Review: Summertime

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Answer to Answers

Winding paths
through tables and glass

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

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

No time to stay the same
Too young to leave.

No pass out sign on the door
set me thinking

Are waitresses paying the price
of their winking?

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

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

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

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

No time to stay the same
Too young to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truth in Short Supply: Baltimore Yearly Meeting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Long-time Friend: Surely you must know ____________________.

Me: No, actually, I don't.

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

Long-time Friend: Well, talk to _______________________.

Me: I don't know them either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Is Why I Left Alabama

Pick You Up at 8

New Age

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spreading the Lessons Learned Inside the Liberal Bubble

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irony of the Week

Quote of the Week

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

Saturday Song

Never Presume

"Never presume"

The unofficial
National Anthem

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

At first is the
shock and awe

dished out by
those who can
light a fuse

but can't take
the consequences

never presume
to assume
any gesture

across the gambling table
is anything but
a smokescreen

disarming, sure
but watch for the feign

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

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

fueled by restaurant food
but just as akin
to blockage?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Talking Points Memo

Baltimore Yearly Meeting Pictures

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

Marginalizing Ourselves While Trying to Not Marginalize Others

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photographic Evidence

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



I was also very glad to see this.

The Woman with the Water Jug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Concluding for the Night

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

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

Evening Update

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

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

And on that note, I must conclude.

Part One: Arrival

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

More updates to come.

Travel Day

Dear Readers,

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

Boyhood and the Culture of Violence

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gleaning: Bringing in the Sheaves

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where I'll Be

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

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

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

Quote of the Week

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

Saturday Video

8:05

WORST THUMBNAIL SHOT EVER!



8:05
I guess you're leaving soon
I can't go on without you
It's useless to try

To love you is so good
To keep you would be so wonderful
Here is my heart that I give
It's all that I have

Please change your mind
Before my sunshine is gone
Do you think you could try?
Do you think you could try?
Do you think you could try?

Do you understand how I feel?
(See it through)
And I will prove it is real
(Until I can prove it to you)
Don't fill my world with rain
You know your tears would only bring pain in my heart

8:05
I guess you're leaving
Goodbye

One More For Good Measure

Each of the characters in this song are real people I encounter, or have encountered before in my life. You may know them, but you probably don't. :-)

Depression Update

A few weeks back I mentioned that I had entered a period of depression. With an increased dosage of Lithium, it subsided temporarily. Unfortunately, it has now returned again. Sometimes depressed episodes come in waves. As I think I said before, it would be wonderful if I or any psychiatrist knew precisely what causes an episode to begin or conclude. My consternation is extreme, increased exponentially by just how impotent I am to heal myself.

What I've been recently is thoroughly irritated. My patience is worn threadbare and I find myself growing easily irritated at little things. Screaming profanity at my computer when I have problems with writing something is usually the first sign I have arrived at this stage. It tends to severely frighten those around me a little, since my personality is usually nothing like this. I never wish to upset anyone, but that discomfort's got to go somewhere, I suppose.

I'll keep everyone updated, should things worsen or improve, but right now I'm tremendously discouraged.

Another New Song

Enabling Believers or Respecting Freedom of Choice?

While a member of another faith group, an old joke was invoked every time turnout on any given Sunday was less than expected:

Q: Why don't ______________ go to church during the summertime?
A: They don't have to.

This same conundrum, modified slightly, could easily apply to many liberal Unprogrammed Friends, regardless of the season or the time of year. I make light of this not to raise the specter of collective guilt, but rather to highlight one of the many challenges currently facing me. At my monthly meeting, I am the unofficial official co-clerk in charge of Young Adult ministries. The Clerk and I have tried a variety of very novel, very different approaches to keep Young Adult Friends motivated to participate and to, above all, turn out consistently. Regardless of what is attempted, attendance is almost always sporadic at best. No matter how interested someone appears at first, it is statistically very likely he or she will rarely stick around.

