to my medical situation, the particular medication I take is absolutely essential to assure my continued basic functionality and it works so well that the difference between not being on it and being on it is like night and day. That I am able to manage the restrictions competently speaks partially to my willful desire to stay healthy, but also that I am educated enough to recognize what foods I need to avoid and to do my research accordingly. The assumption in not stocking the med, regardless of whether or not it could really help someone in need, is that a person with barely a high school diploma, having grown up in utter squalor and with all the problems that result from it might not have the same capacity and level of personal responsibility as me. Yet again, here we have a punitive, blanket response when basic compassion and an examination of people on a case-by-case basis would be much more effective. Once more, we opt for the quick fix instead of really examining the full picture.

As for whether Congress will pass health care legislation, I'll leave that never-ending speculation to someone else for today, at least. What I do know is that whatever reform measures we pass will need to take into account whether we treat fellow human beings as numbers, money drains, or as only waiting for the next opportunity to take a mile once we grant them an inch. We certainly don't seem to wish to grant anyone who we perceive as other than us the most basic of trust, nor do we take into account that all humans make mistakes, are fallible, and aren't perfect. We read about drive-by-shootings, petty crime, and drug deals and think that anyone born into such circumstances must be guilty by association. Fifty-two years after the film Twelve Angry Men was released, we're still stuck in that same way of thinking.

Juror #8: Look, this kid's been kicked around all of his life. You know, born in a slum. Mother dead since he was nine. He lived for a year and a half in an orphanage when his father was serving a jail term for forgery. That's not a very happy beginning. He's a wild, angry kid, and that's all he's ever been. And you know why, because he's been hit on the head by somebody once a day, every day. He's had a pretty miserable eighteen years. I just think we owe him a few words, that's all.

Juror #10: I don't mind telling you this, mister. We don't owe him a thing. He got a fair trial, didn't he? What do you think that trial cost? He's lucky he got it. You know what I mean? Now look, we're all grown-ups in here. We heard the facts, didn't we? You're not gonna tell me that we're supposed to believe this kid, knowing what he is. Listen, I've lived among them all my life. You can't believe a word they say. You know that. I mean, they're born liars.

Juror #9: Only an ignorant man can believe that... Do you think you were born with a monopoly on the truth?

Ageism, Assumptions, Tokenism, and the Hope Beyond

After meeting this morning I was approached by a Friend (fellow Quaker) who seemed deeply impressed at my latest vocal ministry. The first question she asked was "So, how long have you been here?"

I suppose I could have taken some offense to this, based on the fact that I've shared messages regularly, with a five month break in between, for nearly a year and a half. Though we had never talked directly, I knew her face and I certainly knew her through her words and her participation in First Day worship. That it took a particularly powerful message to give her the inclination to speak to me at all is something I lament. After all, I never know what message the Light of God is going to grant me from week to week, and while certainly I am pleased when it makes a major impact upon the worship service, any message I speak is no more or no less blessed nor inspired by the Divine.

Part of what I'm dealing with, unfortunately, is ageism. In surveying a very large cross-sample of faith communities, I have discovered that they are often disproportionately comprised of the middle aged and above and sometimes comprised almost exclusively of senior citizens. To their credit, I recognize that many faith groups have taken the initiative to address this directly and have coined acronyms, buzz words, and clever titles to draw more younger worshipers into the fold. The intent is often noble, but the follow through is frequently less than a rousing success.

The reality is that when you're in an older community, it's a lot more difficult to be taken seriously as a young person. As has been evident with me, you have to really prove yourself first. So far as "young" is concerned, I'm only a few months away from 30, so I'm not exactly fresh out of adolescence anymore, but even those of us quickly entering the third decade of existence are all too often not nearly as involved or even as inclined to share vocal ministry or actively participate in meeting functions. I, of course, am different in that regard, quite deliberately so, and while I appreciate the fact that my regular participation often encourages those in my general age range to show up, I am also often the only person younger than say, 45, who feel comfortable or moved to share a message. I know that there are others my age who would not shy away from opening their mouths and sharing with the rest of the meeting their own inward, equally valid stirrings of the Light.

