An infamous date, seventy years later

On this anniversary, Japan attacked the United States at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Despite my own private reservations, I cannot hear Franklin Roosevelt's eloquent address without being caught up in the moment. At the end of dramatically intoned sentences, the entire room breaks into patriotic, thunderous applause. In direct violation of my own beliefs, I feel a desire to let out a cheer as the short, but powerful speech crescendos. Pacifism in any form now seems out of step and unnecessary.

A day which was observed with solemn reverence for the entire country holds a very different meaning for Friends. Charles Lindbergh and his boy-next-door delivery as spokesman for the Anti-War movement was rendered redundant in an instant. Those who still believed that the United States ought to beware of foreign entanglements now became a small minority. Some, usually stating religious reasons, refused to serve in the military. But they were regularly treated like traitors or turncoats. Some were even thrown into jail. This 2006 article in Friends Journal summarizes a variety of stated offenses and solutions for non-participation. Much of this ignoble aspect of our history is simply not discussed.

Conscientious objectors were often persecuted for their efforts in World War II. John F. Kennedy acknowledged this when he said, "War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today." World War II COs endured verbal abuse and vandalism of their homes, were refused service in restaurants, had to witness being hung in effigy, dealt with efforts to prevent them from voting, and were socially ostracized.

Conscientious objectors and their families also suffered economically. When the men of the family were in CPS [Civilian Public Service], they were not paid. Many COs went on strike, and some called the workcamps "American Slave Camps." Families relied on the women to provide financial support. Also, families had to pay for COs to go into the CPS (about $35 a month). Finally, there were fewer job opportunities for the family members of COs because most of them would not accept employment that included working in war industries, and some employers refused to hire family members of COs.

Many CO families were separated while family members served in the workcamps or on farms. Some families disagreed with COs and were ashamed of what their relatives believed. In some instances, parents and spouses even threatened to commit suicide. The worry over persecution, loss of pay, and separation took over the lives of many COs' families.

In a different time, enlisting for battle was an automatic action by many. Stories are told of men who, while driving in a car towards some destination, heard of the Pearl Harbor attacks by way of the car radio. Many immediately turned around, regardless of previous plans, and proceeded directly to sign up for military service. An older man I talked with some years ago told fascinating stories. He spoke about how, having turned eighteen, he proudly enlisted for the army. Not only was it expected, it reinforced ideas of acceptable masculine behavior. And, it also made one popular with the girls.

He would later be wounded during the Battle of the Bulge, this during a particularly traumatic and violent German offensive. But that is later. A still isolationist nation had not entertained frequent invasions or a total war, and this is why it rushed to armed combat under the sway of an extensive propaganda machine. It would soon recognize that war wasn't nearly as glamorous as it had been led to believe. Even with technicolor or the support of Hollywood's most popular matinee idols, war was still hell.

The impact of this anniversary has faded with time. Once remembered by all, the number of those who were even alive back then has steadily decreased. Soon, it may be remembered only by history, recorded and passed down by those who were themselves not present. History must inevitably rely upon the reflections of primary sources for any truthful retelling. Still, what makes any momentous event real and tangible are personal narratives. One of my Grandmother's brothers came ashore on D-Day. Due to prior written correspondence with him, she knew he would be there. She never talked about the grandiloquence of that event, just that she cried all day and night, fearful that her brother might be among the casualties. These anecdotes summarize the reality of war, not the speeches, not the pomposity.

The Testimony of Community

The enclosed is a rough draft of a new submission. By the time the editor gets hold of it, it probably won't look like this. Still, I share the content with you, hoping it will resonate with my readers. For those of you who spend much time organizing, planning, and otherwise pondering how to build lasting, strong groups of people, I direct this post specifically to you. I doubt our experiences are that uncommon, if you set the name and concept aside.

____________

Community is often one of the forgotten Testimonies. As Friends, our calling card to the rest of the world is usually Peace. Accordingly, the Peace Testimony often receives a disproportionate amount of our attention. Though there will always be wars and rumors of wars, it is also important that we focus on ourselves as a Beloved Community. Despite the advent of the internet and the prevalence of electronic communication, face to face interaction with other Friends has never ceased to be important. To me, the most meaningful aspects of being Quaker are the interpersonal relationships I have formed with other Friends.

Here in Washington, DC, the need for real Community is palpable and perceptible. A city of hard working, overachieving transplants, everyone a person encounters seems to hail from somewhere else. This often means that cliques or in-crowds are in shorter supply than might be true in other cities. Without years for people to establish long-term friendships and relationships, social networks are tenuous and often fragmentary. After an often-exhausting workweek, sharing an hour or two with Friends keeps the focus on what really matters. Due to the prevalent culture, drawing that distinction can be more challenging here than in any other city in the country.

