Paula is a college student at Rosario University in Bogota, Colombia. She works as a clerk at a law firm, and in the following years, as she completes her studies and gains more experience, she'll be a lawyer. In Bogota, like in New York or perhaps anywhere, getting that career "in" is all about connections, and the Rodriguez family is well-connected. They are NOT related to the famosos Hermanos Rodriguez of the Cali Cartel, but Paula has her own story about being hurt by Colombia's conflicto armado.
In 2003 Paula was beginning at the University, and she commuted to school by walking and on public transportation. Then her father received threats that Paula and her brother Alberto would be killed if he did not pay the FARC (a "leftist" guerrilla group) an preemptive ransom. The FARC makes it's money off the cocaine trade, and Paula's father stubbornly refused to pay, declaring his pride and strength at standing up to the criminals. For the next six months, says Paula, the family lived in terror. They received many threats. She had to be escorted by bodyguards and a driver anytime she left the house. One night, two cars filled with men with machine guns surrounded them on a narrow street, and they narrowly escaped when the driver sped down a side alley. Finally the FARC gave up and left them alone, but the fear and pain was inextricably imprinted in Paula's mind. Her country, Colombia, in spite of its natural beauty and smiling people, is shackled by the horror of the cocaine-funded war.
Last week on Mulberry Street in New York's "Little Italy," Paula looked into a t-shirt shop and saw, next to a "Godfather" T, a black and gold XXL with the name Pablo Escobar emblazoned on it. She called me in a frenzy, demanding an explanation. Why is this here? What does it mean? This is a man who brought pain and terror to her country for decades, who slaughtered entire families, who assassinated hundreds of policemen, who was finally killed in 1993 to the collective sigh of her homeland, and here on a street lined with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths is his silkscreened face with the label "#1 Gangster."
Me, I heard shout-outs to Escobar in rap songs long before I heard his true story. If I saw that shirt I would likely think that he was a character from a movie, perhaps from Godfather III or Scarface. In high school, I just thought he was a rapper, maybe from L.A.
The thing is that once a person gains a level of notoriety in this media-driven world, and then the headlines fade and leave only vague memories of who they really were, they become symbols, not people. As symbols, they can easily be used and misused and can organically come to represent many things, likely disparate from their "factual" reality. When a tourist or a rapper dons an Escobar t-shirt, to him the hills of Antioquia mean nothing. When a college student puts on the one-starred mug of Che Guevara, he is not thinking of the capture of the Santa Clara train, or the social system under Batista. Symbols are not meant to remind us of history, they are meant to serve the present. The power of a symbol is its ability to conjure a feeling or emotion that applies to the current situation. A good symbol can become timeless. A good symbol can be used by different people for different reasons, each of which draws back to, not the history, but the emotion or feeling.
That is both the beauty of a symbol and the danger. As the symbol comes to mean different things to different people, it becomes more powerful, because it can effect people in different ways. But putting on a Che shirt does not require taking on the responsibility of that symbol and all its myriad meanings. You may be wearing a powerful thing- an inspiring, complicit, or even hurtful thing- but to you it's just a shirt. "This shirt's cool. Everyone has this. Whatever."
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
The Biology of a Work Out
Kanye's workout tape tells us to work it, get those sit ups right in, to do pilates to take care of all those mocha-lattes. I don't know why, but I believe him...
On Rivington Street on the L.E.S. in the N.Y.C., there is a never-ending parade of frilly skirtsies, low-back shirtsies, and shiny bootsies. Girls are planched down, push-upped, sucked in and worked out. Guys are tight shirted, loose mouthed, straight laced and cock hatted. The music is too loud, the spaces too tight. And it's the best there is. It's the hot barrio in the hottest city on the continent. These are the lucky ones.
Pablo has two daughters and works construction, and at lunchtime he asks about the number of calories in his bodega burger. Sean says that Beckham on the cover of Men's Health "isn't that big, he actually kindof a tweeter." John turns every head when he skateboards shirtless through Union Square, and he checks every reflection, wondering if he's losing it.
In fact, our bodies are wonderful adaptive systems that are capable of changing in order to best repond to the imput we give them. If we need to work hard, the body will allocate resources for muscle growth. If we eat a lot, the body allocates more resources to the gut.
The body also needs to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppppppppppppppppp...........................................
On Rivington Street on the L.E.S. in the N.Y.C., there is a never-ending parade of frilly skirtsies, low-back shirtsies, and shiny bootsies. Girls are planched down, push-upped, sucked in and worked out. Guys are tight shirted, loose mouthed, straight laced and cock hatted. The music is too loud, the spaces too tight. And it's the best there is. It's the hot barrio in the hottest city on the continent. These are the lucky ones.
Pablo has two daughters and works construction, and at lunchtime he asks about the number of calories in his bodega burger. Sean says that Beckham on the cover of Men's Health "isn't that big, he actually kindof a tweeter." John turns every head when he skateboards shirtless through Union Square, and he checks every reflection, wondering if he's losing it.
In fact, our bodies are wonderful adaptive systems that are capable of changing in order to best repond to the imput we give them. If we need to work hard, the body will allocate resources for muscle growth. If we eat a lot, the body allocates more resources to the gut.
The body also needs to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppppppppppppppppp...........................................
Thursday, August 28, 2008
We are ready.
Before the 1959 revolution, they say that Cuba resembled very much the American South. It was hot and humid, with small town centers, cafes and diners, white-washed homes. Protestant churches were big, many coming directly from mission groups from the US, like the Baptists. Baseball was the national game, and sandlots were filled with kids who idolized Joe Dimaggio. And there were big sugar plantations and mansions with ornate moulding, shading white families from the sun, while black workers set fire to the cane, cleaning it for harvest, stomping through the smoke with rags over their faces.
Slaves had still arrived in Cuba until the 1880's. In 1898 the island came under US control, and with investment came US culture, language, and Jim Crow values. In the half-century under US rule, Cuba was funneled toward the rigid US conceptions of race, and communities became increasingly segregated. As merchandizing and mass media became cultural drivers, it became "bad" to be black, and in the spirit of Social Darwinism, white Cuban pundits declared that Cuba's hope for a positive future would be in an overall "whitening" of the population.
But Nicolas Guillen wrote "Motivos de son," and his words came into the people like the beat of a drum. In just eight short poems, the entire publication not seeming more than a brochure, he brought the idea of being black together with the idea of being good, and together with the idea of being Cuban. It was a sensation. He idealized the full lips and corse hair of a mulatto girl, brought forth with song and color the thick speech of afro-cubans, and struck out at the petty quaffs of the dominant culture.
Guillen became the literary voice of the revolution before Che became its gun and Fidel became its pumping fist. In this poems he created a concept that Cuba could be a mixed-race culture, that the essence and power of Cuba could in fact be its mix of races, instead of race serving as a criteria for division, fear, and hate. People had hope, and they took to the streets just as the Civil Rights Movement took to the streets in the US. They called for change. They called for hope. The change was already coming, through music and art and literature.
Then Castro's guerrillas showed up in the Sierra Maestra, Batista fled the country, and suddenly there was a chance to implement a drastic political, economic, and cultural change that took the search for equality to the extreme. Guillen's work became required reading in schools, his poems became mantra, and this poet who tried to find his voice as a mixed-race Cuban became the voice of a revolution.
It's hard to say if the Cuban Revolution was "good" or not. Many people were killed, oppressed, and misplaced. The island became a cage, as politicians turned the waves into walls. Fifty years later, Cuban people are equal: everyone is just as poor as everyone else. One can't say if it was "good" or not, but one can say without doubt that something wonderfully unique occurred in Cuba. Instead of marching on with the US along a path of racial division, they forcefully created a different reality.
Maybe it doesn't need to be so forceful in the US. Maybe we can rally around Barack Obama for President, and feel that this man is American, truly, and for the first time see Americans of color as Americans, as true Americans, and look around and see that we are surrounded by people of color, that we are ourselves people of color. Many different colors. And all American! We are fifty years late, but maybe Cuba was fifty years early. Maybe we're just ready now. We don't need guerillas or to overthrow a government. We have our words, we have our Constitution, and we are ready. We are ready.
Slaves had still arrived in Cuba until the 1880's. In 1898 the island came under US control, and with investment came US culture, language, and Jim Crow values. In the half-century under US rule, Cuba was funneled toward the rigid US conceptions of race, and communities became increasingly segregated. As merchandizing and mass media became cultural drivers, it became "bad" to be black, and in the spirit of Social Darwinism, white Cuban pundits declared that Cuba's hope for a positive future would be in an overall "whitening" of the population.
