Thursday, November 12, 2015

Operation Dmitry, or Why the F*** Am I Really Moving Across the Country?

Im writing this from a Barnes and Noble café in Omaha NE. The only Barnes and Noble café Ive ever been in where there are no wall outlets for people using laptops. And for someone like me who hates writing on a deadline this isn't helping. I keep glancing at the power light on my Lenovo laptop and waiting for it to go out midsentence.

Not exactly roughing it, I get that. If no free electricity is the worst indignity I suffer out here I'll consider myself lucky. Thus far the trip has been without major incident but not without its share of interesting moments and people. My hope is that this trip, is not a new life, or a better me, but a change.

What I am seeking here is something a little more complex, a little more human. For reasons that I hope will eventually reveal themselves I see this journey and my destination and my new life(whatever that may be) as something that has to be constructed.

Believe me, I’m fully aware of the folly of escaping to a new and better me. It never works, I've tried it before. Wherever you go, there you are. With all your anxieties and neuroses, and baggage. You open the door to a new apartment and there, in the bathroom mirror, is the same face, the one that is trying to escape the consequences of his mistakes. He's follows you and shaking his head says "Looks like you fucked up again."

That is not what this is. I am ok with taking myself with me this time. Actually, this time, I like myself more. IM more forgiving of myself because I have learned to forgive some of the people who've done damage to me(specifics on who and what later). And I've recognized the damage I've done as mistakes, not the product of an ill, meanspirited, or malevolent will. Im not trying to construct a new me. Im not trying to escape the fallout from the mistakes and bad choices.

What I am doing is leaving something I've participated in that I've come to understand as deeply destructive, to myself and society as a whole: Mass Incarceration. As always, these major decisions of mine start with a book. I don’t substitute a book for experience, but I often find that a book helps put some experiences in a light where the truth of them, their sources and consequences, cannot be denied. Such is the case with Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow, Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. After finishing that book, I realized with a brutal shock that depressed me for a month, then angered me, and finally roused me to action.

As I've mentioned here before, I came to realize I participated in a system as bad as Apartheid, all in the name of "The War on Drugs." I saw hundreds of juveniles incarcerated, whom I taught English and Reading to, whose only real crime was poverty. I came to see that though I tried to do what I imagined was "the right thing," getting them to cognitively look at their behaviors, and accept the "criminality" of their actions, but I was instead furthering a system that continued to marginalize them, continued to deprive them of basic human rights and needs. I tried to take their simple language of human needs, for food, shelter, safety, health care, etc, and reprogram it to "thinking errors," and "deviant thinking."

After reading Chris Hedges book, Wages of Rebellion, I learned that one of the most powerful things I can do is simply walk away. Simply choose not to participate in all of this. Simply refuse to perpetuate this. The basic equation came down to despite the best of intentions, I was simply making their lives worse, not better. They should have had the full benefit of a whole host of social services. Not handouts. Fuck the republicans and their neoliberal market self righteousness. The people I worked with did not ask for the globalization of shrinking industry and deteriorating government services(all designed to make the populous tear at each other, and make collective action difficult).

All major countries, first world countries, have free health care and a social safety net. The better ones care about their citizens. They realize the government is about not placating a populous with pithy sayings, but generating real productive and fulfilling lives.

So I walked away.

Im not doing it anymore. Im done with it. If the most significant thing in my power to do to change this system is to limit my ability to further it then so be it. I've accepted that Im not going to be wealthy or affluent. I only have a Bachelor's Degree in English. And my teaching license probably won't transfer to other states (I'm now in a frame of mind where I see our school systems as a fast track for mass incarceration anyway and its something else I don’t want to participate in).

There aren't really many places in my home town area to work besides in the prison system, or the hospitals(and I hate blood and opened up human beings) So this move to the west coast, specifically Portland or Seattle, is an attempt on my part to get to an environment that is more nourishing and helpful. If I work in food service, or in some retail store, so be it. Not what I dreamed my life would be, but so it is.