DC Friends often find it hard to strike the proper balance between spiritual life and vocational demands. Washington is a highly competitive place full of the highly driven and highly intelligent. The lessons taught are often in contradiction to basic virtues like humility, cooperation, and servant-led leadership. Criticism aside, Washington is very different from the way it is often portrayed in the media or by others in the rest of the country. Its flaws are well documented, but its strengths are not always given full weight. As is often the case, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

DC is also a very transient city. Many view it as simply another stopover on a lengthy career journey. Young Adult Friends living in Washington have often lived in several other cities before reaching the age of 30. Community is complicated by the difficulty in retaining membership and participation. Maintaining continuity is one of the foremost challenges towards leadership and congregational stability. Washington can be a revolving door of sorts, and one either embraces that reality or laments it. Coordinating schedules and attracting Friends to activities even after an exhausting workday complicates fellowship.

Young Adult Friends in DC can be a contradiction in terms. Desiring Community the most, they are often the least able to sustain it in practice. While the entire area is transient enough by itself, young adults are even more inclined to move and relocate. One simply has to get used to it. Devising successful strategies to pull Young Adult Friends together requires a sense of dexterity and a willingness to experiment. It also means listening to others and taking into account their suggestions. Eventually, everyone manages to end up on the same page. No one ever said Community was easy.

Community is quite a bit of work regardless of where one lives. In increasingly individualistic times, finding commonality between diverse interests and differing life experiences is difficult. Some Friends have embraced Quakerism after a long search. This was my particular experience as well. Some are still processing and unpacking prior negative experiences of Community. Others are classic seekers, skeptics at heart, listening for a reason to really believe. The Spirit guides for those willing to surrender to God. Our journeys differ, but our needs are similar.

Sometimes we form Community organically, without a stated intent. While in the moment, our hearts join together as one. Should we share a laugh or a meaningful Worship, we are reminded of what Jesus reminded us. “This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you.” In those times, where we work, where we might be in two years, the sum total of our fears and reservations, our best intentions, and our expectations of Community are subordinate. These are moments of sublime beauty and grace.

I have discovered that the fear of failure, rather than any other stumbling block is the most common obstacle to forming Community. God tests us to spread our wings and realize our full potential. However, ultimately, should our hearts and intentions be pure, his ways succeed. Embracing the mystery without understanding the final resolution typifies our relationship with the Divine. This routinely runs contrary to how we believe and comprehend as individuals. In building a common vision, trusting God cannot be underemphasized. Amazing, profound, miraculous things take shape then.

A Reminder

Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: "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 you a tenth of my income.'

"But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, 'O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.' I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

Occupy Skepticism

At the conclusion of Quaker Worship yesterday, it was announced, with much dramatic emphasis, that police had surrounded the McPherson Square Occupy DC protesters. Seeking solidarity with the besieged and to make their own voices heard, roughly half the Meeting headed immediately down to the site. I allowed the emotion of the moment to lead me to contemplate particularly dire conclusions. My first thought was that the police presence was now intent on breaking up the demonstration. The lump in my throat was genuine as was my sense of worry.

It turns out that nothing of the sort transpired yesterday. This is why I continue to retain some skepticism regarding the entire Occupy movement. What I observed from instantaneous internet feeds and correspondence with people who were there was very different. For one, police brutality and acts of violence the likes of which have typified other protests was nowhere to be found. The National Park Service, which has jurisdiction over the site, is well-versed in precisely how to perform arrests. This is particularly because DC is the country’s most favored protest spot. Hyperbole aside, this was not Occupy Oakland or the street protests in the UK earlier in the year.

I’m not trying to sound dismissive. People want to be part of a movement. They want to contribute to a cause greater than themselves. These by themselves are laudable goals. But when grandiose intentions become linked to even more irrational and cloying persecution narratives, then that which is produced is ridiculous and comes close to self-parody. Or, let me say it another way. Thirty-one people were arrested yesterday for failing to leave a makeshift plywood structure. Despite the protest’s self-serving spin, that was the whole of the conflict.

The issue does underscore a more significant issue. Occupy DC’s numbers hold steady but do not make significant gains going into the dead of winter. Late December and January are the coldest times of year in Washington, DC. The cold persists through February and usually ends by early March. Although far enough South that snowfall is not especially consistent, DC finds itself regularly on the back end of a Nor’easter or two. Given the right conditions, accumulation can run as high as a foot or more. I can understand why the structure was built. However, Occupy DC is likely going to have to take account for the weather and concede that twenty-four hour occupation may no longer be an option.