But Nicolas Guillen wrote "Motivos de son," and his words came into the people like the beat of a drum. In just eight short poems, the entire publication not seeming more than a brochure, he brought the idea of being black together with the idea of being good, and together with the idea of being Cuban. It was a sensation. He idealized the full lips and corse hair of a mulatto girl, brought forth with song and color the thick speech of afro-cubans, and struck out at the petty quaffs of the dominant culture.
Guillen became the literary voice of the revolution before Che became its gun and Fidel became its pumping fist. In this poems he created a concept that Cuba could be a mixed-race culture, that the essence and power of Cuba could in fact be its mix of races, instead of race serving as a criteria for division, fear, and hate. People had hope, and they took to the streets just as the Civil Rights Movement took to the streets in the US. They called for change. They called for hope. The change was already coming, through music and art and literature.
Then Castro's guerrillas showed up in the Sierra Maestra, Batista fled the country, and suddenly there was a chance to implement a drastic political, economic, and cultural change that took the search for equality to the extreme. Guillen's work became required reading in schools, his poems became mantra, and this poet who tried to find his voice as a mixed-race Cuban became the voice of a revolution.
It's hard to say if the Cuban Revolution was "good" or not. Many people were killed, oppressed, and misplaced. The island became a cage, as politicians turned the waves into walls. Fifty years later, Cuban people are equal: everyone is just as poor as everyone else. One can't say if it was "good" or not, but one can say without doubt that something wonderfully unique occurred in Cuba. Instead of marching on with the US along a path of racial division, they forcefully created a different reality.
Maybe it doesn't need to be so forceful in the US. Maybe we can rally around Barack Obama for President, and feel that this man is American, truly, and for the first time see Americans of color as Americans, as true Americans, and look around and see that we are surrounded by people of color, that we are ourselves people of color. Many different colors. And all American! We are fifty years late, but maybe Cuba was fifty years early. Maybe we're just ready now. We don't need guerillas or to overthrow a government. We have our words, we have our Constitution, and we are ready. We are ready.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
To whom it may concern,
My name is Rodney Beall, and I am a recent graduate from the University of Colorado at Boulder. I want to be involved immediately in the national and international discussion of creating sustainability in the human-environment relationship, and I believe that I can become a valuable voice in that discussion.
In my third year at Boulder, I changed from Pre-Medicine to Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, realizing that the best way to strive toward human health is to seek a broader systemic health: that of our planet. I began travelling internationally at that same time, because as a global citizen I feel that our solutions must come from an international effort. I’ve travelled to Ghana, West Africa and to Latin America five times, working to learn many different cultures, and develop full Spanish fluency.
After college I worked for Botanist Tamara Naumann at Dinosaur National Monument, leading efforts to educate volunteer groups and restore riparian habitat for native plant and animal species. Under Ms. Naumann, I was able to learn about the role of government in research and policy-making regarding our precious natural resources.
I moved to New York City looking for the next step, and I hope that I can find it with Ecology and Environment, Inc. With my energy, solid education, and international experience, I believe I can be a positive member of the team.
Thank you for your time and consideration. Please call me at 303-829-3670 or email rodneybeall@gmail.com to arrange a convenient time when we can meet to further discuss my background and your organization. I look forward to talking to you soon.
Sincerely,
Rodney Beall
In my third year at Boulder, I changed from Pre-Medicine to Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, realizing that the best way to strive toward human health is to seek a broader systemic health: that of our planet. I began travelling internationally at that same time, because as a global citizen I feel that our solutions must come from an international effort. I’ve travelled to Ghana, West Africa and to Latin America five times, working to learn many different cultures, and develop full Spanish fluency.
After college I worked for Botanist Tamara Naumann at Dinosaur National Monument, leading efforts to educate volunteer groups and restore riparian habitat for native plant and animal species. Under Ms. Naumann, I was able to learn about the role of government in research and policy-making regarding our precious natural resources.
I moved to New York City looking for the next step, and I hope that I can find it with Ecology and Environment, Inc. With my energy, solid education, and international experience, I believe I can be a positive member of the team.
Thank you for your time and consideration. Please call me at 303-829-3670 or email rodneybeall@gmail.com to arrange a convenient time when we can meet to further discuss my background and your organization. I look forward to talking to you soon.
Sincerely,
Rodney Beall
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
It's all about charter schools....
When something is "public," we always seem to think that it will be taken care of. We don't tread lightly on the NYC Public Parks bball courts. We figure we can jump in dirty at the public pool. Whereas we'd probably tiptoe around the country club, and take showers before swimming, because somehow we feel that we are having a personal impact on someone. At the public facility, we figure that there will be someone to clean up after us, someone to repaint or repair. Maybe it's the Tragedy of the Commons.
My parents both knew better. My mom saw that the public schools system only can function and thrive if individual people pour their heart and energy into making it great. Passionate teachers, dedicated volunteers, and loving parents have to join the administration and lead for success in the schools. She was absolutely right. Why are so many public schools failing? Because we assume that like the courts and the pools, there is always money and people that will come after us, so we can just kindof shit on the place.
The hardest thing to change is culture, and perhaps this issue is indicative of a deep-seated cultural phenomena that will not be changed. Perhaps the best course of action is to accept the cultural truth, that people will only care about something when it feels personal, individual, exclusive to some sort of community or group. Therefore, we should support charter schools, and support the shift to making all schools in the nation charters, so that people can feel this sense of inclusion, community, and pertinence.
There are some huge problems with this. One, charter schools can be selective in admissions, so immediately the public schools are left with a disproportionate educational burden, as it takes more time and resources to teach the "difficult" students. Two, not everyone can afford to commute to a different part of town, so the richer kids or more organized families will end up at the charter schools, leaving the public schools with a more challenging demographic. Basically, we are taking the smart, rich, and privileged out of the public schools and along with them taking away the per-pupil funding, and leaving the public schools to rot with the already nationally marginalized demographic.
Yes, our public schools are having trouble all over. But ditching them, and running away to the suburbs with the lunch money is not a good solution. We must support our public schools, in fact all of our public institutions, and think of them as ours, as personal, and as something that we have to work for and fight for.
My parents both knew better. My mom saw that the public schools system only can function and thrive if individual people pour their heart and energy into making it great. Passionate teachers, dedicated volunteers, and loving parents have to join the administration and lead for success in the schools. She was absolutely right. Why are so many public schools failing? Because we assume that like the courts and the pools, there is always money and people that will come after us, so we can just kindof shit on the place.
The hardest thing to change is culture, and perhaps this issue is indicative of a deep-seated cultural phenomena that will not be changed. Perhaps the best course of action is to accept the cultural truth, that people will only care about something when it feels personal, individual, exclusive to some sort of community or group. Therefore, we should support charter schools, and support the shift to making all schools in the nation charters, so that people can feel this sense of inclusion, community, and pertinence.
There are some huge problems with this. One, charter schools can be selective in admissions, so immediately the public schools are left with a disproportionate educational burden, as it takes more time and resources to teach the "difficult" students. Two, not everyone can afford to commute to a different part of town, so the richer kids or more organized families will end up at the charter schools, leaving the public schools with a more challenging demographic. Basically, we are taking the smart, rich, and privileged out of the public schools and along with them taking away the per-pupil funding, and leaving the public schools to rot with the already nationally marginalized demographic.
Yes, our public schools are having trouble all over. But ditching them, and running away to the suburbs with the lunch money is not a good solution. We must support our public schools, in fact all of our public institutions, and think of them as ours, as personal, and as something that we have to work for and fight for.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Workplace Safety
"The most important thing is to show up," they offer as advice for the timid. Ok, says me, I can do that at least. I can get there. Great! I made it, now what, advice man? “Safety first, safety last, and work hard in between,” they say. Ok, says me, I can do that. But what exactly do I do to be safe?
This is New York City. This is a jungle-gym of speeding cars and narrow misses, of high rises and dive bars. It’s a city of dangerous men and even more dangerous girls. It’s a place where 10 bucks will get you two slices of pizza and a coke, so you better have a hustle. Fouls on the court are called by whoever can cuss cooler, whoever can throw the ball and yell, “You don’t know me son!” The subways screech, the horns honk, the subwoofers set off car alarms, and I sleep on a plastic air mattress. What did you say about being safe?
On the job site, there are sharp things like saws and knives and nails and screws and metal edges. There are hot things like any metal that experiences friction. There are a lot of things that are moving, like tools, and people. Some things are heavy, like sheetrock or bags of trash.
Outside, thirteen floors below, the street teems. The jobsite is quiet and cool and feels like a haven. However, with a moment’s distraction, suddenly you have a utility knife blade embedded in your thigh. And it hurts. And it’s expensive. And you can’t work.