If I had to provide a rough estimate, I'd say out of ten people whose hand I shake at the rise of meeting or during coffee afterward, eight are likely to attend only one function and never return. Of that same group, many will wish to be placed on the group listserve and never attend a single Young Adult gathering, nor attend another worship service. An additional challenge that presents me is how many Young Adult Friends perceive of the group as a bit of a dating service. This is hardly unusual to any religious/spiritual gathering, but when that becomes the sole motivation for anyone to show up with any consistency, then it can be safely labeled a problem. I have torn my hair out struggling with this situation and have recently conceded that all I can do is all I can do.

A friend of a Friend, in great contrast, has not had any of these same problems with her Young Adult group. A critical mass sprung up quickly, almost of its own accord, though the organizers certainly put (and still devote) a lot of hard work into keeping it going. Astonishingly, in the church itself, Young Adults make up fully a third of those in attendance. They have even eagerly taken many leadership positions within it. Granted, she is not a Quaker.

Instead, she is a United Methodist. I find this particularly interesting because I myself was raised United Methodist. Although I would have considered the ideology of the two Methodist churches I attended to be somewhere between centrist and liberal, there was, political allegiance aside, nonetheless an expectation that going to church every Sunday was expected. Perhaps this explains the consternation with my current situation. Plainly put, if I don't go to meeting on Sunday, I feel as though I've really missed out on something I've really needed and could not obtain through any other avenue. Would I call that guilt? Partially, but pure guilt alone has, to me, always connoted something I feel I need to do that I will severely dislike when I do it.

Friends may relate highly to Wallace Stevens in "A High-Toned Old Christian Woman".

A High-Toned Old Christian Woman

Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.

I certainly know what not to do. Some months back, I gave a very poorly received message on this topic during Meeting for Worship. Despite my desire to light a fire underneath what I considered to be recalcitrant Friends, I was thought to be heartlessly hectoring those gathered while waggling my finger. I will never forget how a woman stood up after I had finished talking, plainly furious at me, implying that while she was deeply insulted, she at least admired my courage to be this offensive. She has never returned. It does not give me any pleasure to have made such a negative impression on anyone that they no longer wish to attend meeting. I felt more frustrated than before I rose to speak, observing that the end result backfired so impressively. All I had sought to do was open a dialogue. Apparently, the dialogue cannot be opened in this fashion.

Yet, most discouraging of all is the overall assumption of so many. I think sometimes that liberal Unprogrammed Friends may have been raised to believe that worship was not an obligation, but rather an occasional event that could easily be superseded if something more interesting or pressing came up instead. How does one even begin to reverse that attitude? As it stands, that belief fosters an attitude that worship is there only when I need it, or even, I only reach out to God when I really need him. If we were speaking about a sports team, one would be called a fairweather fan. In bad times, all religious gatherings are filled to capacity, only to dissipate when good times returns. However, when this attitudes borders on epidemic and is always present regardless of the state of the times, it needs to be addressed.

And here I am, left with that eternal quandary once again. How much of a personal decision to be a sporadic attender can be safely chalked up to free will and with it that oft-cited assumption that we're all, each of us, on a highly individual spiritual path? If I believed people didn't need an intense connection with a higher power and with that a way to have community with others similarly inclined, I would feel less troubled. As it stands, I'm not terribly upset these days when an event planned months in advance is sparsely attended. What does upset me is when I contemplate the attitude that makes my job a challenge, regardless of what I do. I have no answers and no pronouncements, only the realization that I seem to be swimming upstream. I am not discouraged and I enjoy what I do, but I don't know how to begin to take on the systemic issues that demand a solution.

Something New

This is an original song of mine, which I am going to try to successfully embed here. It was recorded entirely on a computer.

Busy Day Video

Jackie wants a black eye
Some proof that she's been hit
And John wants the answers
But the questions just don't quit

And we're sitting in the rain
And we're feeling like the weather.
You could say that we're alone
But we're lonely together

We're all in it together now
As we all fall apart
And we're swapping little pieces
Of our broken little hearts.

Jackie is jumping in the quicksand
But it isn't what you think.
She's safe because she knows
The more you fight, the more you sink

And John is following the black cloud
To keep him from the sun.
So he bends over now
Something has finally begun.

And we're all in it together now
As we all fall apart
And we're swapping little pieces
Of our broken little hearts.