And I have other reservations, nagging concerns shared by many. The demographic makeup of McPherson Square’s protesters is quite consistent. They are Caucasian, middle class, educated, often raised in liberal households, and predominately young. Others before me have been critical that people of color and other minorities are not found in larger quantities. Strategies implemented to address this discrepancy have thus far not been enacted. Of course, this problem cannot be laid squarely at the feet of a few hundred people congregated together in a square, living lives of running commentary. Confronting issues of privilege and class would, in my estimation, be worthwhile topics for discussion should Occupy DC wish to gain serious respect. The movement needs legitimacy before others will close ranks behind it.

Instead, what I’ve seen upon other direct visits to the site are nice white kids who generally did what their parents asked and ate their vegetables. Before I seem too critical, I place myself in with that distinction. The Occupy protesters and their devotion to non-violence are touching, as is their ramshackle creative flair. Still, last night I admit I found it hard to take them very seriously. In this era of immediate documented communication, I monitored the situation through regularly updated Tweets and live stream video. After several hours, I concluded that the fears of many, including my own, were much ado about nothing. Occupy will continue. The crisis that never was is over.

What will continue being a point of contention is the matter of long-term camping. The National Park Service has left notes on tents specifying clearly that sleeping on-site is illegal. They seem willing to accommodate almost everything else. Protesters know that they are being tolerated for now and that just being there is illegal. In future, the movement will need to decide next how far they wish to press their luck. If they dig in their heels and seek to construct another structure for a similar function, the cumulative effect might get the entire Occupy DC group kicked out.

The idea of leaderless movements is a compelling one, but I simply do not think we are ready yet as a race of people for it. Quakerism, for example, as a religious group, speaks deliberately against hierarchy. However, leaders still assert themselves, even if they do not adopt formal titles. I am cautious just as they of too much power concentrated in the hands of a few people, the very issue driving Occupy movements across the country. Even so, there is still a vast amount of middle ground between plutocracy and formless anarchy, which the movement would be wise to seriously take under consideration. Commentators, columnists, and others should be equally cautious before they use the movement to further their own ends.

An Individual's Definition of Marriage and Equality

My sister just got married. This only proves that the way life shakes out is often nothing like we imagine. What makes this unusual is that she long believed she would never tie the knot. I, for one, believed her. It was instead thought that the oldest child, that being me, would end up the first to betrothal. Instead, the rebellious middle child found herself in the middle of a whirlwind courtship. Four months after meeting him, she was engaged. First comes love, then comes marriage, as they say. But, true to form, she did it her way and no one else’s.

Never one for anyone’s ritual, she and her now-husband headed directly to the courthouse. Believing the no-frills approach was best, the two said their vows in the most minimalist possible way. This is how she always said it would be, if it ever happened. That much was expected. What really surprised me, however, was my sister’s decision to take her husband’s name. It seemed a little odd coming from the woman who personally founded and single-handedly led a feminist group on campus. And yet as it turns out she had a traditional streak, one that none of us who knew her best could have ever foreseen.

When I asked about it, she put the decision rather simply. She and her husband, possessing the same last name, were now on the same team. The symbolism involved in having a surname in common reinforced the level of emotional commitment between the two of them. Far be it for me to object. How she chooses to structure her marriage or her married name is none of my business.

It’s not how I would do it, though. Not at all. Should marriage be in my future, I know I’ll expect my wife to retain her maiden name. The likelihood I will partner with a woman for the long term is considerably high. I’ve never known for same-sex couples, regardless of gender, to exchange one name for another. What has appealed to me, I must admit, is just being one more typically liberal couple. You could call it fitting in, if you wish. Nothing appeals to me more than puttering around with a partner at Trader Joe’s on Sunday afternoons. When I’ve never felt ordinary in most aspects of my life, a little conformity isn’t so bad.

In the end, it comes down to how we define equality in relationships. I’ve known some feminists whose immediate discomfort with the very idea of marriage, and all the baggage retained therein have led them to decide it will never be for them. Regardless of our primary views, it may be useful to think about the whole of the thoughts and reflections we hold about this tradition. What are our motivations in marriage? Do we find that the fantasy conforms to the reality? If my sister’s example is pertinent, when it does happen, I’m sure it will be nothing like anyone’s bridal magazine or reality television show.

Quote of the Week

"A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five."- Groucho Marx

Holiday and Holy Days: An Open Letter

Periodically, I write open letters to my Meeting on its listserve. This particular correspondence was sparked by an article I read in a monthly Quaker periodical. In the beginning, Friends did not celebrate Christmas, believing it to be a tradition foist upon them, and one in contradiction to their beliefs. They faced fines for daring to keep their shops open on Christmas Day. Vandals sometimes broke windows and damaged Quaker-owned businesses. Friends believed that Christmas was a festival of unrestrained frivolity and drunkenness, which is a large reason why they didn't celebrate it.