“What’s your hustle?” Freddy asks. He wants to know what my interests are, what my passion is, how I can see myself working, and thus making a dollar, in this beehive. In Cuba, life seems healthier, happier, because even though everyone is poor, no one feels wronged because there is no one waving wealth in their face. They don’t feel the inequality. But here, Rafael, Jorge, y Freddy commute in from Brooklyn or down from Washington Heights to lay marble and mahogany on Madison Ave. These guys better wear safety glasses, lift with their knees, and mind their fingers around those saws, because their hustle depends on that body functioning every day.
Hustle on. Wear safety glasses and gloves. Cut away from your body. Be circumspect. Play on playa.
This is New York City. This is a jungle-gym of speeding cars and narrow misses, of high rises and dive bars. It’s a city of dangerous men and even more dangerous girls. It’s a place where 10 bucks will get you two slices of pizza and a coke, so you better have a hustle. Fouls on the court are called by whoever can cuss cooler, whoever can throw the ball and yell, “You don’t know me son!” The subways screech, the horns honk, the subwoofers set off car alarms, and I sleep on a plastic air mattress. What did you say about being safe?
On the job site, there are sharp things like saws and knives and nails and screws and metal edges. There are hot things like any metal that experiences friction. There are a lot of things that are moving, like tools, and people. Some things are heavy, like sheetrock or bags of trash.
Outside, thirteen floors below, the street teems. The jobsite is quiet and cool and feels like a haven. However, with a moment’s distraction, suddenly you have a utility knife blade embedded in your thigh. And it hurts. And it’s expensive. And you can’t work.
“What’s your hustle?” Freddy asks. He wants to know what my interests are, what my passion is, how I can see myself working, and thus making a dollar, in this beehive. In Cuba, life seems healthier, happier, because even though everyone is poor, no one feels wronged because there is no one waving wealth in their face. They don’t feel the inequality. But here, Rafael, Jorge, y Freddy commute in from Brooklyn or down from Washington Heights to lay marble and mahogany on Madison Ave. These guys better wear safety glasses, lift with their knees, and mind their fingers around those saws, because their hustle depends on that body functioning every day.
Hustle on. Wear safety glasses and gloves. Cut away from your body. Be circumspect. Play on playa.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Succession in a Northeastern deciduous forest
Charles Mann wrote a wonderful book that every American should read, from Alaska to Ushuia, called 1491. The book asks the question, “What was going on in the Americas before Columbus came?” Mann is not an anthropologist- he’s a journalist- and he does a great job of bringing many different voices in from the scientific community, many of which disagree with each other, in order to create an intelligent conversation about the extent of Pre-Columbian civilization. In the end, the take-away message is that there were many more people here than commonly thought, and they had extensive impact on the land. They were not the harmonious nomads that they are painted as. They were farmers, fishermen, hunters, city-dwellers, and across the continent they employed novel techniques to manipulate the land for their benefit. They made vast fruit and nut woodlands in the eastern US, geometrical earthworks for capturing fish in Bolivia, and engineered new, fertile dirt in the Amazon (to name a few).
Elizabeth Dworkin owns a house in upstate New York, about four hours north of the city, and I’m lucky enough to be her guest this weekend. As I hung my head out of the Toyota Corolla window, highway breeze on my teeth, my thoughts quickly shifted from funk grooves and low-cost housing to biodiversity and historic land use.
In 1491, Mann created a great section on the misperceptions surrounding the Native American tribes of the Northeast. The misperception stems from a simple disappearing act: one moment the Indians were there, and the next moment they were gone. Between Columbus’ landing in 1492 and the settlement of the Chesapeake in the early 1600’s, there were ships cruising the coast, trading with towns. According to the journal entries of the first of these traders, towns lined the whole coast, one after another. The towns were big, had fortification walls, fields of corn and squash and veggies, and complex culture and tradable goods. However, a hundred years later, when the pilgrims settled, journal entries described a “virgin forest” all along the coast, a foreboding dark tangle of trees… Where there had recently been cities similar to those on the Mediterranean coast, now there was just wildness, wilderness, and a few nomads.
This was not a magic trick. According to Mann’s sources, there were in fact millions of Indians in the Northeast, with cities and governments and culture. And those first trade ships brought epidemics that swept through and killed up to 95 percent of the population. The “harmonious nomads” that we found in the forests and on the plains were in fact refugees fleeing from the plague.
Elizabeth Dworkin owns a house in upstate New York, about four hours north of the city, and I’m lucky enough to be her guest this weekend. As I hung my head out of the Toyota Corolla window, highway breeze on my teeth, my thoughts quickly shifted from funk grooves and low-cost housing to biodiversity and historic land use.
In 1491, Mann created a great section on the misperceptions surrounding the Native American tribes of the Northeast. The misperception stems from a simple disappearing act: one moment the Indians were there, and the next moment they were gone. Between Columbus’ landing in 1492 and the settlement of the Chesapeake in the early 1600’s, there were ships cruising the coast, trading with towns. According to the journal entries of the first of these traders, towns lined the whole coast, one after another. The towns were big, had fortification walls, fields of corn and squash and veggies, and complex culture and tradable goods. However, a hundred years later, when the pilgrims settled, journal entries described a “virgin forest” all along the coast, a foreboding dark tangle of trees… Where there had recently been cities similar to those on the Mediterranean coast, now there was just wildness, wilderness, and a few nomads.
This was not a magic trick. According to Mann’s sources, there were in fact millions of Indians in the Northeast, with cities and governments and culture. And those first trade ships brought epidemics that swept through and killed up to 95 percent of the population. The “harmonious nomads” that we found in the forests and on the plains were in fact refugees fleeing from the plague.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Groove
Some people talk about psychic connections, or energetic fields, or fate or destiny... I don't know about all that. But I do know that there is a very real, visceral way that people can connect with one another. Whether it's by a glance, or through conversation, or on a dance floor, we can "feel the vibe" and it's something real. It's hard to put words to, because there are questions to be answered like: why do you feel a vibe from some person, and not another? Where does the vibe come from? Who or what power decides who you will "connect" with and who you won't? Trying to answer these questions leads to conversations about God or about energetic realms, because they're unanswerable questions without going way out there.
The fact is though, that with some people you "feel it" and with others you don't. And that's that. You have to keep looking, keep meeting people, and be OK with duds and hopeful that you'll find somebody that you click with. And with that, perhaps I'm advocating for a liberal modern society, in which we are allowed to meet lots of people, and be free to try our hand at several relationships before we settle into marriage. Sure I am.
The fact is though, that with some people you "feel it" and with others you don't. And that's that. You have to keep looking, keep meeting people, and be OK with duds and hopeful that you'll find somebody that you click with. And with that, perhaps I'm advocating for a liberal modern society, in which we are allowed to meet lots of people, and be free to try our hand at several relationships before we settle into marriage. Sure I am.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Growth, Part III
So, we are faced now with a reality that we are many. We are many upon this earth, and we are productive. We make big homes for ourselves, and we make many things for ourselves, and we sell things around the world. With the level of sophistication we have reached, we support a huge global population and impact the earth’s natural equilibrium to an unprecedented level.
Secondly, we realize that we have thoroughly affected every corner of the planet. The ecosystems of our “wild places” have been infiltrated by invasive species. A recent study showed that even deep corners of the ocean far from cities are contaminated by our desechos. In 2008, we are no longer frontiersmen charged to tame the dark unknown, but rather we’ve taken our biblical place as shepherd and caretaker of our kingdom.
I have said a million times that we must see ourselves as part of the natural system, instead of seeing ourselves as separate and isolated from it. I was fortunate to grow up where I did, with the mountains wrapped around me, river flowing under me, fishing for breakfast, hunting for dinner, raking leaves and shoveling snow. I know what it means to chop wood and run from an angry bear. Because of my visceral connection with the earth’s seasons, weather and animals, I feel part of the greater picture. Recycling makes sense because I know places with no trash. Reducing air pollution makes sense because I know the feeling of crisp clean air.
But not everyone can live how I lived. We are too many. There is not enough land. In an attempt to give each person the “sense of space” of the frontier, we created the suburbs, which are an awful ecological wasteland of non-native grasses and uninhabitable landscaping. Ecologically rich forests and plains are erased by concrete and landscaping, and any insect or rodent that tries to stay around is quickly “solved” with a red spray-bottle from the Home and Garden aisle.
The sad thing about the suburbs is that they cover so much land surface, and thereby destroy the exact terrain that could potentially inspire the next generation of children. Let’s consider two options. One, a suburban housing development clears 40 acres of land and paves in 60 homes. Or two, six apartment buildings are built on sides of the property, or perhaps on the four corners, with ten apartment in each, and 30 acres is not only “saved,” but also becomes space for children to lose and find themselves, get dirty, learn to use a compass and a tent and matches, and how to spot deer and birds.