And we've been hurting so long
That our pleasure is our pain.
Are we madly in love
Or are we madly insane?

When yesterday's love defines you
And today that love is gone
Tomorrow keeps you guessing
The roller coaster is rolling on.

And we're all in it together now
As we all fall apart
And we're swapping little pieces
Of our broken little hearts.

And we're all in it together now
As we all fall apart
And we're swapping little pieces
Of our broken little hearts.

Some May Leave and Some Aren't Going Anywhere

Translated from the Dr. Dog, with lyrical digressions and revisions by the author.



Well, it's hard enough to get fed
When you're on

And it's always time to pay rent
When you're home

Is this the worst trip
You have ever been on?

Well, you're looking for the light switch
Click, it's on

Now you're staring at the T.V.
And telephone

Is this the worst trip
You have ever been on?

Well, I thought you'd kind of like it
It's awfully dark and quiet here

Some may leave
and some aren't going, anyway

Well, you're driving to the workplace
hung over and stoned

You know the radio's the worst thing
Early in the morning

Is this the worst trip
You have ever been on?

Well, I thought you'd kind of like it
It's awfully dark and quiet here

Some may leave and
some aren't going anywhere

Conscience Clauses, Civil Disobedience, and Uncivil Discourse

In this country, a long tradition exists of individuals who have refused to perform a particular duty or task, citing their religious beliefs as justification. The very definition of Civil Disobedience, of course, depends on the person, the situation, and how it is applied. The latest incident has opened up a discussion which has never really subsided, only dipped underneath the radar from time to time. In this circumstance, a Texas bus driver, who is also an ordained conservative Christian minister, claims that he was fired for not taking a women to Planned Parenthood. His decision is in the same vein as those of pharmacists who, stating moral reasons, will not dispense the morning-after pill to women who request it.

Though I myself am staunchly pro-choice, I've felt a need to examine the particulars of this case. As reprehensible as I find many of the tactics utilized by those on the other side of the divide, I've decided to analyze events and notable people of a different age to determine if some middle ground can be reached.

In the Eighteenth Century, The Quaker John Woolman spoke out against the degrading evil of slavery. Before he began his work, there was no uniform opposition to the peculiar institution among Friends. However, Woolman's ministry, writing, and ethical conduct changed the minds of many. His hard work has not gone unnoticed, nor has his philosophy of life.

In 1754 Woolman wrote Some Considerations on the Keeping of Negroes. He subsequently refused to draw up wills transferring slaves. Working on a non-confrontational, personal level, he individually convinced many Quaker slaveholders to free their slaves. He attempted personally to avoid using the products of slavery; for example, he wore undyed clothing because slaves were used in the making of dyes.

In Woolman's travels, whenever he received hospitality from a slaveholder, he insisted on paying the slaves for their work in attending him. He would also refuse to be served with silver cups, plates, and utensils, on grounds that slaves were forced to dig such precious minerals and gems for the rich. On one occasion in his early adulthood, he did convey the ownership of a slave in someone's will, but was later so filled with remorse over the act that he went back, found the individual so injured, and made monetary reparations sufficient to sustain that person in freedom for some years. He observed that some owners used the labor of their slaves to enjoy lives of ease, and found much more fault with this practice than with those owners who treated their slaves gently, or even worked alongside them.

Woolman was able to see nuances within the practice itself, while still viewing it as savage, cruel, and in dire need of being abolished altogether. It would appear that he placed more emphasis on social justice than in harsh condemnation. This is in great contrast to today's culture war, the abortion debate being only one theater; any who stand in opposition to how "we" believe are often reviled in language that could only be described as demonic. Returning to the past once more, some historians have argued that, shortly after Woolman's death in 1772, slavery was assumed by many to be a dying practice on its way out. Indeed, many slaveholders of the time stated that they would have manumitted those who they held in bondage simply as a matter of course.