The non-observance of the Christmas holiday persisted until around the time of the Civil War and is held today only by a few.

For the sake of greater comprehension, I'll identify some esoteric references. FUM stands for Friends United Meeting, a Quaker organization based in Richmond, Indiana, which is solidly Christian. First Day is Sunday. Early Friends replaced the names of days of the week, this because their original names were said to be Pagan in origin. For example, Wednesday is Fourth Day and Friday is Sixth Day. A query is an open-ended, often rhetorical question posed to everyone. It is meant to facilitate contemplation and deepen spiritual understanding.

________________

Hello Friends,

The latest edition of Quaker Life magazine has arrived in my inbox. One section, mostly in jest, asks us how we might choose to celebrate (or not celebrate) Christmas. Or, as it was known to earlier Friends, "that day called Christmas". I imagine the phrase being pronounced with a particular emphasis on sharp, unyielding disdain. We are, after all, descendants of Puritans.

As I've understood it, Friends do not celebrate holidays, at least during Meeting for Worship. I've been told that this is because Quakers believe that no First Day is any more or any less special or holy. The Christian holidays and resulting color schemes of my boyhood are nowhere to be seen. I still sometimes half expect us to be celebrating Advent right now. But if we are to be in this world, not of this world, we may have made an exception for Christmas. I think it a good idea to contemplate the rampant consumerism omnipresent to the holiday. It has recently showed itself in the behavior of some overzealous shoppers on Black Friday.

Friends paid quite a price once upon a time for their lack of observance. This was true both monetarily and otherwise. Should we return to those days, much to the disappointment of children and the uncomprehending stares of friends and coworkers? Quaker Life, the FUM publication it is, encourages us to remember whose day the 25th of December really is. And they don't mean Santa Claus. Though Christmas Day may not be the precise, historical twenty-four hour period that Jesus of Nazareth was born, I still think it necessary to commemorate his life and his ministry. The man hasn't exactly had a moderate impact throughout the course of history and throughout the world even today.

Friends may differ in how they view Jesus and I respect their beliefs. At minimum, I hope we recognize that this day of observance, Quakerly or not, has a meaning beyond the mad dash to accumulate more things, more stuff. In an ideal world, our reverence would fall equally upon every calendar day. If there are truly no need for holidays, then we see no difference between the sacred and the prosaic. But how we love Christmas and how we conform to its unstated rules! The negative is commingled along with the positive, as is so often the case in human expression. We may always feel the nagging urge to commemorate particular days for particular events. We may not be quite evolved enough to avoid reaching for this distinction.

In writing this, I have no view to advance, no ax to grind. My intention is to get people thinking, much like an effective query. Why are we officially against ritual though we find that ritual seeks to assert itself anyway? Why would we have no day be more or less reverent than others, while acknowledging that this is not a desire quite so easy to follow? Like many faith groups, we were established based on idealistic standards of purity. Yet we are still human and still possessed of shortcomings. I hope then that we might take account for our flaws as we hold ourselves to a higher standard. The Christmas season is supposed to remind us that goodwill, kindness, and cooperation are more important than selfishness. If holidays must persist, I can think of no better message to be reinforced, year in and year out.

In the Light,

Kevin.

Hilarious

Saturday Video

Years ago, I first posted this as the Saturday Video. Once upon a time, there was a television channel named MTV. It played this video constantly, along with many other videos, which is exactly where I first learned to love it. I still get nostalgic for the early 90's. The lyrics seem throwaway, but were apparently inspired by the Marquis de Sade.

Check check check

Spitting in a wishing well

Blown to hell crash

I'm the last splash

I know you little libertine

I know you're a real coo coo

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

In the shade, in the shade

In the shade, in the shade

I'll be your whatever you want

The bong in this reggae song

In the shade, in the shade

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

Spitting in a wishing well

Blown to hell

Crash

I'm the last splash

I'll be your whatever you want

The bong in this reggae song

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

Want you, coo coo

Cannonball

In the shade, in the shade

In the shade, in the shade

2012: A Vote of Confidence or No-Confidence

I will vote for Barack Obama. I will vote for him in the primaries, though I doubt any other name will be printed on the ballot next to his. I will vote for him in November. This distinction is made deliberately should some believe I intend to desert the President and his Party. By now, I know the consequences. My criticisms of the current Administration may tangentially have a few aspects in common with current GOP arguments, but that is as deep as they will ever go. I never was very comfortable in sharing my bed with my opposition for any reason.