If we extend the example to a larger scale, we would discuss the vertical growth of our cities, focusing on creating positive livable urban environments, and thus preserving easily accessible natural places outside the cities. Thoreau lived in Concord and went to Harvard, but Walden was close enough, and wild enough, that he was able to get his greatest inspiration. We need to create livable urban environments so we can house our growing population without covering the earth’s entire surface, but everyone needs their Copper Ridge or their Walden.
Secondly, we realize that we have thoroughly affected every corner of the planet. The ecosystems of our “wild places” have been infiltrated by invasive species. A recent study showed that even deep corners of the ocean far from cities are contaminated by our desechos. In 2008, we are no longer frontiersmen charged to tame the dark unknown, but rather we’ve taken our biblical place as shepherd and caretaker of our kingdom.
I have said a million times that we must see ourselves as part of the natural system, instead of seeing ourselves as separate and isolated from it. I was fortunate to grow up where I did, with the mountains wrapped around me, river flowing under me, fishing for breakfast, hunting for dinner, raking leaves and shoveling snow. I know what it means to chop wood and run from an angry bear. Because of my visceral connection with the earth’s seasons, weather and animals, I feel part of the greater picture. Recycling makes sense because I know places with no trash. Reducing air pollution makes sense because I know the feeling of crisp clean air.
But not everyone can live how I lived. We are too many. There is not enough land. In an attempt to give each person the “sense of space” of the frontier, we created the suburbs, which are an awful ecological wasteland of non-native grasses and uninhabitable landscaping. Ecologically rich forests and plains are erased by concrete and landscaping, and any insect or rodent that tries to stay around is quickly “solved” with a red spray-bottle from the Home and Garden aisle.
The sad thing about the suburbs is that they cover so much land surface, and thereby destroy the exact terrain that could potentially inspire the next generation of children. Let’s consider two options. One, a suburban housing development clears 40 acres of land and paves in 60 homes. Or two, six apartment buildings are built on sides of the property, or perhaps on the four corners, with ten apartment in each, and 30 acres is not only “saved,” but also becomes space for children to lose and find themselves, get dirty, learn to use a compass and a tent and matches, and how to spot deer and birds.
If we extend the example to a larger scale, we would discuss the vertical growth of our cities, focusing on creating positive livable urban environments, and thus preserving easily accessible natural places outside the cities. Thoreau lived in Concord and went to Harvard, but Walden was close enough, and wild enough, that he was able to get his greatest inspiration. We need to create livable urban environments so we can house our growing population without covering the earth’s entire surface, but everyone needs their Copper Ridge or their Walden.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Growth, Part II
What is a weed?
-It's a bad plant.
-An ugly plant.
-Something that shouldn't be there
-It's non-native.
...
Not quite. If a Serviceberry bush crops up in a farmer's wheat field, it's the native shrub that's the weed, even though wheat is native to Mesopotamia. The concept of a "weed" is entirely determined by a human context, by our own placement of value on some species over others. So even though I'll warn the kid who said "bad plant" to not be so subjective, in essence the scientists base their work on a similar subjectivity.
In order to answer the question of "What is a weed?" we have to take a big step back, and consider the world in which we live, and how we want this world to be. We have developed much of the earth's surface for urban centers, suburban developments, and farming. We run cattle on many lands. We exploit vast areas by drilling and mining. We love our cities, our suburbs, our farms, and the products we get from natural resource exploitation. And we also love our "wild places," the Yellowstones and Yosemites and Grand Canyons, which we've set aside, protected from "the hand of man" so that we can enjoy the "unspoiled and timeless earthscapes" for many generations to come.
This is all fiction of course. All this land is touched by the hand of man. Many places were farmed or settled centuries ago. The act of preservation has often meant wildfire suppression, and this indirectly effects change on the land. And perhaps the largest way that we passively touch our earth- the second largest cause of species endangerment to date- we introduce exotic species.
With the ever-increasing rate of global travel and commerce, we carry around seeds and eggs and plants and animals, and constantly release species upon the land that don't belong. Since Pangea separated 250 MYA, isolation has allowed certain plants and animals to coevolve and develop balanced relationships. When an exotic species suddenly shows up off a Boeing 747, the danger stems from the fact that this newby did not coevolve within the ecosystem. So maybe there is nothing here capable of eating it. Even though back home it is just part of the mosaic of plants, maybe in its new context it is capable of pushing out native species, spreading quickly, and creating homogenous stands. If it can do that, we call it "invasive."
Now, what's a weed? As I've said, it starts with our intentions. In our protected, "wild" places, our intention is that the landscape represent a native, natural, "untouched" state. If a weed is a plant that we don't want, then in a National Park the exotic plants are weeds. So if we want to maintain the "natural" character of these places, we actually have to go in and proactively remove the exotic species. Some have the ability to become invasive and therefore take over huge areas of land, so they must be prioritized for removal.
It sounds counterintuitive, that we have to stomp around upon this land in order to leave it "untouched," but we have to realize that we've already touched the whole globe. Now it's ours, and if we want to keep some parts of it beautiful, inspirational, and powerful, we're going to have to work for it.
-It's a bad plant.
-An ugly plant.
-Something that shouldn't be there
-It's non-native.
...
Not quite. If a Serviceberry bush crops up in a farmer's wheat field, it's the native shrub that's the weed, even though wheat is native to Mesopotamia. The concept of a "weed" is entirely determined by a human context, by our own placement of value on some species over others. So even though I'll warn the kid who said "bad plant" to not be so subjective, in essence the scientists base their work on a similar subjectivity.
In order to answer the question of "What is a weed?" we have to take a big step back, and consider the world in which we live, and how we want this world to be. We have developed much of the earth's surface for urban centers, suburban developments, and farming. We run cattle on many lands. We exploit vast areas by drilling and mining. We love our cities, our suburbs, our farms, and the products we get from natural resource exploitation. And we also love our "wild places," the Yellowstones and Yosemites and Grand Canyons, which we've set aside, protected from "the hand of man" so that we can enjoy the "unspoiled and timeless earthscapes" for many generations to come.
This is all fiction of course. All this land is touched by the hand of man. Many places were farmed or settled centuries ago. The act of preservation has often meant wildfire suppression, and this indirectly effects change on the land. And perhaps the largest way that we passively touch our earth- the second largest cause of species endangerment to date- we introduce exotic species.
With the ever-increasing rate of global travel and commerce, we carry around seeds and eggs and plants and animals, and constantly release species upon the land that don't belong. Since Pangea separated 250 MYA, isolation has allowed certain plants and animals to coevolve and develop balanced relationships. When an exotic species suddenly shows up off a Boeing 747, the danger stems from the fact that this newby did not coevolve within the ecosystem. So maybe there is nothing here capable of eating it. Even though back home it is just part of the mosaic of plants, maybe in its new context it is capable of pushing out native species, spreading quickly, and creating homogenous stands. If it can do that, we call it "invasive."
Now, what's a weed? As I've said, it starts with our intentions. In our protected, "wild" places, our intention is that the landscape represent a native, natural, "untouched" state. If a weed is a plant that we don't want, then in a National Park the exotic plants are weeds. So if we want to maintain the "natural" character of these places, we actually have to go in and proactively remove the exotic species. Some have the ability to become invasive and therefore take over huge areas of land, so they must be prioritized for removal.
It sounds counterintuitive, that we have to stomp around upon this land in order to leave it "untouched," but we have to realize that we've already touched the whole globe. Now it's ours, and if we want to keep some parts of it beautiful, inspirational, and powerful, we're going to have to work for it.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Growth, Part I
In the late 60's, Paul Ehrlich's The Population Bomb caused quite a stir in the pop-science community, because up until that point, we hadn't really thought much about our overall population on this earth, and how that might bring global consequences. Maybe people in the 60's didn't have the same concept of the unity and smallness of this orb. Nowadays, Beijing is practically next door, and the idea that China has 1.4 billion people has little to do with competition or war, and more to do with how early spring will come next year in Steamboat.
In 1968 Ehrlich calculted the earth's carrying capacity to be 3.8 billion. We've "proved him wrong" in the sense that the massive famines and wars that he predicted have not yet come to pass, but recently on the Brian Laer show, Ehrlich reiterated that global stability requires that we reduce our population to 5, or 4, or 3 billion.
Population reduction??? Are you f'ing kidding?? The definition of an economic recession, the concept that has caused so much constipation in the US over the past half year, is when "growth is negative for two or more consecutive quarters." In other words, if we are not growing and expanding, we are in trouble. In the context of this national Ponzi Scheme, how could we function if the world halved in population? Is there a possibility to create a new economic model under which we can reduce our population, contract sales and consumption, and at the same time maintain our political and social systems and our quality of life?