If only this phenomenon pertained purely to faith communities. It is true in many organizations, regardless of political allegiance, ideology, cause, or any other metric. Just as before, those who are younger than the statistical mean often have to deeply impress the regular participants before they are considered part of the whole. If they are incorporated at all, they are sometimes included merely as an afterthought or as a token member, meant to serve as the entire voice of a generation, when surely we have realized by now that one person alone can never serve as the mouthpiece for a very diverse, highly unique group of people, regardless of their superficial similarities.

I recognize, certainly, that this is a habit pattern more than any desire to exclude. It's easy for us to get lulled into submission by The Way Things Have Always Been Here™. This is why I am not particularly outraged by this sort of behavior as much as simply annoyed and inspired to speak out against it. It wouldn't take much to correct this kind of willful slumber if we were willing to embrace the idea that change is neither incomprehensible, nor threatening, nor some sort of zero sum game whereby we somehow lose what we have at the expense of someone else. We all gain from opening our eyes a bit wider and with that comes the richness of greater participation and the wealth of insight which exists when many different people contribute their own voices and their own experiences.

We might recognize then that we are made stronger and more enlightened, not less so when we see the beauty of life's pallet projected upon a canvass of our own creation. We might understand that there is more that links us together based on our common humanity than the few superficial differences exploited by those who aim to keep us separate, not just from ourselves, but also from God, who craves our collective unity as much as he loves each of us equally and without condition. If we learn these lessons, we will have that which drives us and propels us forward towards the change we know we must have.

My prayer is, as it has always been, that we will reach this point, someday.

Quote of the Week

"Solidarity is not a matter of altruism. Solidarity comes from the inability to tolerate the affront to our own integrity of passive or active collaboration in the oppression of others, and from the deep recognition of our most expansive self-interest.

From the recognition that, like it or not, our liberation is bound up with that of every other being on the planet, and that politically, spiritually, in our heart of hearts we know anything else is unaffordable."- Aurora Levins Morales

Saturday Video

The Lines You Amend

The Greater Gain and the Greater Good

Crossposted from Feministing.

The Greater Gain and The Greater Good

As I frequently do, I use the debates and ideas always present here on Feministing and transform them into the basis of a blog post. I should add that I crosspost all of my substantive entries to Daily Kos. Periodically my Kos diaries end up being rescued and put up on the front page for several hours. It pleases me greatly when I receive this great honor, and indeed, earlier in the week I received one such recommended diary mention.

Bragging on myself, however, is not exactly the reason why I am writing this post. Frequently I receive some backlash when I, being male, write about Feminist issues. Unsurprisingly, most of it is from men who feel as though I'm somehow forfeiting my masculinity or that all I need is just a heavy dose of teh man to make me see the error of my ways. This implication is present in the comments I get online or, most recently, the anonymous person who "invited" me to a web group devoted to men who drive motorcycles.

To be sure, I am more or less used to this. I also recognize that any of us who deliberately claim the label of feminist is going to get a good bit of criticism and personal attacks. If I were a woman, I'd probably get ten times the abuse. Many of you have been called "man-haters", "Femi-nazis", "bitches", or even worse. And we all know going forward that these sorts of comments are unlikely to go away any time soon. If I had feminine mannerisms, a higher voice, or anything about me that could be considered effeminate in the least, I'd open myself for even greater, even crueler insult. Such is the struggle in which each of us find ourselves.

If "Christian" is the label I claim for myself or if I make Christian allusions, then I know I will receive some snap judgments from other people. Some will assume I'm one of those scary Evangelical types or that I'm out to push my faith down someone else's throat in some kind of pushy high-pressure sales pitch. The reality is that Jesus himself in his time on Earth was alternately feared, revered, and not taken seriously. Lest I forget, the first Christians were often persecuted and sometimes killed for daring to practice their religion in public, not private. Though these days we need not worry about being put to death for being Feminists, at least here in the United States, we know we could easily go underground where the criticism would be less virulent. But, we dare to speak our minds openly, despite the risk involved.

My fellow sisters and brothers, keep fighting. I know the battle is difficult, the work is challenging, and that often we can't even seem to find the light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes the problem looks so vast that one hardly knows where to begin. But do know that you, each of you, have enriched my understanding and my life one hundred fold. You have opened my mind and opened my heart. What others fail to understand is that I have not forfeited any part of myself in this endeavor, rather I have made great gains that I wish they could really observe for themselves.

