This Is Why I Left Alabama

Pick You Up at 8

New Age

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spreading the Lessons Learned Inside the Liberal Bubble

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irony of the Week

Quote of the Week

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

Saturday Song

Never Presume

"Never presume"

The unofficial
National Anthem

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

At first is the
shock and awe

dished out by
those who can
light a fuse

but can't take
the consequences

never presume
to assume
any gesture

across the gambling table
is anything but
a smokescreen

disarming, sure
but watch for the feign

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

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

fueled by restaurant food
but just as akin
to blockage?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Talking Points Memo

Baltimore Yearly Meeting Pictures

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

Marginalizing Ourselves While Trying to Not Marginalize Others

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photographic Evidence

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



I was also very glad to see this.

The Woman with the Water Jug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Concluding for the Night

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

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

Evening Update

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

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

And on that note, I must conclude.

Part One: Arrival

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

More updates to come.

Travel Day

Dear Readers,

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

Boyhood and the Culture of Violence

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gleaning: Bringing in the Sheaves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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