In 1968 Ehrlich calculted the earth's carrying capacity to be 3.8 billion. We've "proved him wrong" in the sense that the massive famines and wars that he predicted have not yet come to pass, but recently on the Brian Laer show, Ehrlich reiterated that global stability requires that we reduce our population to 5, or 4, or 3 billion.
Population reduction??? Are you f'ing kidding?? The definition of an economic recession, the concept that has caused so much constipation in the US over the past half year, is when "growth is negative for two or more consecutive quarters." In other words, if we are not growing and expanding, we are in trouble. In the context of this national Ponzi Scheme, how could we function if the world halved in population? Is there a possibility to create a new economic model under which we can reduce our population, contract sales and consumption, and at the same time maintain our political and social systems and our quality of life?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
aech to oh!
Water is so smooth, so soft, elemental and pure, cool, calming, and yet it patiently moves mountains.
Mist and flakes settle on leaves and pine needles with such delicate poise, whispers are hushed as snow piles in drifts, blows into canyons and buries the world. It is the slowest, most comfortable death, sinking into white softness, the world slowing down. The only proper light is a burning flame, a candle, or the distant stars. A moon is the perfect beam of white to reflect the world of white, and the world is simple, and binary, and cold. The stinging air is perfect, it's like birth.
And then it all gets ruined.
And at first slowly and then with greater speed, the snow shrugs and bows and mumbles and commiserates. It's stark whiteness disappears and of a sudden it is clear droplets of water, too heavy for their comfort, and eager to go downhill.
Little trickles hide in scree piles, but nourish alcove lilies and columbines. Shale slides apart and lets the water nibble a bit of a cut. Faucets are turned on, all over the mountain, and the jets shout with joy. They grab hands and three-legged race down the hillsides, falling and laughing into box canyons, beaver ponds, trout lakes and fern-laden bogs. And pausing, sprinting, tossing rocks, all together they roar in the night.
And Sandstone doesn't stand a chance. Limestone can't cope. Schist, twisted and horrified in Mordor, flexes its shiny face but crumbles and falls. And Crystals fall. And Harps Fall. And Lava Falls. As if it were a schemer, it waits in calm pools before it slacks into a rock-toothed chasm. As if it were joking, it twirls against traffic at rush hour, giggling behind a big rock. For fun, the adrenaline junkie base jumps off any submerged rock, and trampolining off the bottom comes back to recirculate and whitewater cartwheel.
And as the river plays this game, it calls all its friends, and they all come running from all sides, and high-fives and handshakes make unbreakable bonds, and alliances are forged, and pretty soon.... "!El Pueblo, Unido, Jamas Sera Vencido!"... the march turns from the rollicking festival into a million-man-manifesto, a slow parade that mocks time, leans the weight of elephants into the wind, and fills the banks. And slowly, slowly, fatalistically, the march leans. Leans.
Mist and flakes settle on leaves and pine needles with such delicate poise, whispers are hushed as snow piles in drifts, blows into canyons and buries the world. It is the slowest, most comfortable death, sinking into white softness, the world slowing down. The only proper light is a burning flame, a candle, or the distant stars. A moon is the perfect beam of white to reflect the world of white, and the world is simple, and binary, and cold. The stinging air is perfect, it's like birth.
And then it all gets ruined.
And at first slowly and then with greater speed, the snow shrugs and bows and mumbles and commiserates. It's stark whiteness disappears and of a sudden it is clear droplets of water, too heavy for their comfort, and eager to go downhill.
Little trickles hide in scree piles, but nourish alcove lilies and columbines. Shale slides apart and lets the water nibble a bit of a cut. Faucets are turned on, all over the mountain, and the jets shout with joy. They grab hands and three-legged race down the hillsides, falling and laughing into box canyons, beaver ponds, trout lakes and fern-laden bogs. And pausing, sprinting, tossing rocks, all together they roar in the night.
And Sandstone doesn't stand a chance. Limestone can't cope. Schist, twisted and horrified in Mordor, flexes its shiny face but crumbles and falls. And Crystals fall. And Harps Fall. And Lava Falls. As if it were a schemer, it waits in calm pools before it slacks into a rock-toothed chasm. As if it were joking, it twirls against traffic at rush hour, giggling behind a big rock. For fun, the adrenaline junkie base jumps off any submerged rock, and trampolining off the bottom comes back to recirculate and whitewater cartwheel.
And as the river plays this game, it calls all its friends, and they all come running from all sides, and high-fives and handshakes make unbreakable bonds, and alliances are forged, and pretty soon.... "!El Pueblo, Unido, Jamas Sera Vencido!"... the march turns from the rollicking festival into a million-man-manifesto, a slow parade that mocks time, leans the weight of elephants into the wind, and fills the banks. And slowly, slowly, fatalistically, the march leans. Leans.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
That Girl on the Fabric
Last Friday's Olympic opening ceremony was full of images, icons of deeper meaning. One that stands out in my mind, which the commentators so unabashedly "called out" during its display, was that of the young dancer with teal streamers, carried on a giant fabric, that was supported from underneath my a legion of men. The idea of many faceless grunts striving to support and elevate one beautiful individual is something wonderful, and perhaps specifically Chinese, and sadly un-American.
Barak Obama has again and again been criticized for being aloof, elitist, effete, intellectual, exotic, international, and thus "out of touch" with white, middle, common America. I am reminded of (and nauseated by) the fact that many people voted for George W. Bush over Al Gore in 2000 because they'd rather "sit at the bar and have a beer" with the Texan. Why do we want "one of the guys" to be our head of state? Why don't we want the "best of the best" to take that charge?
The reason is that this is America, not China. This is a place where we are all equal, and we don't want to be one of the hundred faceless grunts holding up that dancer. We each want to be, and feel like we are, the one chosen one. We are Neo, John Wayne, Maverick, John McLane. The Hollywood heroes are engineered to be great while being normal, so that we feel like we too could, at any moment, be great. In fact, we tell ourselves, we already are. This is the reason for our culture of entitlement, consumerism, and waste. "I am the King," we feel, "so I'll live like such."
So instead of hearing Obama's elevated intellectual rhetoric and saying, "This man deserves to be President," we see that he is smarter than us and therefore mistrust him. I'm the greatest, therefore he must be "out of touch." I deserve to be President, yes me, well at least someone just like me, who drinks Pabst.
That girl on the fabric doesn't drink Pabst.
Barak Obama has again and again been criticized for being aloof, elitist, effete, intellectual, exotic, international, and thus "out of touch" with white, middle, common America. I am reminded of (and nauseated by) the fact that many people voted for George W. Bush over Al Gore in 2000 because they'd rather "sit at the bar and have a beer" with the Texan. Why do we want "one of the guys" to be our head of state? Why don't we want the "best of the best" to take that charge?
The reason is that this is America, not China. This is a place where we are all equal, and we don't want to be one of the hundred faceless grunts holding up that dancer. We each want to be, and feel like we are, the one chosen one. We are Neo, John Wayne, Maverick, John McLane. The Hollywood heroes are engineered to be great while being normal, so that we feel like we too could, at any moment, be great. In fact, we tell ourselves, we already are. This is the reason for our culture of entitlement, consumerism, and waste. "I am the King," we feel, "so I'll live like such."
So instead of hearing Obama's elevated intellectual rhetoric and saying, "This man deserves to be President," we see that he is smarter than us and therefore mistrust him. I'm the greatest, therefore he must be "out of touch." I deserve to be President, yes me, well at least someone just like me, who drinks Pabst.
That girl on the fabric doesn't drink Pabst.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Be destructive, Create!
We create, and in that creation we feel productive, valuable, meaningful. We search for success in accomplishment, specifically in building something. We build sandcastles, businesses, nations. My dad talked about why construction was something he liked doing. He would say, "In carpentry, I can step back at the end of the day and see what I've done."
Tamara Naumann, the Botanist at Dinosaur National Monument, feels quite differently. As someone who is chiefly concerned with the well being of natural systems, she sees humans and human creation as the primary evil. It is the construction of dams that strangles aquatic systems, suburban subdivisions that pave over prairie ecosystems, and industry that pollutes our land, seas, and air. She even chose to minimize her own personal ability to create, choosing not to have children.
My dad and Tamara are both wonderful, honorable people. They are friends, and agree on most things. But there is a difference of opinion in the value of construction.