What troubles me is that I will not be voting for a person this next election cycle, rather I will be voting for the Democratic Party. This is not a concept unique only to me. Like many, I want to swing the balance of power in the Supreme Court of the United States. Or, if that is not possible, I submit my vote as a safeguard to prevent further erosion of progressive ideals. I will pull the lever to Obama to keep Roe v. Wade the law of the land. I strongly desire four more years of Democratic judges and assorted appointees, the ones that even an obstructionist Republican cannot block. I’ll show up at the polls to ensure a steady stream of legislative minutia and stump speech bullet points that, combined together, one calls a Presidential legacy.

My voting history is not as extensive as some, but it does contain a discernible paper trail. In the past, I’ve left a heavy, dark mark next to names like Gore and Kerry. On a state level, I can recall several other Democrats who won my vote. The common denominator between all of these ballots is that of motivation. I never really expected any single person to reform the system. Rather, I expected predictable forward progress lumped between politically expedient posturing. One could say I never held politicians to much of a standard, lowering the bar so that I could be pleasantly surprised at the good things they produced.

The exception to that rule was 2008. I think we’re all processing the aftermath. This forthcoming election will be a referendum of sorts on that subject, both for Democrats and Republicans. For the moment, our system of governance might as well be Parliamentary. Voters know they are selecting the end products of a legislative majority more than a Chief Executive. To be honest, Americans have always had mixed feelings about Presidential power. Too much of it, and people are fearful of the consequences. Too little of it, and the People’s designated representative seems impotent and superfluous. Be careful of what you ask for. You just might get it. Concerns like these are as old as the Republic itself. Who should be responsible for the changing, us, or those who we consistently elect?

At times Americans hold some peculiarly contradictory beliefs. We have become far more ideologically rigid with time, even though we hold to notions of Centrism and moderation. Public confidence in Congress has almost always been far lower than that of any President. Yet, that body is supposedly far less partisan, this because its members are pulled almost exclusively from two competing parties. The paradox here underlines a very important distinction to make. The President is the leader of his or her own Party, true. He or she is supposed to serve that role alone while managing to represent the entire country.

On placards and in conversation, I've heard over and over the same phrase. "Obama is not my President". And, I myself never believed that George W. Bush was my President, either. Our notion of Presidential Authority is equally split. If we want to spare subsequent confusion, we might well concede that the real powers of the office of President of the United States are always in flux. We want Presidential consistency sometimes, but that runs contrary to its function. Other times, we want the office to hold the agency and willingness to make needed changes.

But we cannot have it both ways. That we turn to a living human rather than a deliberative body that is usually faceless reveals much. People can be forgiven. Legislative bureaucracies are rarely granted a second chance by anyone. If we really were governed a Parliamentary system, votes of no-confidence might well have been already proposed within the body itself. As for us, the way it stands now, 2012 will ask us to come to our own conclusions. We will cast our own vote of no-confidence, however we may perceive it.

The Return of the Short Story

Editor's Note:

I tried, in the beginning, to write in an strict, numerical order while compiling this ongoing short story in progress. Now, I think it may be easier if I document specific anecdotes first, then link them together later as they fit. For those inclined to read these segments, perhaps one can see the creative process at work.

____________

I remember the happy times spent together. The night-long rainstorm we meandered through, in no hurry, while walking in downtown. Our hands brushed against long-forgotten markers and metal plaques. These denoted the construction of buildings or exact sites of historical events. Names of a forgotten age, local politicians lost to memory. Often these were obscured from discovery by newness. New additions, new expressways, new means of transportation.

You said to me: Touch, feel. I complied, reluctantly at first. What was the appeal? Then I understood you, surrendering, my comprehension growing with each stop.

By night’s end, we had arrived at the terminus. Peering over the railings, we spied where Northside meets Southside, watching a train hauling coal chugging steadily away from town. The division once meant much more than it does today. It may as well be its own living historical monument, active, but still a place where prior designation is more important than current value.

Speculation aside, simple pleasures are difficult to understate. Returning soaked to the apartment, I threw layer after layer of clothing to the hardwood floor in the foyer. Each created a heavy, slapping sound as it made contact with the ground. I probably should have bothered to wring out most of the rainwater into the old porcelain sink in the kitchen, but I was weary of the additional weight and tired from the journey. The sensation of complete liquid saturation only can be tolerated for a while. One eventually feels a strong inclination to escape, to push aside for later.

We huddled together under an itchy wool blanket that provided necessary warmth. Regarding a replacement, an additional expense or need always depleted our bank account, delaying the purchase of something better for the occasion. Some would have nagged us before departure, as we had impulsively chosen a day not especially hospitable to those who voluntarily eschew umbrellas. We had ignored periods of heavy rain, not merely a constant light drizzle.