I've called this entry, and my program, Operation Dmitry. The reference is to my favorite novel: The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky. For those of you who haven't read it, and are planning on reading it, some spoilers follow. But please stay with me and keep reading because this is the main reason for my move.

Dimitry Karamazov is the violent son of a wealthy landowner in czarist Russia. He is a military man, and quick with his fists. He beats his father in front of witnesses, but the old man is wicked and provoked him. He is accused, over the course of the novel, of killing his father, and stands trial. He is convicted(though he is innocent) and receives a sentence of hard labor in Siberia. His brothers, Alyosha and Ivan, know he is innocent and plan to bribe government officials and spirit Dmitry out of the country to America. Though Dmitry can be a violent man, they know his "soul" wont survive incarceration.

Dmitry agrees to the plan and the woman he loves, a prostitute named Grushenka, agrees to go with him. Dmitry feels his violent life has brought this judgement down on him and he accepts how out of control he was. At the end of the novel Alyosha, the wisest and most spiritual of the brothers, says to Dmitry as he is awaiting transport:

"Listen, brother, once and for all,' he said 'here are my thoughts about it. And you know very well I won't lie to you. Listen, then: You're not ready, and such a cross is not for you. Moreover, unready as you are, you don't need such a great martyr's cross. If you had killed father, I would regret that you rejected your cross. But you're innocent, and such a cross is too much for you. You wanted to regenerate another man in yourself through suffering; I say just remember that other man always, all your life, and wherever you escape to-and that is enough for you…and through this constant feeling from now on, all your life you will do more for your regeneration than if you were there(in prison).
-The Brothers Karamazov, pg 764, Pevear and Volokhonsky Translation.

"I say just remember that other man always, all your life, and wherever you escape to-and that is enough for you."

That is why I left, and am looking for a new place to live. If I would have stayed in that job, in that area, I would have forgotten that other man. The job was violent, and it was too easy, at the end of every day, to simply see it as us versus them, the criminals versus the citizens. Too easy to perpetuate the system. Financial needs being what they are, it would have been simple and easy to just let go of what I knew in my bones to be true, and bought a house, a better car, and eventually, lose myself. Lose what I cared about. Lose my capacity for right and wrong. That is why I am left.

So. This is what Operation Dmitry is. This is the plan. Ive saved some money and can take some time until I figure out what's what and where I want to be. But I don’t want to ever lose sight of That Other Man again. And I did, for a long time. I lost the vision of myself as a good man. And that is what I want to regain and hang on to. And I believe crazy Uncle Fyodor is right.

-Dmitry Karamazov

Monday, November 9, 2015

Moving On

Well, here we go. I'm leaving my home, my job, my friends, my life that I've built for the past ten years. Im moving across country. I've been working for this day for five years now. The only thing I have left to do is finish some last minute packing, stop by my mom's grave to say goodbye, and hit the road.
I got a later start than usual. Dragging my feet perhaps that the moment to go is finally here. But Ive had coffee and now feel braver and ready.
Ive been staying at a friends house the last few days after cleaning out my apartment. Its gotten me ready for a life on the road for a while. No longer having a place of my own is scary, and intimidating. Not having a place where I can lay down and rest, or a place where I can just kick up my feet and read for a few hours is destabilizing.
But its time to go. The reason for the move was set in stone a long time ago. I have been working for this day for five years now and its time to head out. I was ready to go years ago but the reason I delayed was my Mom's terminal illness. I didn’t want her to die alone so I held off on leaving.
Now its time and I'm ready.
I don’t see myself ever coming back this way. I really have no reason to. It’s a difficult thing to grasp that you will probably never see a place again. That I probably will never see my mom's grave again. That I will never see the place I grew up. Or the places I went to school. All the settings of my life will only live in memory.
But 10 years ago fate, life and malicious people brought me down. One of the few times in my life where I have truly been brought to my knees. I had nothing and no one and now, I have things I want to do and sense of purpose renewed again.
As I write these above reasons will become more clear. I'll try to update this journal every day.
I am heading to Oregon. But as Odysseus and all great travellers know, the journey is as important as the destination:

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
-Ithaka, C.P. Cavafy

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Review The Girls Guide to Homelessness, Brianna Karp

This book is the product of a blog: The Girl’s Guide to Homelessness, but is not the reproduction of that blog. Instead the author, a twenty four year old, has shaped the narrative to center on the moment that began to define her new existence. A scene that a seasoned novelist would read with envy, so skillfully crafted was it. The day when she gathered her belongings from her mother’s house, boxed what she had room to take with her, donated to goodwill what she couldn’t, boarded her trailer, and drove away into a darkening street to live in a Walmart parking lot. She describes the fear of the unknown, potential predators, and how she would adjust to life without electriiciy, water, or heat. . She surveys her new surroundings and with a powerful exisistential shock realizes she is now technically homeless, and has joined the ranks of the invisible, unwanted, unknown ones. People her parents would scorn on the street, and society in general considers worthless.

She was now one of the worthless.

After this moment of existential angst she breaks the fourth wall and addresses the reader directly:

“But then, its not really enough to tell you that I’m homeless, is it? You want to know who the hell I am and how I got here.”

The image at the beginning of the book resonates, and develops a power as the book goes on. Brianna’s story is one of many of thousands, cast out in the street by the 2008 meltdown. Her story is equal parts unique, equal parts representative.

The book then launches into her past and she begins the tale of a truly horrible, abusive family and her efforts to cope with them. A bipolar mother, a docile and spineless stepfather cowed by his wife, a sister mentally screwed up by the family religion of jehovah’s witness.

In fact, the opening scene would have served equally well as the end of the story of her managing to extricate herself from her horrible, soul crushing family. A family that she nevertheless loves but eventually recognizes her inability to save or deal with.

“I haven’t had any contact with my family in nearly two years at this point, and I don’t expect that I will anytime soon. I still love them very much, as I suspect I always will. But I realize and accept that they are not going to change, and I cant force my will or perspective on them. As a result, we are destined to live separate lives.”
The past wrongs, the ravings of her mother who also repeatedly beats her senseless, the father who molested her, and the insane logic of the jehovah’s witnesses mount as she continues her narrative of the past. By the midpoint of the book the reader is convinced of Brianna’s courage in leaving.

But s I said, though the opening scene would have served equally well as the end of her story, her story continues, despite difficult circumstances.

Prior to the homelessness, she had made a good living as an administrative assistant, earning over 50,000 a year, having put herself through college. She details her adolescence, where she would often work three jobs, and pursue her degree. She had, in 2008, acquired a house, a dog, an off and on again boyfriend, and a horse. Yes , a horse.

Having escaped her past horrors and having her success and freedom yanked so brutally away, its shocking that she doesn’t simply give up, descend into addiction, or just live in a cardboard box. But Brianna endures and continues to work hard. She installs herself at the local starbuck’s where she uses the wifi to spend 8 to 10 hour days job searching. In between for sanity sake she continues chronicling her life in her blog, but never descends to self pity.

She does not though lose all feeling and compassion. She instead joins a group of other bloggers and reaches out to people. She becomes an informal ambassador for the homeless, correcting misunderstandings and prejudices. She actually makes an appearance on the today show, wins a high profile competition to apprentice at Elle magazine, and is interviewed on NPR.

Her life gets better, but not always easier, she is dogged by vengeful Walmart employees, vindictive managers, and more often than not the absolutely brutal indifference of those who retained their status and things, or refuse to change their narrow minded views.
If this were the whole story it would be enough. Impressive in its own right, as legitimate a document for our times of the dangers of freefall in a capitalist system as Down and Out in Paris and London. And what follows has caught some criticism from her reviewers on Goodreads and other sites, but the second half of the book for me only validates her struggles to keep mind body and soul alive, and to fulfill that most basic of human needs: happiness.