My thoughts turn to Dr. King's final public address given in Memphis. He said,

"We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop.

And I don’t mind...

I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land... I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!"

Breaking Partisan Gridlock

And again, due to time constraints, another v-blog.

Video Response

As part of a CNN iReport I was asked to give my opinion regarding the failings of Government. Specifically, I was asked what one particular government program I would cut and why I would do so.

Here was my response.

Understanding Comes With Initial Discomfort and Eventual Unity

In deciding what I could write about today, I acknowledge I could go in any number of directions. I could strongly express support of President Obama's health care reform guidelines while being sure to note my extreme displeasure with the lack of a public option. Or, I might chart a different course altogether and add some new wrinkle about the blame game currently raging inside the Obama Administration and the Democratic caucus as to how a supposedly sure thing all began to slip away. I could take a populist angle about how the scourge of big business and monied interests that have a concerted interest in making a profit at all cost leaves the rest of us in the poorhouse. Each of these would likely be received well and be in good company to what others have already written.

But what I've chosen to write instead about are the times that working together towards a common purpose succeeds. My decision to enter a woman-centric space gave me an understanding of what minorities often feel like when they set foot inside spaces reserved for usually white men. I would not describe what I experienced in negative terms, but I would classify the experience as uncomfortable and uncertain in the beginning. I would not seek to blame anyone, including myself for what I felt up front. Adjustment to any challenging situation requires dexterity and an open mind and I tried as best I could do keep those two life skills close at hand as I stumbled through deeply unfamiliar subjects while keeping in mind the responses of some, not all, who may have been just as uncomfortable with my being there as I was. Challenges need not be negative or unfortunate, after all.

Over the past nine months or so, I've begun to take an active role in contributing to the group discussions and controversial issues which are always in debate within young Feminist circles. Finding my footing at first, as I've noted, was difficult, since I was instantly aware upon arrival of the fact that I was in unfamiliar territory. This was predicated purely upon the fact that I am male and most of the contributors and regular readers are not. Still, my desire to learn and then to make my thoughts known superseded any reservations I might have held at the beginning. Male allies within the movement as a whole have never been plentiful and I recognized going in that I was going to have to be a bit of a trailblazer, whether I wanted to or not. A part of me, whether motivated by romance or noble purpose has always wanted to be a leader, especially in circumstances where role models or models of any kind at all are often minimal or altogether nonexistent.

Months of absorbing content and the opinions of others has led to a greater understanding on my part not of how we are different, but how we are very similar. Moreover, I recognize that all of these supposed truisms regarding gender identity and strict delineation between that which is "male" and that which is "female" has given me the ability to recognize that aside from a few undeniably biological differences, men and women are really not all that dissimilar. Even so, I can understand the skepticism many women feel about any male who claims the label "feminist" for himself. The implication is "How can you really understand?" My answer is, and will always be, "I listen and I try to draw parallels to my own very human experience".

Whether wrongly or rightly, anyone who is different within any movement or group ends up drawing some fire. I recognize that within Feminist spaces my ideas and commentary are more heavily scrutinized then they would be if I were a woman. I am also aware that anything I say in a public forum is going to seen by many as the Official Male Response™. This could make me angry, resentful, or both, but I have made a concerted effort to remove those sorts of instant responses from my canon of emotions. Anger has done nothing but make me miserable and keep me there. Indeed, if the situation was reversed, I'd probably make the same assumption myself.

That few of us are willing to brave this sort of often uncomfortable transition period of acclimation and discovery is what often keeps us separate. In an ideal world, we would have no massive barriers in place that stifle communication and dissemination of information, but this is the world in which we live. For better or for worse, we are are need of more trailblazers, more allies, more brave souls willing to clear the path for those who would follow after them. I have discovered in my own admittedly limited experience that once the hard part subsides, true growth and true unity follows, and with it comes friends, allies, and supporters beyond one's wildest dreams. Once we begin to trust and not fear each other, there is no limit to what we can accomplish. Until we do so, however, we should expect little beyond what we have now.