I looked to my right, peering underneath the blanket. Her pale skin flushed scarlet, her legs pulled up underneath her, shivering.

It was totally worth it. I had to agree, though a compendium of old wives’ tales had me worried about particular maladies now in the process of gestation. She embraced me. The introduction of cold, clammy skin made me flinch. Still, I knew in time this momentary reflex of mine would subside. Warmth increases when two people huddle together. This isn't an especially profound truth, at least not on its surface. It’s an act that may save your life in the Arctic or spare your sanity in other situations. You see, these sorts of excursions of ours were frequent and instructive.

Never stop being spontaneous. Never push aside the simple joy of being present in the moment. Even the familiar holds interest if you stop rushing by it. Romance is present without dry clothes and a constant refrain of hackneyed parental warnings. I promise you this. Your feet will not freeze off. You will not catch your death of cold.

True Poverty and the Occupy Movement

It has, at times, been amusing to overhear conservative criticism and fear of the Occupiers. Many believe that the protesters want some sort of socialistic notion like a wealth redistribution scheme. It was this same insincere, disingenuous anxiety that Joe the Plumber, then John McCain gave voice to during the last election. Few leftists have ever proposed such a scheme with a straight face. It's a concept more in line with Stalinist Russia than America, circa 2011. What has never really been taken into account, however, are sure-fire methods that might give the have not’s an ability to sustain wealth for generations. For example, nearly one in five schoolchildren now lives in poverty in the United States. This income disparity often exists in rural parts of the country, rather than within cities or suburbs.

In Alabama, for example, 39.6% of all Wilcox County residents live below the poverty line. Wilcox Country is part of the Black Belt area of the state, a majority African-American region sometimes referred to as Alabama’s Third World for its sustained lack of adequate basic services and sufficient household income. Ironically, the fertile soil of the region was ideal for growing crops and sustaining plantations. It provided plentiful income for the 1% of its day. Slavery may have long been outlawed, but the unpaid descendants of the peculiar institution have remained in the same location for at least the last two centuries.

Alabama has struggled with generational poverty, which means that generation after generation of families have been poor. But now, Tilly said, job losses because of the rough economy are pushing new families below the poverty line.

I would like to see an Occupy demonstration in the Black Belt. Its residents have been an overlooked part of the 99% well before anyone thought to frame the argument in those terms. Though financial problems are troubling, regardless of the individual situation, I have long believed that any solution that does not take into account the least of us will never succeed. Good times may arrive again in a while, that is for some of us. Camps may be taken down. Grievances may be met. But for the residents of Wilcox County, they will likely be nearly as poor as they always were. The results of a booming economy rarely make a dent in the overall quality of life for this sort of crippling, institutionalized poverty.

If Occupy wanted to resemble the inspiring movements of time past, it might take into account the most basic of needs. Once, and not all that long ago, people of all races, creeds, colors, and privilege left their comfortable existences. All of this was in an effort to register to vote several black residents of rural Southern counties. Many of the people had never before been able to participate in direct democracy. Brave people left the North and headed down on busses, sometimes facing physical assault, often being threatened with insults. Others put their lives in danger in a multitude of ways, over and over again, with a kind of fierce, firm resolve. That same sort of spirit is needed today. That sort of communal, unselfish participation is needed today.

The basic challenges present now for many people I know personally is demoralizing and frustrating. Many of my friends have dealt with lengthy periods of unemployment, this despite holding multiple degrees and the student loan debt to prove it. Some have had to return to their parents’ house for basic lodging, which I call retreating back to the womb. These are embarrassing and pride-wounding decisions to make, but they have little to no choice in the matter. Others have swallowed hard and taken money from family. None of these acts, however, can be defined as a catastrophe. Returning home is, at least, an option on the table. Sympathetic middle class parents can provide temporary stimulus relief funds. The poorest of the poor, by contrast, have never had this ability. They, like Blanch DuBois, have always had to depend on the kindness of strangers. Sometimes our kindness is conditional. Sometimes it is fickle. Often it is simply not present.

Occupying Wilcox County, for example, would not make much sense based on current strategy. It may be worthwhile for those camped out to appreciate the benefits of city living. Without adequate sources of free meals and sleeping bags, the movement wouldn’t be able to sustain itself. But the question then becomes which 99 percent we are referring to, really. This then reveals that there’s a vast amount of variation in making that distinction. The stratification and delineation between those who are not independently wealthy on the other side of the line is appropriately vast. We may all be members of the 99%, but if this is class war as some think, we see a battle being raged between the wealthy and the middle class, by in large.

If it is morality and perspective that is needed most here, we may all need a reminder.