Arguably, what changed their way of thinking were two key events. One was the establishment of the abolitionist press, of which later Quakers had a notable hand, and the bombastic rhetoric of William Lloyd Garrison. In the first issue of his anti-slavery newspaper The Liberator, published in 1831, Garrison famously wrote,

I am aware that many object to the severity of my language; but is there not cause for severity? I will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as justice. On this subject, I do not wish to think, or to speak, or write, with moderation. No! No! Tell a man whose house is on fire to give a moderate alarm; tell him to moderately rescue his wife from the hands of the ravisher; tell the mother to gradually extricate her babe from the fire into which it has fallen; – but urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in earnest – I will not equivocate – I will not excuse – I will not retreat a single inch – AND I WILL BE HEARD. The apathy of the people is enough to make every statue leap from its pedestal, and to hasten the resurrection of the dead.

The second event to turn the tide was the threat of slave insurrection, a kind of massive paranoia that sprang up following Nat Turner's revolt that same year. By the time the butchery concluded, 55 white men, women, and children lay dead. Yet, something not often mentioned in discussions of the uprising was Turner's strong religious convictions.

Turner had "natural intelligence and quickness of apprehension, surpassed by few." He learned to read and write at a young age. He grew up deeply religious and was often seen fasting, praying, or immersed in reading the stories of the Bible. He frequently experienced visions which he interpreted as messages from God. These visions greatly influenced his life; for instance, when Turner was 23 years old, he ran away from his owner, but returned a month later after having such a vision. Turner often conducted Baptist services, preaching the Bible to his fellow slaves, who dubbed him "The Prophet". Turner also had influence over white people, and in the case of Ethelred T. Brantley, Turner said that he was able to convince Brantley to "cease from his wickedness".

By early 1828, Turner was convinced that he "was ordained for some great purpose in the hands of the Almighty. "While working in his owner's fields on May 12, Turner "heard a loud noise in the heavens, and the Spirit instantly appeared to me and said the Serpent was loosened, and Christ had laid down the yoke he had borne for the sins of men, and that I should take it on and fight against the Serpent, for the time was fast approaching when the first should be last and the last should be first." Turner was convinced that God had given him the task of "slay[ing] my enemies with their own weapons." Turner "communicated the great work laid out for me to do, to four in whom I had the greatest confidence" – his fellow slaves Henry, Hark, Nelson, and Sam.

Beginning in February 1831, Turner came to believe that certain atmospheric conditions were to be interpreted as a sign that he should begin preparing for a rebellion against the slave owners.

Nat Turner's reputation has evolved considerably since then. Many scholars view him in a favorable light, but regardless of one's opinion of the man, he was a homegrown terrorist using religion to justify violent acts. I can think of more than a few abortion clinic bombers who fit the same profile. As a pacifist, I do not approve of violence for any reason and for any cause, regardless of whether it suits my ideological beliefs or not. It bothers me when anyone who kills someone else for a moral cause, regardless of the context, becomes transformed into a hero. This is as true for Nat Turner as it is for John Brown. Our silent complicity condones indefensible cruelty. Whether we be anti-slavery or pro-life, we all too often let the fringes speak for us, if not in our own time, certainly with the passage of time. It upsets me how easy it is for us to rehabilitate the reputations of people who caused so much harm and pain, transforming them into noble figures who were misunderstood in their day.

The Texas bus driver may have cited conscience in refusing to drive a woman to Planned Parenthood, but I look beyond it. The crux of the matter, to me, is not what he did, but how it has been perceived and reported. This event is already being used as the latest salvo in a war with no endpoint in sight. I don't believe that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away; but with Blood, but I am profoundly troubled by what I see for the future. The fastest, easiest way to encourage a dialogue filled with crude, destructive hatred is to state an opinion either for or against legalized abortion.

Some months ago, I recorded an iReport for CNN shortly after Ted Kennedy's death, and several people who left comments used my video remarks in support of the late Senator as an opportunity to introduce their virulent opposition to abortion rights. We've become so polarized that people will interject their own passionate beliefs on this matter regardless of they are pertinent to the topic or not. I hate to think about where we're headed next.

