a bad day to be awake

I feel sick. Today, something I’ve been waiting for finally came to me. And something I wasn’t waiting for at all came right behind it.

Y’all know about my tattoo, right? On my neck? The one symbolizing Erzulie, a Voodoun love goddess who I know absolutely nothing about (unless you count what I’ve read online)? Yeah…
Sometimes people recognize the symbol, but up until today it has always been other white folks, who seem excited to see it, and who I (blindly) assume learned about Erzulie in some African or religious studies class they took in college. I’ve been feeling pretty uncomfortable with my tattoo for a while now, due to my ignorance about the cultural and spiritual tradition it comes out of. I’ve been anticipating, with a dull spark of dread, the moment when I encounter someone who actually is connected to that culture and tradition in a meaningful way.
Today was that day. At Herbivore, right after I sat down for brunch, a man at an adjoining table turned around to ask what possessed me to get a tattoo of Erzulie on my neck. He was not unkind at all, but he was clearly struck in a powerful and strange way by the sight of me. I briefly explained to him how I found the symbol in a book and then researched Erzulie further. All throughout my meal I was very uncomfortable. A woman sitting with him kept looking at me, and I could just tell she thought I was a fool – and rightly so. Finally, as we were getting ready to leave, my friend L went to the restroom and the man turned to me again. He started telling me that, although I probably chose this symbol because it is connected with love, it is also connected with a lot of violence. People’s heads getting chopped off. Specifically, white people’s heads getting chopped off during the slave rebellion in Haiti. Which is why he felt so powerfully struck by seeing me, a white person, waltz in with this symbol tattooed on my neck. His ancestors are from Haiti, he said – there is all this ancestral energy coming at me through this symbol and I have no idea what it’s about. He suggested I meditate on what it was that drew me to such a powerful symbol, and figure out what is in me that made me want all this powerful, possibly violent ancestral energy coming at me. He said I was bold, that he wouldn’t even put the symbol on his body. I assured him that it was not boldness, but ignorance, that allowed me to do such a thing. I left feeling shaken, ready to go home and think and maybe cry a little to calm myself down. What was I thinking when I got this tattoo? “Peace be with you,” the man had said as I left.

And then. Then L and I went to 25th and MLK to check out this show “Hoodstock” that was supposed to be happening there (illegally) all weekend. Apparently, the organizers were not worried about the cops showing up because it was being held in the parking lot of a purported crack building. L had gone on Saturday but left before it was over. Her friend called while we were eating and told her the cops had shown up around 2 in the morning and cleared everybody out. So we roll up and there’s nobody there. A woman sweeping the street out in front of the gate tells us they moved the party to somewhere on Telegraph. She lives in the supposed crack building. Says that when people at the party started breaking bottles in the middle of the street at 2 in the morning, someone finally called the cops. She points out a car in the parking lot that’s been trashed, pounded and spray-painted on. Says it belongs to a woman in the building, and that both this woman’s cars were messed up by people at the show the night before. The woman doesn’t want to call the cops about her cars, but “someone has got to pay for them,” explains the woman speaking as she looks away. She points to the overflowing dumpster, says she and her neighbors filled the dumpster with the trash people left behind after the show. A man standing nearby glares at us. I can hardly breathe. I drop L off and go home, feeling incredibly angry and helpless. What can I do? I have no desire to go to the show now, but I think about going to take up a collection for the woman’s cars. L tells me she’ll talk to the organizer and see if he will take care of it.
But… REALLY?! Really, Oakland punk/anarchist/hipster kids? Really, people I probably hang out with? This is where we’re at – busting into a neighborhood that isn’t ours, to party, using the residents as a shield against the cops, trashing their property and then leaving them with our garbage? If I could make this screen you’re reading scream, I would. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! WHAT THE FUCK???


September 13, 2009. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. 3 comments.

Politico-personal Crisis of Faith

If I were an activist, maybe I would know the answer to this question, but… what, exactly, makes someone an activist? I’ve been pondering this question in various forms a lot lately.