For A Few People Out There I Know

All I Really Want To Do
by Bob Dylan

I ain’t lookin’ to compete with you,
Beat or cheat or mistreat you,
Simplify you, classify you,
Deny, defy or crucify you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

No, and I ain’t lookin’ to fight with you,
Frighten you or tighten you,
Drag you down or drain you down,
Chain you down or bring you down.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I ain’t lookin’ to block you up
Shock or knock or lock you up,
Analyze you, categorize you,
Finalize you or advertise you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don’t want to straight-face you,
Race or chase you, track or trace you,
Or disgrace you or displace you,
Or define you or confine you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don’t want to meet your kin,
Make you spin or do you in,
Or select you or dissect you,
Or inspect you or reject you.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

I don’t want to fake you out,
Take or shake or forsake you out,
I ain’t lookin’ for you to feel like me,
See like me or be like me.
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.

Copyright © 1964 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1992 by Special Rider Music

__________________

Full update coming later in the morning.

Another Busy Monday

No time for blogging today!

But, so that there will at least be some content up here, I'd like to link to an interesting article in Politico which talks about the difference between toeing PAC line and journalist freedom.

The "Sound" of Silence

A few of my more recent posts regarding spirituality have centered around conduct in meeting itself, and I would like to take the opportunity to note that I do not envision my role as that of martyr or chief complainer. I'd very much rather us get along, but sometimes that goal is complicated by a few who misinterpret my messages. My motives in documenting these, to be frank, jarring confrontations stem from love and with it the hopes that others who may have experienced similar situations in their own faith journeys might recognize that they are not alone. I feel certain that many of you have had to make a rough compromise with your faith gathering of choice, knowing that while most of your fellow worshipers are convivial and friendly, a few of them are not. Indeed, I refuse to let those who set themselves up in antagonistic positions based on their own unfounded fears and anxieties jeopardize my own prayerful, spiritually moving experience.

To wit, those of you who attend more traditional services whereupon a minister, rabbi, imam, vicar, priest, or other singular figure is the sole person responsible for an extended talk/sermon might find unprogrammed Quaker service a bit of an adjustment. If the laity were not merely encouraged, but also expected to bring their own vocal ministries forth into active worship, one wonders what group dynamics would be expressed. Too often what suffices for freedom of expression among fellow believers is stifled or discouraged by passive-aggression both before and after service, and it might be a disquieting experience if people directly stated their opinions in the middle of service itself. One wonders what elephants in the room might be pointed out and what these might say about the spiritual gathering as a whole, or, for that matter, those individuals who comprise it.

To be sure, vocal ministries in Quaker worship are not really supposed to put anyone in their place or instruct as to them where they have strayed, but some with a vested interest in the way things have always been seem to be quite willing to use it in that fashion. I think I understand now evermore why change is so threatening for so many people. For some, change is perceived as a zero sum game. For others, it is a needed, collective effort towards reform and equality. I fall into the latter camp, as do most of my fellow Friends, but there is a decidedly vocal minority who side with the former. I suppose they have their reasons.

I could always ignore the compulsion from the Inward Light of God and not even bother speaking forth the messages it bids me say. But if I did so, I would be acting in direct contradiction to the Spirit itself. To be blunt, though it frequently comes across as an unwelcome admonition when someone invalidates my own message, I try as hard as I can not to judge. It is never pleasant being lectured by someone who can't see beyond his/her own tunnel vision enough to not take a very small sliver of a larger point completely out of context.

I was certainly glad that others in meeting came to my defense, as they have come to my defense before, but I honestly would rather they hadn't had a need to do so. Meeting is not a battleground. Meeting is not a time to snipe at others. Indeed, the irony of all is that my message was a rather tame one, all things being equal. I spoke, in part, about how I appreciated everyone's contribution to First Hour and noted that there was a sort of freedom inherent in an unprogrammed worship service setting, structured as it is so that there isn't a very regimented litany of hymns to sing, passages to recite, Bible verses to read, and all of the other programmed features of Christ-centered worship I grew up observing.