Quote of the Week

“Many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices.”- William James

Saturday Video

Come on, people
Come on, children
Come on down to the Glory River

Gonna wash you up
And wash you down
Gonna lay the devil down
Gonna lay that devil down

Come on, people
Come on, children
There's a king at the Glory River

And the precious king
He loved the people to sing
Babes in the blinkin' sun
Sang "We Shall Overcome"

I got fury in my soul
Fury's gonna take me to the glory goal
In my mind

I can't study war no more
Save the people
Save the children
Save the country, now

Come on, people
Come on, children
Come on down to the Glory River

Gonna wash you up
And wash you down
Gonna lay the devil down
Gonna lay that devil down

Come on, people
Sons and mothers
Keep the dream of the two young brothers
Gonna take that dream and ride that dove

We could build the dream with love, I know
We could build the dream with love
We could build the dream with love, I know
We could build the dream with love

I got fury in my soul
Fury's gonna take me to the glory goal
In my mind
I can't study war no more

Save the people
Save the children
Save the country, now

Fade Away

I didn't get a chance to record too many performance videos during the week, so I figured I'd do another today. Those who remember the original will discover that this is my own unique take on it. My left thumb (crucial for barring) is acting up today, so I pretty much had to put down something quickly before it gave out again.



They stumbled into their lives
In a vague way became man and wife
One got the other
They deserved one another

They settled in a brand new town
With people from the same background
They kept themselves busy
Long hours left them dizzy

Now when

He's in
She's out

All you ever do is fade away
All you ever do is fade away

He's not making plans
'Cos now they understand

All you ever do is fade away

He noticed he had visible lines
She worried about her behind

Their birth had been the death of them
It didn't really bother them
Now when

She's in
He's out

All you ever do is fade away
All you ever do is fade away

She's not making plans
'Cos now she understands
All you ever do is fade away

When he's in
She's out

All you ever do is fade away
All you ever do is fade away

A Wonderful Way to Start the Day

I have some very good news to share with everyone. My post of Tuesday was a review of Michael Kimmel's book Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men. This morning while checking my e-mail, I discovered that Dr. Kimmel e-mailed me personally to thank me for what I had written. My jaw dropped.

These days, I usually cross-post what I write to five and six different places, which I've discovered is a good way to increase exposure and readership. Confirmation like this is a shot in the arm, and a lift to my spirits. It shows how much I have learned in a relatively short period of time. I've never taken a single gender studies, women's studies, or related course in my life, but yet something spoke to me when I first encountered Feminism. The magnetic pull felt a bit mystical, as though this was something I'd always been meant to do. I'd always had an interest in sociology and psychology, but this particular formulation appealed strongly to me.

In the meantime, I'll be reading, listening, and seeking intersections. The art of translation is, to me, the most crucial. Intent without transposing sometimes falls flat.

The Return of Performance Videos!

Dear Readers,

Here's the reason why posting has been light and limited recently. I was without access to the internet here at home for most of a week. What ensued was very much a comedy of errors. Early last week it was discovered that the intermittent internet coverage I had been experiencing was the result of squirrels who had shredded the wires to the outside cable box. When a repair crew came around to fix that issue, they inadvertently cut the main wires to the entire complex, rendering absolutely everyone who lives here without cable television and internet service. The problem was finally repaired properly yesterday afternoon.

What follows is a favorite song of mine, though I'd encourage those inclined to analyze the lyrics to look well beyond the literal meaning. It has been an anthem of sorts recently.

"I don't want to say too much, don't want to spoil it...If you get it, great. If you don't, that's fine too. But you should probably read more."

Did you ever have to make up your mind?
And pick up on one and leave the other behind?
It's not often easy and not often kind
Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Did you ever have to finally decide?
And say yes to one and let the other one ride?
There's so many changes and tears you must hide
Did you ever have to finally decide?

Sometimes there's one with big blue eyes, cute as a bunny
With hair down to here, and plenty of money
And just when you think she's that one in the world
Your heart gets stolen by some mousy little girl

And then you know you'd better make up your mind
And pick up on one and leave the other behind
It's not often easy and not often kind
Did you ever have to make up your mind?

Sometimes you really dig a girl the moment you kiss her
And then you get distracted by her older sister
When in walks her father and takes you in line
And says, "You better go home, son, and make up your mind"

And then you bet you'd better finally decide
And say yes to one and let the other one ride
There's so many changes and tears you must hide
Did you ever have to finally decide?