It’s mostly this recent lingering depression. Or maybe that’s not the right term for what I’ve been feeling – it’s not caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain so much as the colossal disparity between what my brains think should be happening in the world and what actually happens in the world, has happened in the world always, and arguably will always happen as long as there are people in the world. I’m world-weary. Yeah, yeah, I know – it’s an old story. What person possessing even a modicum of intelligence doesn’t think the world of humans is generally fucked, right?

Poor, poor me; sad, whiny, white, middle class-ish, can’t-handle-the-reality-of-massive-oppression, wanna-be do-gooder me. Yeah, that’s right – I’m not even a do-gooder. I’m more of a think-gooder. I just think of all the helpful things I could be doing, then psych myself out of action by thoroughly analyzing and critiquing the possible impact (or lack thereof) of my endeavors.

See, it seems ridiculous for me to be depressed and defeated, because I’m not DOING anything about anything, right? I don’t work for a non-profit, I volunteer/donate only minimally, and I haven’t attended or helped organize any direct actions since the late 90’s. My current contributions, if you can call them that, read like a check-list for armchair intellectual progressivism: I read a lot and attend discussions/talks in an attempt to lessen my obliviousness as a person with relative privilege living in the most destructive, colonizing nation on the globe; I forward e-mails & re-post bulletins on myspace about things other people are doing; I eat mostly organic vegan food; I buy almost exclusively used clothing/shoes/gadgets/appliances; I attempt to reduce/re-use/recycle in that order; whenever possible I avoid supporting multi-national corporations and evil non-profits; I run my 1980 Mercedes on recycled biodiesel from a local woman-owned collective.

Holy shit, I sound annoying, don’t I?! Like one of those “I buy/don’t buy all the right things, therefore I am making a difference” types. Except I don’t really believe these things make enough of a difference to brag about – I only do them because I couldn’t stomach myself if I didn’t.

I see making conscious lifestyle choices and educating oneself as the least possible amount of involvement anyone calling herself “radical” could have. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around those people who ARE activist—like, real down-in-the-mud, blood-and-guts activists—yet they happily give money to the very corporations creating this mess because they don’t believe in pocketbook activism. Spending money conscientiously isn’t going to bring about revolution, but in a capitalist system, where you spend your money is important. It equals funding whatever the companies/people you buy stuff from have their filthy little hands in. And it’s something you can change with minimal effort (even if you’re not middle-class, contrary to popular opinion).

It is not elitist to withdraw support from those perpetuating the worst elitism in the first place – that’s just common sense. I don’t think the communities most grossly affected by corporate greed are applauding anyone’s continued support of Pepsi and Monsanto as a righteous refusal to be aligned with the bourgie “green” consumers who shop at farmers markets and buy organic cotton sheets. Of course, I’m sure they’re not applauding any of us for our patterns of consumption, but hopefully you get my point. I’d like capitalism to fall and/or morph into something more just and palatable as much as the next anarchist, but while we’re stuck with it we can’t ignore the impact we have on it.

Anyhow, slight tangent there. I’ll stop now, but there’s an awesome blog post about all that here, if you want more.

So, as I was droning, the low-effort aspect of living a more conscious lifestyle is why it’s the main thing I manage to always do. Like, if I can’t even do that, I really can’t justify my own existence.

Yes, what I do right now is minimal, but it is all I can do right now. I’m talking psychologically. I simply don’t have the strength to engage more intensely with the babbling insanity of all the animal torturing, women hating, people of color terrorizing, poor people steamrolling, queer and gender non-conformative bashing, resource hoarding, earth killing devils of western imperialism. I just. Can’t. Do it. Right. Now.

Partly because all these injustices feel extremely urgent to address and I don’t know how to choose just one or two to give more energy to.

Partly because in the past when I have chosen something to focus on, I have found that systemic oppression runs so deep, even those of us trying to buck it rarely disentangle all at once—I’ve encountered transphobic queers, misogynistic environmentalists, classist feminists, animal torturing anti-racists, racist anarchists… combine the descriptors as you may, they’re all out there. How the hell is one supposed to stay committed when working alongside folks who create oppression while claiming to fight it?