Eustace Conway is a personal hero of mine. His biography is called The Last American Man, and it was written by Elizabeth Gilbert and it is a fabulous read. Conway embodies many of the traits that I value: individualism, rational thought, genuine concern for nature, and a personal involvement in the natural world, as a hunter, gatherer, farmer. Yet as Gilbert told the story of his life, she did a great job of showing Conway as an example of all of us. He started out as a 20-year-old who hiked the Appalachian Trail with just a knife, eating roadkill or dumpster-diving. He became a master of "living off the land," and acquired 1000 acres of land. And on that land he became teaching. And building buildings. First it was a shed, then a cabin, then some fences, then a barn, then a house, then a bigger house, then a garage, then... and this man who preached against development, calling for all Americans to return to nature, took virgin forest and turned it into fields and buildings.
So how can destruction and creation be so interconnected? And would it be possible for us to find a sense of purpose, happiness, and production without continuing to build? It is absolutly necessary that we STOP building new things. We need the humility to see that each acre that we turn into "human environment" we are stealing from other species. As long as we continue to build, we will keep loosing species on this earth, and we will also loose beautiful places that are wonderful to visit. Is tai chi the answer? Can we become strong and flexible, and inward-looking, and thusly feel productive? I hope so.
Tamara Naumann, the Botanist at Dinosaur National Monument, feels quite differently. As someone who is chiefly concerned with the well being of natural systems, she sees humans and human creation as the primary evil. It is the construction of dams that strangles aquatic systems, suburban subdivisions that pave over prairie ecosystems, and industry that pollutes our land, seas, and air. She even chose to minimize her own personal ability to create, choosing not to have children.
My dad and Tamara are both wonderful, honorable people. They are friends, and agree on most things. But there is a difference of opinion in the value of construction.
Eustace Conway is a personal hero of mine. His biography is called The Last American Man, and it was written by Elizabeth Gilbert and it is a fabulous read. Conway embodies many of the traits that I value: individualism, rational thought, genuine concern for nature, and a personal involvement in the natural world, as a hunter, gatherer, farmer. Yet as Gilbert told the story of his life, she did a great job of showing Conway as an example of all of us. He started out as a 20-year-old who hiked the Appalachian Trail with just a knife, eating roadkill or dumpster-diving. He became a master of "living off the land," and acquired 1000 acres of land. And on that land he became teaching. And building buildings. First it was a shed, then a cabin, then some fences, then a barn, then a house, then a bigger house, then a garage, then... and this man who preached against development, calling for all Americans to return to nature, took virgin forest and turned it into fields and buildings.
So how can destruction and creation be so interconnected? And would it be possible for us to find a sense of purpose, happiness, and production without continuing to build? It is absolutly necessary that we STOP building new things. We need the humility to see that each acre that we turn into "human environment" we are stealing from other species. As long as we continue to build, we will keep loosing species on this earth, and we will also loose beautiful places that are wonderful to visit. Is tai chi the answer? Can we become strong and flexible, and inward-looking, and thusly feel productive? I hope so.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
El imperio
Strike down the monster,
Cheer on your team,
Build a nation,
advocate.
Abajo imperio,
El pueblo unido,
Bush diablo,
!Fuera ya!
Love rules supreme,
Family and friends,
I have a dream,
Yes we can!
Hasta la victoria siempre,
El amor eterno,
Abajo arriba,
Si se puede.
Pero mira, ?que pasa si mi nacion es el imperio, si mi pueblo son los de arriba? ?Que puedo decir, en que puedo tener orgullo? ?En que debo trabajar? Yo vivo en el "Empire State," vivo el la ciudad monopoli. Aqui el dinero es rey, todo sale caro, y se paga sueldos altos. Aqui las calles estan plateadas. "Yes we can!" dice Obama, y esta hablando a nosotros, a los de Nueva York, a los hombres de negocio y a los financieros, a los blancos y a mi, y esta hablando de la construccion de nuestro pais. No esta hablando de imperio, no quiere explotacion, no pide la continuacion de la pobreza global. No, el, y yo, y somos muchos que quiere que los Estados Unidos sea un gran pais, un buen lugar en donde vivir y crecer una familia, y un miembro responsable de la comunidad global. Trabajar por parte de "The Man" tiene que ser positivo, si "The Man" soy yo.
Cheer on your team,
Build a nation,
advocate.
Abajo imperio,
El pueblo unido,
Bush diablo,
!Fuera ya!
Love rules supreme,
Family and friends,
I have a dream,
Yes we can!
Hasta la victoria siempre,
El amor eterno,
Abajo arriba,
Si se puede.
Pero mira, ?que pasa si mi nacion es el imperio, si mi pueblo son los de arriba? ?Que puedo decir, en que puedo tener orgullo? ?En que debo trabajar? Yo vivo en el "Empire State," vivo el la ciudad monopoli. Aqui el dinero es rey, todo sale caro, y se paga sueldos altos. Aqui las calles estan plateadas. "Yes we can!" dice Obama, y esta hablando a nosotros, a los de Nueva York, a los hombres de negocio y a los financieros, a los blancos y a mi, y esta hablando de la construccion de nuestro pais. No esta hablando de imperio, no quiere explotacion, no pide la continuacion de la pobreza global. No, el, y yo, y somos muchos que quiere que los Estados Unidos sea un gran pais, un buen lugar en donde vivir y crecer una familia, y un miembro responsable de la comunidad global. Trabajar por parte de "The Man" tiene que ser positivo, si "The Man" soy yo.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
The End of Ideology
It's probably plagiarism even to entitle this blog "The End of Ideology," because Daniel Bell wrote a terrific work by that name that my dad read during his graduate studies, and remained relevant for forty years so that it was assigned to Knute at CU. I own it, and like to talk about its content, but I won't say I've read it.
What I will say is that in many other countries in the world, there are representative and senators who belong to the "socialist" party, or even the "communist" party. These people draw from Marx, or Lenin, or Trotsky, or from libraries of literature of theory and thought on how government could be run, who then go to work each day and represent "socialism" or "communism."
I don't know what that means in 2008, in a world that has such established and interconnected global networks of capitalist trade. Advocating for communism seems to be akin to "jumping off the bandwagon." But then I think of ways that certain programs in the US, or even specific politicians, are called "socially conscious," or "progressive." I am thinking of things such as welfare, affirmative action, or universal health care. Honestly, these things go against the grain of fundamentalist capitalism, yet no politician is comfortable labeling it "socialist" or declaring themselves members of a "Socialist Party."
One might say that there is no Socialist Party because our system encourages a two-party system and that has played itself out in order to whittle us down to the Dems and Reps, but Daniel Bell says differently (I bet). The fact is that after WWII and the creation of the USSR, we had to define ourselves as something else. It is the classic example of using an "other" to create "self." They were the Reds, the Commies, the Socialists. So we, by default, became not these things. McCarthy worked on this in an ostentacious way, but at the same time the American people worked on it in a slower and more subtle way. They must have. For now we have no room even in our vocabulary for these words. Even at "liberal" universities, there is no Association of Socialist Students. No one says, "We should change our economic system." Within the debates that we do have, one thing is accepted by all: the capitalist system is working and generating everything. From that foundation, we debate on social programming or the exclusion of such.
My dad explains very well how it is a myth that we live in a free market. With subsidies and other government deals, the economy the free market that we think it is. And I don't think it is working perfectly. Our economy functions on the need for constant growth. I see growth as more use of natural resources and the generation of more waste. I want a system based on no growth. I want us to look at possibilities of different systems, and not to be scared of names or labels. We cleansed ourselves of "the Reds" in the 50's, but that only succeeds in limiting our possibilities.
What I will say is that in many other countries in the world, there are representative and senators who belong to the "socialist" party, or even the "communist" party. These people draw from Marx, or Lenin, or Trotsky, or from libraries of literature of theory and thought on how government could be run, who then go to work each day and represent "socialism" or "communism."
I don't know what that means in 2008, in a world that has such established and interconnected global networks of capitalist trade. Advocating for communism seems to be akin to "jumping off the bandwagon." But then I think of ways that certain programs in the US, or even specific politicians, are called "socially conscious," or "progressive." I am thinking of things such as welfare, affirmative action, or universal health care. Honestly, these things go against the grain of fundamentalist capitalism, yet no politician is comfortable labeling it "socialist" or declaring themselves members of a "Socialist Party."
One might say that there is no Socialist Party because our system encourages a two-party system and that has played itself out in order to whittle us down to the Dems and Reps, but Daniel Bell says differently (I bet). The fact is that after WWII and the creation of the USSR, we had to define ourselves as something else. It is the classic example of using an "other" to create "self." They were the Reds, the Commies, the Socialists. So we, by default, became not these things. McCarthy worked on this in an ostentacious way, but at the same time the American people worked on it in a slower and more subtle way. They must have. For now we have no room even in our vocabulary for these words. Even at "liberal" universities, there is no Association of Socialist Students. No one says, "We should change our economic system." Within the debates that we do have, one thing is accepted by all: the capitalist system is working and generating everything. From that foundation, we debate on social programming or the exclusion of such.