I concluded by mentioning that I took the messages I heard on Sunday with me through the rest of the week and took the time to ponder them. This was taken by one Friend as meaning I was somehow implying that anything went with Quakerism and that we had no established rules of worship. Furthermore, she continued, my message must have been incomplete and not well thought-out. My conclusion was clearly wrong, and she clearly knew better than I did. That interpretation was in such direct contradiction to the original intent that it took me several minutes to understand how the Friend had even arrived at that conclusion in the first place.

When situations like these arise, my immediate thought is to what precisely God is teaching me. Having had several hours since this morning to contemplate the matter, I think He was showing me, yet again, the reasons why change, real change, is so difficult to achieve. In these times, we've all been wondering why we haven't gotten the necessary reform measures passed through Congress and enacted for everyone's benefit. Within the context of an individual faith group, one has a chance to view what life is like from the the inside, not the outside. The personalities, problems, egos, rivalries, and maddening complexities of humanity are in full display there. It's no wonder than many take the path of least resistance, which in my case would be merely to sit down and shut up. But I refuse to do so.

Though Quaker service might be conducted in silence, this silence is not a passive one. It is a very active silence in which we commune with God. As I sat this morning and tried to make sense of what I had heard, my mind flashed to a familiar song by Simon & Garfunkle. Specifically, I recalled the last two verses of "The Sound of Silence".

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools," said I, "you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of silence

Silence ought not be passive. Silence is active if we take from it what we are instructed by whichever Higher Power or Divine Guidance from which we draw spiritual guidance and solace. We can always choose to do nothing. When God instructs us to stand, speak, and be heard, we can always ignore it, as we are remarkably good at formulating evasive excuses and rationalizations. We have that freedom at our disposal and we also know that God speaks to us differently. I believe that He has a different plan for each of us and we have a choice whether to embrace it or not to embrace it. We can always push it aside for fear of being misunderstood or to avoid potential pain caused by those who do not understand and will lash out at us. We are granted a choice and it will always be ours and no one else's. To be a minister of any sort promises the best and the worst of humanity.

Quote of the Week

"I live uptempo but I play downtempo"- Neil Young

Food Stamp Profiling Contributes to the Stigma

The Food Stamp program has always been a contentious, heavily partisan issue. A recent New York Times article highlights the back-and-forth that has characterized the highs and lows of the program, and where it seems to be headed. Today I've chosen to write about this controversial subject to, in part, document of my own direct personal experience. Though food stamp usage might have been more stigmatized in an earlier year, there is unfortunately still much bias and prejudice directed towards those who take advantage of its existence. Until this is eliminated, others will refuse to apply and find their poverty and need considerably worsened. If this be Welfare, it is one of the most essential safety nets ever devised and my fear is that a resurgent GOP presence will eliminate it altogether, or prune it back considerably.

I have mentioned before that I have been receiving food stamps for the past couple months. Let me say resolutely here and now that they have been an invaluable resource, particularly because I am now officially disabled and have severe financial limitations as a result. Americans have a tendency to discount the combined expense of groceries because we assume offhandedly that the food we purchase ought to be plentiful and cheap. In reality, food is much more of an income drain than we really think. By means of an informal exercise, if you feel so inclined, add up your own combined grocery bill for a month, and see where you end up. The total will surprise you. As it stands, my monthly allotment of food stamps is reliably expended well before thirty days are up, though I certainly am glad to have some means by which I don't have to dip into my my rather modest reserves to spend on the most basic of necessities.

More recently, however, I have unfortunately received the scorn of a few supermarket cashiers, who often take one look at me and assume that there should be no reason at all that I'm not able to pay for my groceries out of pocket. Initial observations can be deceiving. If you looked closely at what I was wearing, you'd see that though my clothes are clean and look presentable, most of them are two and three years old. If you bothered to look at the brand of heavy coat I wear all winter long, you'd recognize it was bought at Target, not a department store. If you looked at my cell phone, you'd see that it's already obsolete and has a cracked face that could only be fixed by my buying a brand new one, which isn't exactly in the cards right now. The iPod I own is the cheapest model around and was, I note, a Christmas present from someone else. Moreover, I wasn't always poor, or rather, I wasn't always this poor.