She meets a guy online. Matt. Not in a pick up site but on a homeless blog group. He has his homeless story to share, and works to spread awareness and support groups. Brianna begins a long distance relationship with him. They eventually meet and make plans for the future.

She is faulted for this but I simply can’t agree. The search for love and happiness is seldom relegated to those who are financially stable. What is revealed in these pages is a simple basic human need. Brianna may be destitute, may be struggling to survive a difficult future, but she never stops being a human being. She never stops wanting to love someone, and wanting love in return.

The rest of the book is taken up with this story and it does not read like a teenage chick lit story. Its brutal in parts, complications ensue, and you marvel at this girl’s refusal to say no to life.

More significantly for me, I found the comparisons between Matt’s English existence and Brianna’s American one acute. The English universal health care and social welfare system, in place since World War 2(watch Michael Moore’s Sicko for ideas on how this was achieved) saved thousands of people from the despair and loss of life that happened in America.

As Matt says at one point to Brianna “In England we actually care about people.”

At the end of the book we can see his point.

Friday, July 10, 2015

The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander, Review

Without a doubt this is the most revolutionary text I have read thus far this year. To evoke a biblical allusion the scales have fallen from my eyes and I see the "war on drugs" for what it really is: a means of racial social control as repressive as Apartheid in South Africa.

The author, a former supreme court justice aid, meticulously describes and delineates the "War on Drugs" as being a system designed to 1) repress inner city lower income communities and effectively turn them into red zones, 2) place "criminals" under constant supervision and monitoring of the state, 3) prescribe harsh and unhelpful sentences for drug use and possession beyond the range of 'justice,' 4) criminalize poverty, 5) reward state and local drug enforcement agencies in the form of cash (federal subsidies for picking up and prosecuting drug criminals), and 6) effectively remove on third of the population from being able to vote in elections.

The more I read the more i felt like a fool for once upon a time falling for all the war on drugs rhetoric. I am ashamed to admit just how taken in I was by the stereotype of the black man as drug criminal and i see now that in many ways our society, under the guidance of corporations and neoliberal policies reinforced this.

This book has forced a brutal self reckoning in my personal life and made me choose a new path of existence rather than participate in a culture of mass enslavement. I can no longer in good conscience pretend that any of this, this system built on a culture of caging human beings, is capable of accomplishing any good.

In the pages of this book I found the diagnosis of the ills of my own community: a rural area devastated by the neoliberal policies that sent its factories and industries overseas and replaced them with prisons as the only means of gainful employment. Predominantly white communities that see no other means of self sufficiency than locking up people of color, and in the process turn a blind eye to the damage caused to the lives of the incarcerated, to the society as a whole, and to the nation. In a 50 mile radius from where i live there are 3 state prisons, 2 Federal prisons, and 4 Juvenile correctional facilities. Solzenhietzen's phrase, 'the prison industry, comes to mind.

Each chapter introduced more to be angry about. Not least of which is the way the drug war makes local communities wealthier by allowing them to keep whatever monies they seize in raids. So instead of wiping out the drug trade in their towns they raid them periodically to increase coffers. No wonder tv is so full of cop shows: lets villainize the black inner city person and heroize the police who lock them up.

I hope for meaningful change. And will find ways to be active in the future. But I will vote for any candidate that can help bring about meaningful change.

Thank you, Ms. Alexander, for waking me up.

Monday, February 2, 2015

The Rich and the Rest of Us Review

I agree wholeheartedly with the major premise of the book: to change poverty we must first change the language we use to think and communicate about poverty. Drawing parallels with the civil rights movement, the gay rights movement, and the women's liberation movement the authors insist that change beginsby aanalyzing the stigmas and connotations and images conjured in our current lexicon. Since the great recession has impoverished so many many formerly hard working middle class Americans we must seek to eradicate the image of the poor as lazy or irresponsible and instead simply define it as not having enough money. More than a simple analysis the book also offers clear advice foe not just changing the dialogue about poverty but the reality of it. There is the authors maintain a lot we can do.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Review of Habibi by Craig Thompson

Sometimes a book comes along and it is so good, so profound, so heartbreaking and redeeming it stuns you into silence. You have no idea what to say about the book. That $20,000 English degree might as well be a placemat for all the good its doing you now. The silence that follows is profound, deep, and reverential.