My dad explains very well how it is a myth that we live in a free market. With subsidies and other government deals, the economy the free market that we think it is. And I don't think it is working perfectly. Our economy functions on the need for constant growth. I see growth as more use of natural resources and the generation of more waste. I want a system based on no growth. I want us to look at possibilities of different systems, and not to be scared of names or labels. We cleansed ourselves of "the Reds" in the 50's, but that only succeeds in limiting our possibilities.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Tanning an Elk Hide
I have thus far worked three elk hides and one goat hide, with varied results. The only true conclusion that I have reached is that it is a really difficult thing to do well. Additionally, I have learned a lot about leather, patience, and about the history and technique of a beautiful craft. There are some great how-to books out there, but this is a basic overview.
Once the animal is dead, you need to skin it. The skin on the shanks gets thinner and thinner toward the hoof, so there is really no reason to try to keep much of that on. You'll end up cutting it off later. Then, if you are going to do a hair-on hide, you should scrape off all the meat and fat and then tie the hide on a frame to dry, and dry-scrape the membrane. If you are doing a hair-off buckskin, you should put the hide in a big tub with water and ash from a pot belly stove, and let it sit for a few days. At some point, the hair will be falling off (or easily pulled out) and at that point it's time to wetscrape. Throw the hide over a smooth beam or huge PVC pipe leaning at 45degrees against a tree, and scrape the hair side with a drawknife. The hair should scrape right out. Flip it over, and you'll see that the membrane side is impregnated with dark ashen water. As you scrape, that whole membrane will peel off. Now let the grained and membraned hide dry out.
Now you have a dried out hide that's as stiff as a board. Maybe you should let it dry for 6months to let the fibers "open up." Or maybe before drying you were supposed to soak it in a vinegar solution or something else. I'm not sure. But when you're ready, it's time to cure the hide.
This can be done by soaking it in a solution of water and blended up brains of the animal, or water with 10 whipped eggs, or water and olive oil and grated ivory soap, or a solution with soaked tree bark. You need to work the hide into the solution, getting it wet and soft and pushing it into the bucket. Let it sit in the bucket for a day. The idea here is that instead of water filling all the cavities inside the leather, proteins from the eggs or oil are going to fill those space, so when it dries, it will be soft and full instead of drying out thin and hard again. After the day in the eggs, you take it out, and here come the hard work!
You have to "work over" the hide, stretching it and moving it and ruffing it up, transitioning it from wet to dry. It is particularily important to be working the leather rigorously when it is finally transitioning to completely dry. This process will take 4 to 8 hours for an elk hide, cuz those suckers are thick and hold a lot of moisture. Plus they're heavy, so it's an incredible workout for your shoulders and forearms. You can do it by sitting and stretching the hide over your knees, then turning it and stretching it the other way, and moving around like that. Or you can do it by tying the hide up in a frame and pushing into it with your fists, or an axe handle, and massaging/stretching it like that.
As the hide dries, hopefully it becomes soft, pliable, full-bodied, and elastic. If it's not soft to your liking, you can return to the eggs/olive oil/brains soak, and then work it over again, so hopefully you saved that solution.
Then you are ready to smoke it. Smoking the hide permenently changes its character, so if it gets wet again, it wont become mushy and slimy. Build up a bed of hot embers in the middle of a circle of rocks or in a big ceramic pot. Use three 12' trees to build a tripod over the fire. Fold the hide in half and safety pin or Elmer's glue it into a tight bag. Attach a denim skirt to the bottom that flares wide so as to go around the rocks or the pot, and funnel the smoke from the fire up into the hide bag. Throw leaves or punk onto the coals, and it will pump off enough smoke to inflate the bag. Watch out for flare-ups. At some point flip the hide inside-out and smoke the other side.
The leather will smell so strongly like smoke, so you can throw it in the washing machine and then in the dryer to get the smell out. Now you're ready to cut patterns, and make the backpack, moccossins, or jacket that you want!
Once the animal is dead, you need to skin it. The skin on the shanks gets thinner and thinner toward the hoof, so there is really no reason to try to keep much of that on. You'll end up cutting it off later. Then, if you are going to do a hair-on hide, you should scrape off all the meat and fat and then tie the hide on a frame to dry, and dry-scrape the membrane. If you are doing a hair-off buckskin, you should put the hide in a big tub with water and ash from a pot belly stove, and let it sit for a few days. At some point, the hair will be falling off (or easily pulled out) and at that point it's time to wetscrape. Throw the hide over a smooth beam or huge PVC pipe leaning at 45degrees against a tree, and scrape the hair side with a drawknife. The hair should scrape right out. Flip it over, and you'll see that the membrane side is impregnated with dark ashen water. As you scrape, that whole membrane will peel off. Now let the grained and membraned hide dry out.
Now you have a dried out hide that's as stiff as a board. Maybe you should let it dry for 6months to let the fibers "open up." Or maybe before drying you were supposed to soak it in a vinegar solution or something else. I'm not sure. But when you're ready, it's time to cure the hide.
This can be done by soaking it in a solution of water and blended up brains of the animal, or water with 10 whipped eggs, or water and olive oil and grated ivory soap, or a solution with soaked tree bark. You need to work the hide into the solution, getting it wet and soft and pushing it into the bucket. Let it sit in the bucket for a day. The idea here is that instead of water filling all the cavities inside the leather, proteins from the eggs or oil are going to fill those space, so when it dries, it will be soft and full instead of drying out thin and hard again. After the day in the eggs, you take it out, and here come the hard work!
You have to "work over" the hide, stretching it and moving it and ruffing it up, transitioning it from wet to dry. It is particularily important to be working the leather rigorously when it is finally transitioning to completely dry. This process will take 4 to 8 hours for an elk hide, cuz those suckers are thick and hold a lot of moisture. Plus they're heavy, so it's an incredible workout for your shoulders and forearms. You can do it by sitting and stretching the hide over your knees, then turning it and stretching it the other way, and moving around like that. Or you can do it by tying the hide up in a frame and pushing into it with your fists, or an axe handle, and massaging/stretching it like that.
As the hide dries, hopefully it becomes soft, pliable, full-bodied, and elastic. If it's not soft to your liking, you can return to the eggs/olive oil/brains soak, and then work it over again, so hopefully you saved that solution.
Then you are ready to smoke it. Smoking the hide permenently changes its character, so if it gets wet again, it wont become mushy and slimy. Build up a bed of hot embers in the middle of a circle of rocks or in a big ceramic pot. Use three 12' trees to build a tripod over the fire. Fold the hide in half and safety pin or Elmer's glue it into a tight bag. Attach a denim skirt to the bottom that flares wide so as to go around the rocks or the pot, and funnel the smoke from the fire up into the hide bag. Throw leaves or punk onto the coals, and it will pump off enough smoke to inflate the bag. Watch out for flare-ups. At some point flip the hide inside-out and smoke the other side.
The leather will smell so strongly like smoke, so you can throw it in the washing machine and then in the dryer to get the smell out. Now you're ready to cut patterns, and make the backpack, moccossins, or jacket that you want!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
1860: Coalition Peacekeepers Prevent Civil War
Bolivia is currently in the midst of an interesting political conflict. The autonomy votes in Santa Cruz and the other "media luna" departments, establish much more power on the state level and thus put the brakes on President Morales' socialist reforms. This represents a deep split in the country. Now, this week's recall elections for the executives and the department prefects could potentially upset some officials, and there is an outside chance this could lead to violent protests, armed confrontations, or some form of political division. How will this all play out?
Backing up a little bit, it's worth saying that what's on the table here is a difference in opinion on the optimum political model. The issue is basically theoretical, with the president championing a model of ultimate central power, nationalization of industry, fixed prices, and government grants to the most disadvantaged, and those in the "media luna" espousing the neoliberal model of free enterprise and international trade. The two models can't both be run in the same country, thus the conflict. An Op/Ed in el diario Los Tiempos warned that if the struggle became violent, international peacekeepers would swoop in and, "guys, we really don't want that."
The current Bolivian discussion is not unlike our own situation in 1860, when the North and South were interested in different economic models. The North was interested in keeping southern products for national industry, and the South was interested in maintaining lucrative international trade relationships. Like the "media luna" could do, the South suceeded in order to defend its autonomy of trade.
