It was through chance that I washed up upon the shore, ragged and worn, breathless and beaten. A mere strand on a sandy bar, silenced by the winds brought down by heaven in cold retribution. For what crime was I so deserving of a blessed curse? Stranded in paradise, lost in heaven. I suffer in a land of pleasure for want of happiness. One need only see my strand pulled taught by the norns before me.
On my self I lay blame, for I sailed far from home, forsaking family and friends. To strange seas I wandered, certain I’d find many treasures denied to me before. A rich life to be found in far off lands, where I’d see the markets of the world stretched before me to the horizon. Long was my labor, and poverty my reward. I amassed no fleet, no wealth but the stench of a pauper, and my coffers sat as dry as the deserts I’d scoured in search of gold.
From each land I saw misery in a different tongue. No consolation was to be found, though I could now roll the R’s in my sorrow. Thus my spirit was broken, and I relinquished all notions of riches that remained in my head. I kept my being in modesty, half by choice, half by fate. What could I don to make myself shine like a king? What did I rule to deserve princely robes? So I remained to the shadows ever present, but never seen.
Then by the grace of god, I saw a sign that led me away.
“The Riches of Kings”, it read, letters gilded and gleaming, “A new life in a wondrous land. Beauty springs from every corner and crevice of its surface. Striking natives, wise and true, shaped by hands from on high. All this awaits you across the ocean, a life only fit for the brave!”
My mind decided, I made my way aboard the ship. Its dank underbelly smelled of rot, and it leaked in every cabin. From my arrival I was put to work, learning here that which I could not have learned back home. My tasks demanded of me every fiber of my being; they starved me of sleep and eroded my will. But for what would I live if fun remained alive?
This tale begins with a torrent. A fearsome wind that shook my bones like chimes in a breeze. The ship pitched in the gale, and its wooden frame shattered as planks were ripped from its ribs. And I sat, neurotic and scared, my tongue darting between my lips to moisten what fear had parched. The boat perished for want of a crew, not this assortment of vagabonds that scramble for life in desperation. Among them I found my self, tossed by the drink, bruised by salty and brash hands. It was something to behold, tentative peaks, green and capped with white, rolling hills that descended upon me in destructive grace. The sea took out my anger on me, and I was driven through the ship, far beneath my salvation.
No life flashed before my eyes, and to that I credit my ascension. No water tomb could bar me from an existence unlived, as such my eyes emerged and I searched the water for a savior. Within the wreckage I found my way to a shard of oak, flesh scourged from the back of the ship in tidal flails. All around bobbed the shapes of my comrades, devoid of substance. For millennia I set adrift, neither paddling nor navigating for fear I’d make unrest in the grave. In time I was apart from them, and the shells of my brothers floated away in the distance.
Ages passed and the sea carried me close to nowhere. Perpetually my head would nod and the waves would prolong my exhaustion. I became delirious for need of sleep and in the distance I beheld my prize. A land of riches, just as the sign had lain before me. Trees like brass snakes rose from the earth, their emerald heads broad and handsome. From the center rose a mount so tall as breach the heavens. Smoke rolled down its jagged walls and beneath my line of sight.
No sound came to disturb this vision, nor a specter to explain it. Only present was this island, and an insect on a twig in a puddle. By day as my mind grew enfeebled and my body shorn away, this vision grew in size and morphed in composition. The mountain remained still, as did the trees, but its form filled with a lush jungle pleasing to the eye and glorious to the mind. I held back from releasing my desires for I knew not to hold on to a mirage, it was an image, nothing more, and an image I should let it remain.
At day break my suffering eyes caught glimpse of a flight, and my weary ears heard a piercing cry. To my surprise and delight came a fickle bird, who is duke to three domains. He sits in shallows, holds court in the air, and makes war on earth. I saw him circle a small stretch of water, eyes darting in a search for sustenance, and for his presence I would gladly serve him a pound of my flesh should he ask it. To my mind he brought knowledge that I harbored no hallucinations. The island was real.
My bruised frame could not propel me towards my goal any faster than the waves could carry me. So I floated on, not sure if I’d only see the land of milk and honey. Though it so happens that by midday the lord pushed my on to land, and the waves drove me deep in to the sand. And I lie there, a nothing in no where, but happy to be alive all the same. That is what came to me several hours later, as my eyes forced the salt from their edges and strained to take in the sunlight, for once I was alive.
As the sun faded I could do no more than crawl further away from the waves. I made it no farther than the first dune, only enough so I was at last away from the salty brine. I dare not look deeper into the island; it would make me wonder what I would find there. What flora and fauna, what food and what drink. It was better that I remain on the beach for now, so the night could purge away my past experience, and I could begin on the island anew. Still, my mind did wander and by extension of previous luck I faced life with optimism.