And lastly, my apathy stems in part from knowing more about the world than I did when I was 21 and Food Not Bombs-ing my lil’ heart out. When I take a wide view of what I now (think I) know about global history, damn but I can’t find anything that has ever changed the course of things on a massive enough scale to claim success for even one community in a lasting way. So I feel colossally defeated.

Should I engage in actions I feel are mostly futile out of some sense of obligation to my activist status? Attend anti-war or environmental protests even though another war or environmental catastrophe will be right around the corner unless the fundamental principles of world leaders have shifted from “profit & power before anyone/anything deemed expendable”, to “no person, place, culture or species is expendable ever”? Rally against internal state violence like police brutality & the prison system even though I secretly think nothing short of massive revolution will affect the way the state operates unless, perhaps, your time line is in the thousands of years? Ugh, I know, my negativity can be crushing. Apologies.

I have heard it said that the tendency to disregard any action that doesn’t seem likely to fix everything (activist perfectionism) stems from being in a position of privilege. I can’t say I disagree. It’s not that I don’t want to engage in any action unless it will cure all ills on the globe, though – it’s that I’m not convinced any action I might undertake will help anything at all.

I’m sure that is partly because nearly everything I read and listen to tends to focus on tragedies and defeats of peoples everywhere, rather than highlighting what folks are doing to resist and how some of them have succeeded. That’s a major problem, even in alternative media.

I am aware that my skin color, geographical location, and relative class privilege (meaning I get by with minimal financial stress & that’s better than so many) afford me the choice to not fight certain fights. I don’t have to worry about getting pesticide poisoning from working in the fields, being arrested/beaten/shot because of my skin color, I don’t have to work three jobs to get by, etc. Some would argue that it’s easier for me to say I don’t have the strength to actively fight these fights because they aren’t “mine”; that I’m holing up in my little privilege bubble and ignoring the suffering of others because I can. Maybe, but I don’t know – it’s not like I’m putting myself out there for gender equality, queer rights, or economic and environmental issues that affect me more directly, either.

There are multitudes of people globally who are directly oppressed by things that they don’t fight, for reasons not including privilege, such as fear of retribution/alienation/losing what little they do have. Maybe I’m one of those, y’know? Because it’s not for lack of caring, or outrage, or horror that I currently stay out of the fray – it’s for lack of energy, stemming from a lack of faith. And perhaps also a shortage of courage. Maybe.

And if I may be so bold as to point out, it is untrue that all these other struggles aren’t “mine” – as a person who is vehemently opposed to all types of oppression, subjugation, and violence, the fact of my unwilling complicity in all these things simply because I buy things/am white/am a citizen of the US is a serious detriment to my psychological and emotional health. Oppressive systems don’t only oppress the obvious victims – they oppress and fuck with every single person living under them. Even those who benefit from them are simultaneously limited by and subjugated by them in ways that are sometimes less obvious, but not always less damaging.

Anyhow, back to my question – what makes an activist? Recently I was discussing feeling depressed with someone in my book club, who referred me to the Bay Area Radical Mental Health Collective. I checked out their website, and it turns out they are a mental health group for activists experiencing burnout. Ahh. Well thank goodness they exist, really. That’s fantastic. But I was trying to imagine myself at a meeting, explaining how I’m not an activist per se, I just think a whole bunch about stuff. Does armchair activism count? Shit. I doubt it.

Well, I found on their site a really great article about something similar to what I’m struggling with. It’s about how activists sometimes need to take mental health breaks (and some more often than others, depending on certain character traits), but feel guilted or judged for doing so because there’s this culture of all-or-nothing 24/7 commitment in most activist circles. It’s well-written and I think anyone who identifies as an activist should read it. And it made me start to feel like maybe I could consider myself an activist after all, because I’m doing what I feel capable of doing right now. And is that possibly all we can fairly ask of each other, if a sincere effort is being made?

I really hope I don’t sound too oblivious – but more than that, I hope that if I do, anyone spotting it will (kindly) let me know. I’m not just saying that – I’m open to being called out. I call myself out all the time. Just be gentle with me, because this was a difficult post to share – it’s kinda personal.

Thanks for reading.

September 19, 2008. Tags: , , , , , . Uncategorized. 4 comments.