Obviously, the global situation has changed enormously since 1860, but I'd like to offer this line of questions: Would the international community "swoop in" and "bring the peace" to Bolivia if things got violent? If that same coalition would have arrived in the US when Lincoln invaded the South, how would that have stifled American history? If we would never have been allowed to fight it out, and in the process murder 625,000 people, would we ever have been able to resolve that economic question? Does peacekeeping stop evolution of society?
Backing up a little bit, it's worth saying that what's on the table here is a difference in opinion on the optimum political model. The issue is basically theoretical, with the president championing a model of ultimate central power, nationalization of industry, fixed prices, and government grants to the most disadvantaged, and those in the "media luna" espousing the neoliberal model of free enterprise and international trade. The two models can't both be run in the same country, thus the conflict. An Op/Ed in el diario Los Tiempos warned that if the struggle became violent, international peacekeepers would swoop in and, "guys, we really don't want that."
The current Bolivian discussion is not unlike our own situation in 1860, when the North and South were interested in different economic models. The North was interested in keeping southern products for national industry, and the South was interested in maintaining lucrative international trade relationships. Like the "media luna" could do, the South suceeded in order to defend its autonomy of trade.
Obviously, the global situation has changed enormously since 1860, but I'd like to offer this line of questions: Would the international community "swoop in" and "bring the peace" to Bolivia if things got violent? If that same coalition would have arrived in the US when Lincoln invaded the South, how would that have stifled American history? If we would never have been allowed to fight it out, and in the process murder 625,000 people, would we ever have been able to resolve that economic question? Does peacekeeping stop evolution of society?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Socialista Part I
At some point, democracy took hold, and political parties became necessary. There was no way for random unaffiliated citizens to drum up the kind of supported needed by themselves, so people began to align themselves with basic trains of thought: "The government is here to facilitate total individual freedom," "the government is here to regulate for the good of all," or "the government is here to control everything so that it's fair." Basicamente, asi se ve el poder del estado.
I can't say that one is better than another, especially after having lived in the United States, which has so many wonderful things, and living in Argentina, which criticizes the US so much, and having visited Cuba, which defines itself as the anti-US and thus functions totally differently. Each country has its positives and negatives. I no longer think of Cuba as the garden of Eden, like the Argentines do. But I also no longer think of the United States as the devil incarnate.
However, I'd like to pause on a particular point in US politics. The two-party system allows for very little soapboxing of political theory, and one thing that we never hear about is socialism. Yes, with social security and welfare and affirmative action supposedly we have a "socially conscious domestic policy," but we have no representatives who are standing up in front of the house and saying, "This system is wrong. We have to change it now, to one in which all people work for the good of others." We'd say we're being realistic when we call that kind of talk outlandish, but that kind of system is possible. It's not horrible and it's not necessarily tyranical. It can be, but so can our system.
We should reconsider how "free" we think our politics are. If certain whole trains of thought are systematically absent from the discussion, how free is it really?
Monday, August 4, 2008
Highlights of New York, Part I
There was once a middle-aged Spanish woman who breezed through my life. I believe we were in Villazon, Bolivia. I was 20. She had shortish hair, and some of it was graying. She wore comfortable-looking clothes. I was inexplicably attracted to her. She told me how America just looked like such a bratty adolescent from the European perspective. I never knew her name. We shared a half-hour together. I've thought about her so many times since; her comments set a framework for my experience abroad.
In Argentina, in the company of people like Gabi Yocco and Lucila Trolliet, I felt like I was with peers, but for the first time I was in the company of adults. Buenos Aires, with its sweaty public transportation, cracked sidewalks, history of economic and political hardship, and strong artistic and intellectual traditions, creates a culture of melancholic tangos, fuel-efficiency, slow sipping, and reason. On a crowded sidewalk or subway platform, people bump into one another. But no one apologizes. Everyone involved knows that the bumping is unavoidable, it's a fact, not an event.
Back in the Colorado, I found people apologizing for getting close to each other. People hate someone for loud-talking on a cell phone. People call the cops to break up a party with loud music. People throw dirty looks at a biker weaving through a crowd. These are examples of people taking offense at another's action, even though it doesn't hurt them at all. It's as if we wish we were all alone.
It all goes back to what the lady-Spaniard said, about us all being like children. Because and adult wouldn't care about any of this; an adult accepts these things as normal and has other more important things to worry about. But in the States I saw adults freaking out as if they were just born, and still not comfortable being out of the womb.
But New York is different. Traffic is a weaving, jamming, mess of acceleration and braking, but that's just how it is. Sam and I, longboarding through traffic, have had some incredible "encounters" with cars, bikers, and pedestrians, and since no one's been hurt, no apologies are in order. Everyone is fine, and everyon understands that it's just a fact: it's a busy street.
Incredible, here we are in the United States, behaving like adults!! I wish I could talk to that gypsy now.
In Argentina, in the company of people like Gabi Yocco and Lucila Trolliet, I felt like I was with peers, but for the first time I was in the company of adults. Buenos Aires, with its sweaty public transportation, cracked sidewalks, history of economic and political hardship, and strong artistic and intellectual traditions, creates a culture of melancholic tangos, fuel-efficiency, slow sipping, and reason. On a crowded sidewalk or subway platform, people bump into one another. But no one apologizes. Everyone involved knows that the bumping is unavoidable, it's a fact, not an event.
Back in the Colorado, I found people apologizing for getting close to each other. People hate someone for loud-talking on a cell phone. People call the cops to break up a party with loud music. People throw dirty looks at a biker weaving through a crowd. These are examples of people taking offense at another's action, even though it doesn't hurt them at all. It's as if we wish we were all alone.
It all goes back to what the lady-Spaniard said, about us all being like children. Because and adult wouldn't care about any of this; an adult accepts these things as normal and has other more important things to worry about. But in the States I saw adults freaking out as if they were just born, and still not comfortable being out of the womb.
But New York is different. Traffic is a weaving, jamming, mess of acceleration and braking, but that's just how it is. Sam and I, longboarding through traffic, have had some incredible "encounters" with cars, bikers, and pedestrians, and since no one's been hurt, no apologies are in order. Everyone is fine, and everyon understands that it's just a fact: it's a busy street.
Incredible, here we are in the United States, behaving like adults!! I wish I could talk to that gypsy now.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Listen to Your Hosts
Lets talk for a moment about the current news that China has decided to uphold their internet restrictions during the Olympic Games. As far as I can gleen, China has created national firewalls against sites that directly attack the government, such as Free Tibet pages and the BBC. These are sites that the government has chosen, "Our people should not even see this; we will all be better off without it."
In Cuba, people are not granted liberty. They can not get on the internet at all, except a .mail.cuba email address, they only have exposure to the government-printed newspaper, Granma, and they can really only vote for the "one party," which is the incumbent, continuation of the revolution.
I am not sure that I can condenm Cuba or China for what they are doing. Matt Laher on WNYC was attacking China because journalists will not have complete unbridled access to the internet during the games. But this is ironic, because it is journalists' jobs to choose what information people will see and what information they will not see. Now they are getting a taste of their own medicine.
I think that the Olympics is a chance for us to accept each other, as nations, for our different customs, religions, and political systems. China is hosting the world this year, so I think we should go to China, and play by their rules for a few months. It certainly won't kill us, and maybe we'll gain a perspective on different school of thought in the world. Let's be humble enough to realize that we don't have all the right answers.
The parents' situation
It's hard to collect myself at 4am on a friday night, enough to write this blog about Bolivian politics, even after downing a slice of Sicilian at Roma's Pizza and a bowl of Corn Flakes back at the house. We rolled up Rivington tonight, first to The Johnsons, and then on to La Caverna, Fat Baby, 151, Pianos, The Magician, Mason Dixon, La Bodega Deli, were issued a citation for open beers on the street by the NYPD, and then back to the crib, hunting as always for mamies and dreaming of taking bodyshots of Malibu off a bodacious shorty.
But as per my goals this is not a journal, but rather a sharing of ideas, thus I need to transcend my current situation, and talk about something I know. So here it is:
Bolivia faces a crisis of legitimacy, as Evo Morales' government seeks to enact change to benefit the poorest, but creates conflict and enemies with those who feel that opportunity is possible within the current system. The kind of government handouts that Morales espouses only are attractive to those who have nothing and expect everything to come from the central government or international NGO's.
As Santa Cruz and the "Media Luna" departments seek autonomy referendums in order to distance themselves from La Paz, Morales seeks to pass a new constitution in order to give more power to indigenous groups and move toward more central power. This type of regional split is absolutely unsustainable, and everyone knows it. And yet both sides make negotiations impossible by lambasts and boycotts. So they pulled this childish move of calling a recall election of the president, vice, and all the governors, and the country is tumbling into turmoil! My parents merely want to stay in their sites to see their projects through, and then leave on their own terms, but they are being stranded from the broadcasts.
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