At daybreak, even exhaustion could not contain me, and I broke away from my granular bed. I was dry inside and wet without, but facing me lounged beauty incarnate. I forgot my throat and my bruises, and walked deep into a jungle. My mind and mouth remained speechless; I could do nothing but touch the viridian leaves and luminescent petals. In no tongue exists the words to describe this splendor, for it was an exquisite contradiction. Lush and slight, mannered and wild, loving and harsh. From tree to tree I stepped admiring the past that had come to make this place. For centuries had it built many things greater than myself, no garden could man plant to compare. That which hung from Babylon was a mere park, a bush, a blade of grass. One could not help but believe that man did not lose Eden; rather it shrank and shriveled away in envy of this island.
To speak simply of its menagerie, there existed such creatures as to be found only in the mind of a child. Crystal snakes, birds emblazoned with silver, and butterflies shining and brilliant like sapphires. Ebony sprites rode crickets from leaf to leaf and tussled my hair as they flew over head. It became a concern that god had hidden this land from men. That in this single place dwelt such astonishing creations, a world’s worth of life contained in a single island.
In my awe I forgot of my thirst and hunger, but in a rush it flowed back and I remembered myself. Then thoughts of beauty left me, what good was this haven if it starved me. And I began to think to myself, “Can it feed me, sustain me, quench my thirsts?” I expected no manna, no ambrosia, or apples of Iðunn. I was no stranger to work, so I would beg the island for nothing. If I was to till the earth so be it, I was no urchin, my palms would remain to the ground. But if I tilled the earth, if I worked and struggled and built. If I cleared the brush, and plowed the fields, and planted seeds. If I walked its forests, and kept my ear to the ground, learned its ways, and hunted its game. If I strived and embraced my new home what would be my reward? Would the island feed me, sustain me, quench my thirsts?
And before me fell a fruit, ripe and smooth, golden and red. It called me with its intoxicating scent. I bit, deep in to its flesh and juice ran down my lips. And the desert of my throat became a marsh from its sticky sweetness. I touched the tree from which it had fallen, it was old and shaky. I thanked it for giving me something new.
The day breathed on and journey continued. I had gorged on fruit and nectar, sleeping off the exhaustion, parting ways with my hunger. So I continued, deeper into this strange new world. My mind had left the past few days on the beach. I ached, I trembled, my bruises met scrapes as I pushed my way through the vines, but I pressed on. Joy had subjugated pain.
I came at length to a clearing. A small field of small green plants, not grass, rather tiny ferns making a soft bed on which I could sleep. It was not the ideal home for me in this land. Far from the place where I wanted to be, but I knew the island would permit me no further. It seemed to say my place was here for now, it still held secrets from me. Things I could only know in good time. So it presented me with a clearing, a safe house to dwell in, not for the duration of my stay, but for my initiation. This place felt nice, it was a fine place to begin. I could not rush in to the island’s depths, not yet, not before I knew I could live there. So it gave me this space, a staging ground.
It is difficult to build a life on an ancient island. Me being a virgin Crusoe, and no Friday save good and bad days to aid me. It shames me to think I spent most days deciding what tools I required and what tools I needed build them. It is not easy to begin with a blank slate. What did I know of building? What stones were to form axes? What logs to form planks? In the beginning my best days ended in splinters and blisters, at worst bleeding and despair. So for my first few houses, there were stacks of twigs held by vines and mud. As such they collapsed one by one upon my head each night when I turned in my sleep. To my food supply I settled to foraging. I came to know how each plant produced, how to separate the edible from the poisonous. This was a lesson I learned the hard way. I would reach for an orb with a visage of pure delight, and by night I’d be shivering and howling into the air.
By luck I came upon a brook not far from my clearing. It swelled with bubbling water, sweet and cool to my lips. Even on my worst days it was there, when my hand throbbed from a failed attempt at making rope, or my throat burned from a deceitful fruit, the brook remained ever flowing. I could remain there, as its current ran over me, and I could release my fear as it curled around my fingers and washed away my hurt. But I had to leave it everyday. I could not waste its time or my own. There was too much to be done and I know the brook tired of me some days. So to two minutes I shortened my bathing, less if there was more work that day. But even when I was cold, I would go to the brook, because then I could always understand.
In time I came to find a niche. I made a hut, tools, and rope. I made fire, and smoked fish, trapped animals, and made clothes. I imagine that I looked horrid though. My furs were misshapen. For a needle I used fishbone and to cut I sharp rocks. I was feral and in need of a shave and a warm bath, but indeed such things did not concern me. I had become part of the island; I had made myself become part of beauty incarnate. I knew its forest, its creatures, and its plants. I could tell by its winds when a storm would come, or how to tend to its plants so as to preserve the balance.