I read this in one sitting. Beautiful inspiring unapologetically foreign and heartbreakingly humane. One of the few books I read this year that gave me hope for the species. Will no doubt reread and dip into for years to come.

It is about: two orphans.

It takes place: in a third world urban landscape in a middle eastern country. But it is also as timeless and placeless as the arabian nights or Grimm's Fables.

It is not for the faint of heart: rape, war, murder, mutilation, insanity stalk its pages.

But so do love and understanding. And regardless of the medium, that is hard for an artist to pull off.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Review of A Language Older Than Words by Derrick Jensen

Derrik Jensen's books are not really an enjoyable experience. He comes across as a bit of a crank at first and a militant eco advocate reformer. The prose style is engaging though. He has a definite voice. That voice is not shrill, and does not cry about the end of the world. A technique perhaps better expressed on a soapbox on a street corner. Instead the voice that comes across is rational, precise, scientific(he was an engineer in college), sarcastic and ironic, but not in any way shape or form delusional.

I was worried when I began the book about how he seemed like he was going to tie his own experiences of being a victim of childhood abuse(his father raped and beat him and his siblings and their mother) to the larger issue of the destruction of the planet and indigenous people. I felt myself backpedaling and wanting to say "Uh dude, I don’t think they are connected. I think that what happened to you has made you think of the world in this way."

Alas, I was wrong.

Derrik Jensen's A Language Other Than Words is not just a chronicle of his childhood abuse, how he carried the scars with him and what it has taken for him to heal. It is rather, and amazingly so, an investigation into why Civilization and Abuse seem so closely connected to each other.

He draws parallels between what his father had done and the father's justifications: to make you stronger, you made me do it, etc, and our culture's justifications for what it does to the planet and general population. If one looks at our culture writ large, and the damage done on a daily basis by corporate entities who deforest, pollute and use up without a single shred of guilt, remorse, or in any way shape or form concern over what their actions are doing to the planet, then it is hard not to see his father's justifications tied into some mentality that arises in civilization.

In essence then the book becomes more an examination of not so much abuse as of use. The idea and mentality that has arisen in our history of just using the world around us, the people around us, all to further goals and ends that benefit the few. This idea that it is ok to disregard entire species and populations in order that a select group thrives, is something he looks at closely. He sees it everywhere civilization "thrives."

And it’s the idea that what has happened is that civilization itself seems to have a chronic lack of awareness regarding what it does that the book's argument truly hinges on.

In a section I found particularly disturbing(which, after all, is what he plans to do), perhaps because of my philosophy interests, he takes on Descartes famous claim to subjectivity "I think, therefore I am," as one of the starting grounds for this sickness of use. The idea that since I know I exist, but don't know if you do, its ok for me to act as though you don't exist. And when you do that, he warns, you become dangerous. From that simple philosophic declaration its easy to start the culture of use/abuse.

When an author announces that Civilization is doomed my inner ear shuts down and I stop listening even though I may keep reading. But there is a difference here.

In the preface he states that he wanted to write a feel good book, about his experiences with coyotes. But then question led to question and before he knew it these questions led him down some dark paths and he was questioning the whole basis for civilization. Why does it seem, he writes, to stem from this crazy impulse to control and regulate, and in essence abuse our environment.

And that journey is disturbing, profound and thought provoking. I don’t agree with all of his conclusions, but for sheer skill and force with which he makes you look at these questions from an entirely fresh angle, the experience is not to be missed.

In another of his books which I took to heart, Walking on Water: Reading, Writing, and Revolution, he states his number one writing mantra, and the message he tries to teach his writing students, is DON’T BORE THE READER.

Be prepared not to be bored. Outraged. Shocked. Disturbed. Forced to have thoughts you'd rather not have at 3 am, but most certainly not bored.