I suppose someone who looks like me might not fit the profile, so to speak. We jump up and down about profiling in criminal matters, but the truth is that we all profile others, since we frequently make snap judgments based on a minimum of hard evidence. I get this identical reaction when I mention that I am, believe it or not, disabled. To many, my disability might be invisible, but for me, I never get the opportunity to forget, nor overlook that a chronic disease of the brain known as bipolar disorder is very real and very present. It might be a bit easier for some if I sat in a wheelchair, I suppose. To be blunt, in the minds of some, apparently a relatively young Caucasian male using food stamps doesn't seem to pass their sniff test. I really have no inclination to make a big deal out of this. I try to live my faith and practice forgiveness, but the attitudes I get from some, but not all, frequently make grocery shopping a stressful experience, to say nothing of the need to overlook and take account for other peoples' own judgmental attitudes. Over time I've learned to avoid certain cashiers at local grocery stores to avoid having to be privy to their own personal prejudices.

I find it exasperating, to say the least, at how indebted certain people are to conservative ideology on this topic. Ronald Reagan's first run in 1976 had him criticize some supposed "strapping young buck", never identified by name, who used his food stamps to buy a steak when others were waiting in line to buy hamburger meat. This anecdote utterly infuriates me because it's a completely unfair, biased view of reality. To be sure, I do certainly buy hamburger meat on a frequent basis because it can be made to stretch over several days. But, I also have been known to buy a steak every now and then because it augments a meal well and eliminates my need to buy as much at one time for one meal. Without being too particular here, if I eat a steak one night, it's so filling I don't have to buy much else to round out my dinner. Furthermore, I don't buy the most expensive cuts and can usually find discounted steak at not all that much more than maybe a couple pounds of ground beef.

According to the Times article referenced above, 1 in 8 Americans is on food stamps. The percentage of people on the rolls varies wildly based on race. An interactive graphic reveals in Washington, DC, where I live, only 1% of Whites are on food stamps, but fully 30% of Blacks are. This is a deceptive statistic that reveals the vast income discrepancies in the District. Caucasians who live within the District of Columbia are some of the wealthiest of the wealthy, while African-American residents are some of the poorest of the poor. I can imagine that this creates no small degree of resentment, but I don't appreciate being the target of income discrepancies I actively speak out again and did nothing to put in force in the first place.

To pull in an additional metric, it's not like I'm that far removed from the situation, lest I forget. The rural Alabama county where my Father was born and raised has fully 22% of all residents enrolled, including a staggering 44% of children. 16% of Whites are on food stamps, as are 38% of Blacks. When the textile mills went away, so too did the county's largest employer. Many residents felt no inclination to go beyond a high school diploma, since they fully intended to spend a career working in the mills just as their parents and grandparents had done before them. Now that sure thing job is simply no more. The recent recession has been especially demoralizing and impoverishing for the working poor and has exacerbated existing trends. Bad situations have merely gotten worse.

The tension between self-reliance and relief can be seen at the food bank’s office in Harlem, where the city lets outreach workers file applications.

Juan Diego Castro, 24, is a college graduate and Americorps volunteer whose immigrant parents warned him “not to be a burden on this country.” He has a monthly stipend of about $2,500 and initially thought food stamps should go to needier people, like the tenants he organizes. “My concern was if I’m taking food stamps and I have a job, is it morally correct?” he said.

But federal law eases eligibility for Americorps members, and a food bank worker urged him and fellow volunteers to apply, arguing that there was enough aid to go around and that use would demonstrate continuing need. “That meeting definitely turned us around,” Mr. Castro said.

These were also my same reservations at first. However, financial necessity was just that--necessary. To be sure, I have no desire to stay on Food Stamps forever, but I have to face the reality of the situation. A frustrating job climate even for able-bodied people has left those of us with severe limitations with nowhere to go. My goal is to one day get my illness in check, though I also note, with much regret, that I'll always need to self-monitor and opt for work that I can handle. Until unemployment rates stabilize, which I'm expecting will take years, I have resolved that I need these things for right now. I think I've always related more to the New Deal terminology of all these safety net services: relief. Right now, relief is what we all need.

Saturday Video

Pardon My Absence

Fridays have been busy recently.

In the meantime, here's a historical anniversary for you, Tea Party members.

Do you want total war?