For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Reflections of My Life

This song can be best described as maudlin, but the melody is catchy. It has long been a favorite for that alone, not the depressing lyrics. Here, I sang the first line of the chorus twice in its proper register and then the remainder at a lower octave. It was just too much to sustain otherwise, and I didn't want to blow out my vocal chords. The results roughen up the vocals, but that could be a desired state in this song.



As for the lyrics, many have put them in the mouth of a soldier. I record all of these videos early in the morning when I have time to do them, so you can likely see just how sleepy I am still.

The changing
Of sunlight to moonlight
Reflections of my life
Oh, how they fill my eyes

The greetings
Of people in trouble
Reflections of my life
Oh, how they fill my eyes

All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

All my cryings
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home

I'm changing, arranging
I'm changing, I'm changing everything
Oh, everything around me

The world is a bad place
A bad place, a terrible place to live
Oh, but I don't wanna die

All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

All my cryings
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home

All my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

Gingrich's Own Worst Enemy

Georgia’s Sixth Congressional District encapsulates the most ideological conservative area of the Atlanta Metro Area. Its residents, by in large, are white, fiscally conservative, heavily affluent, highly educated, and thoroughly partisan Republicans. Evangelical Christians are found in significant quantities. East Cobb is the shorthand designation many Atlanta residents often use to refer to this legislative partition. The area of town formally designated as East Cobb has never incorporated, this to avoid paying its share in taxes. In a city built on an influx of new money, East Cobb is home to conservative Georgia old money.

The Sixth also happens to have elected Newt Gingrich to the U.S. House for ten consecutive terms in office. East Cobb’s insularity and bubble mentality leave it resistant to change and openly intolerant of outside viewpoints. This is an area where residents regularly reinforce the impregnable fortress by sending their children to private schools. One of them, East Cobb Christian School, has a stellar academic reputation and correspondingly deferential attitude to God. The school’s website describes its theological beliefs in this way. “We believe that all truth is God's truth, and God has inerrantly and infallibly revealed His truth in the Bible.” This is biblical literalism and an unquestioned devotion to a Higher Power.

Former House Speaker Gingrich has long sought the office of President of the United States. He has, however, yet to discover that what works in East Cobb will not work on a grander scale. Gingrich often combines a hotheaded shoot-from-the-hip style with a condescending professorial tone. The latter points back to his time spent as a history professor, his occupation before politics. Gary Trudeau’s political comic strip Doonesbury famously rendered then-Speaker Gingrich as a bomb with a lit fuse. Even in a hopelessly divided Washington, a scorched earth policy is terrible strategy.

Much like John McCain’s surprising about-face in 2008, Gingrich’s campaign was earlier counted out and now has managed to regain its viability. This, of course, is due to the implosion of prior front-runners with significantly worse baggage. Gingrich has significant skeletons in his closet, many of which could be potentially fatal should he seriously challenge Mitt Romney for the Republican Party’s nomination. These include the embarrassing revelation that the Speaker was actively involved in an affair at the same time President Clinton was being impeached for the same offense. Though Gingrich did eventually marry his mistress, Evangelicals have sufficient reason to balk at a Gingrich candidacy on that fact alone. What makes it worse is that he has been married three times.

Candidate Gingrich has a disconcerting habit of digging himself into one series of holes after another, then being forced into damage control as he digs himself out. In May, after appearing to support Medicare instead of vowing to dismantle the entitlement program, his campaign was all but given up for dead. Several major aides resigned and Gingrich was forced to retool without adequate funds. It is still unclear whether those early staff defections and overall money troubles have left the campaign unable to sustain front-runner status.

Even so, love him or hate him, Gingrich is a survivor. For the first time, a survey of likely voters conducted by the private firm Public Policy Polling has showed him in first place. Over the past several days, Gingrich received the endorsement of the New Hampshire-based Manchester Union-Leader. The New Hampshire primary will be held on January 10 of next year and be a significant divining rod for eventual campaign success. Taking into account the candidate’s flaws and failings, the paper still believed Gingrich to be the strongest contender. It wrote, “Newt Gingrich is by no means the perfect candidate. But Republican primary voters too often make the mistake of preferring an unattainable ideal to the best candidate who is actually running.”

In what has been a surreal, underwhelming Presidential Election campaign, good enough may be all any party can achieve. Instead of solutions, distractions have sufficed. The decline and shocking rebirth of Newt Gingrich shows the results of a divided Republican Party, one rent asunder by the internecine bickering of Tea Party ideologues and the GOP establishment. Much like Gingrich, the Party itself was said to be on life support not all that long ago, but returned to power based on consistent economic woes. It has yet to regenerate to prior prominence. That it would return to a leader forced to resign in disgrace thirteen years ago is quite telling, indeed.

Quote of the Week

"A wise man who stands firm is a statesman. A fool who stands firm is a catastrophe"- Anonymous

The Politics of Money and Body Acceptance

Before I go any further, I am conscious of how carefully I need to pick my words. Be patient with me as I thread a tiny needle on a search for the truth. The center is what I seek. I’ll save the sides for others who may want to further the debate, but will really only start an argument. I’m not looking for scapegoats, just a middle ground.

On a crowded flight home from Thanksgiving with the family, my trip became even more stressful. My seatmate’s physical size, due to obesity, was such that she took up all of her seat and half of mine. It’s difficult for me to feel very comfortable when unable to achieve some degree of personal space. As it stands, I felt wedged into my seat. I had no ability to place separation between the two of us. Boundaries have been increasingly essential for me as I’ve begun a specialized form of therapy to treat PTSD. Feeling trapped in close quarters can make me feel panicked and sometimes triggers a panic attack.

But even if I didn’t have a specific psychological issue, I would have still been physically uncomfortable. As I write this, I am cognizant of arguments against fat shaming and in favor of body acceptance. On the other hand, I am also aware of counter-arguments pushing for personal accountability and responsible decision making. The best way to proceed from here might be to spell out the facts. Airplane seats are not made for travelers who are larger than a certain average body size.

Increasingly, Americans are growing more obese due to an oft-cited sedentary lifestyle and corresponding poor dietary habits. Airlines, which have lost considerable sums of money in the last ten years, have little incentive to design seats or room specifically to accommodate those who are larger than the statistical norm. In fact, the exact opposite has been the case. Air travelers have even less space to themselves then at any other time.

It often pains me to go back home, because I regularly observe those who, for economic and cultural reasons, among others, do not place a priority on their physical wellbeing. Many smoke heavily, eat a steady diet of unhealthy food, and do not exercise sufficiently. As for me, I live in Washington, DC, where wealth and means converge. Exercise is trendy, as is eating healthily.

Grocery stores, co-ops, and farmer’s market, all devoted to providing high quality food products are everywhere. An affluent population is willing and able to pay more for the privilege. Are these same options present in Alabama, especially in the rural areas or the inner city? Not so much. Does a tradition and corresponding cultural expectation of these sorts of beneficial practices exist? Not really.

Cities are concentrations of wealth and the highly educated. There is no financial incentive for either of them to leave and spread elsewhere. Quality food is rarely found in areas of poverty. Most often, only cheaper, lower quality food is affordable and available. This includes fast food. To speak to my own situation, there is no financial incentive for psychologists and medical practitioners to leave the cities for other areas, even though their services are needed everywhere. Instead, some would rather charge rates per hour that only the wealthy can afford. This is where the situation really gets complicated. Those of us who believe in equality must first consider an economic system that is predicated on profit and basic, almost instinctive class inequality.

A paternalistic argument, either on one side or the other, is eventually going to triumph. Either we will grow less and less tolerant of those who are extremely overweight, or we will normalize substantial weight gain and those who qualify as obese. From a profit standpoint alone, money can be made regardless of where we go as a society. If, for the sake of making money, we (and especially women) are expected to conform to a smaller cultural norm of socially acceptable size, some will resort to unhealthy means to achieve it.

As has been the case forever and a day, those unable to manage this distinction will be left out. If accommodation is where we head instead, more changes will result, changes well beyond enlarging the seats on a commercial airliner. I do always hope that a more realistic notion of feminine beauty and body size might someday be reached. What exists now is destructive in its own way. However, if it is reached by decreasing the life expectancy and general health of every American, consider me ambivalent.

Saturday Video

In pitch dark I go walking in your landscape.
Broken branches trip me as I speak.
Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.
Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.

There’s always a siren
Singing you to shipwreck.
(Don’t reach out, don’t reach out)
Steer away from these rocks
We’d be a walking disaster.
(Don’t reach out, don’t reach out)

Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.
(There’s someone on your shoulder)
Just because you feel it doesn’t mean it’s there.
(There’s someone on your shoulder)

There there

Why so green and lonely?
Heaven sent you to me.

We are accidents
Waiting waiting to happen.

We are accidents
Waiting waiting to happen.

A Few Harmless Pictures

Me in motion, Edvard Munch style, around Denny Chimes.

Bryant-Denny Stadium in a "quiet" moment.

Overcast skies.

Stadium and frat houses.

(Click on each picture to embiggen)

Or, to Put It Another Way...

Holiday Break

Today is the day before Thanksgiving and I have also contracted a case of stomach flu. I don't really have the concentration and energy for very much.

However, I do hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your biological families or those who you have designated as family. This holiday can be warm and pleasant for some, stressful and problematic for others. I've had a little bit of both in my life.