Or so I believed. I was naïve to think that I could snare some rodents and plant some taro, and suddenly I too was beautiful. To think that I, some castaway had become part of this body. That this island needed me as I needed it. Was I any better than a leech? What did I contribute? By taking its resources and eating its food. By sleeping in it and upon it? I’d wake up and it would feed me, and pity me. Such a fragile thing dependent upon it for life. And on such days, when these thoughts crossed my mind I hated the island. I hated it for being beautiful, and for being so much greater than me. Hated it, because I needed it, and its weather decided when I would sleep. How dependent I had become upon it not just for life but for existence. I hated the island because through its rocks, and its trees, and it creatures, and its plants, and its mercy I was able to eek out an existence.
And I couldn’t hate the island, because it hadn’t hurt me. It never tried to. It was open for me, to wander, taste, breathe, and live. But I couldn’t be more for it, and I couldn’t make it more for me. How I wanted it to bear fruit for me. For me to bring something new from its earth, so that I could be more than just a part of creation. Something that I could share with it, so we would be equals.
My wanderings eased my pain. All alone with the island, walking through the trees, I could apologize silently for my anger. It was truly magnificent, and I’d observe with awe its majesty. I walked with a knife in hand, a small blade of stone on wood. Though I trusted the island harbored no one else like me, fear would overtake me when I considered others here.
On one such journey, I set out in a direction I had forgotten. Towards the mountain, towards the center. With me I brought much food and gourds of water, silently I expected a long journey. And I came to the wall, the edge of the mountain, gray and porous. I felt it, cold and indifferent, it stood against nothing in particular. It was far too steep for climb, even having been trained by the island for difficulty, I was not yet ready to traverse its peak. So I attempted to circumvent. Around its edge I walked, nearly missing the cave. But it could not escape my eye for its roundness. Nearly perfect, chiseled and arched in such a way as to appear made by human hand. So I entered to find a tunnel, long and dark, with only enough light to see my next step before me. Holes ran the length of the ceiling emitting enough sunlight as to quell my fears.
The floor of this path was smooth and unblemished, had there been enough light I’m sure it would have been polished and sparkling. I walked for hours until my feet ached and I stopped to rest at a particularly bright area. I sat and sipped water from my gourd and sighed into the cavern. Why did I want to know more? What would I gain from going deeper in to this depth? I continued still, perhaps out of morbid curiosity.
I was astonished to discover what I’d found. I had been walked for hours, I covered several miles, I was tired and hot, so I hoped my eyes were lying to me out of fatigue. But I could sense not a single deception. A wasteland, barren and dry. No lush garden, not bubbling brooks. Not a creature stirred, and no plants rose from the earth save the skeletons of dead trees. The ground was cracked and scarred, it bled dust. As far as the eye could see the broken ground was crisscrossed with brown lines cut by drought. No mirage, merely desolation.
It is hard to conceive of it as the same island, that beyond the thriving forest lie the end times. I continued on as I saw shapes in the distance, and they beckoned me like a lost child returning home. As I passed I saw familiar shapes with new faces. There were the trees like bronze snakes, their emerald heads severed. The viridian greens now the color of the sun baked mud. I saw the skeletons of silver birds, bleached a hideous white. All around me the earth was wounded.
The deeper I went the grander the distant shapes became. Great stone edifices jutting from the ground. And again I prayed my eyes had deceived me. These buildings so grand, remained silent. This was, I soon discovered, the remnants of a civilization long past. Traces of a once great people, their story now lost to the ages. As I approached the edge of this majestic city, I hesitated for feared I’d discover what I wanted to know.
From street to street I walked silently. No conversation occurred between me and the relics, only observation, me of them and them of me. Each house, made of wood and stone, was open; inside sat the unused necessities of life. Children’s toys remained joyless in the yards, carts of cloth stayed unsold, and everywhere the wind whipped with no one to feel it. I could only guess what each building was for, the island could not tell me their purpose. A store house, a mill, a bakery, and a school house. Far to the left were the fields, once filled with cassava and squash I imagine. Near the center was the market. The booths remained intact, but the whir of business and gossip were long dead.
I came at last upon a temple, the largest of all the structures. It still reigned in this necropolis, a king amongst the dead. I climbed its many stairs, walked its many halls. I arrived at last before the altar. Above stood the effigy of a goddess. It was well crafted, as were all things done by these people. Her features were soft and warm, and her hands stretched out to embrace her people. The goddess seemed to trust, but what trust could be given to subjects who were not there. On the altar, all that remained were seeds, the leftovers of sacrificed flowers, brought too late when the island was already dead.
I could not remain there for very long. To stare at the face of a goddess that had fallen, who’s believers were gone, to stare at her beautiful but sad face was more than I could bear. So I sat, on the stairs of the temple, high above the city, looking out over the ruins in a land of want. Before long I got in my own head and I was joined by the souls of the fallen. I recalled my meager hut, my pitiful axe, and my fruitless labor. To compare them to massive temples, and houses of stone. They had carts drawn by beasts of burden, and I resemble a beast my self. On their walls and in their holy places were the letters of scribes and wise men. In their town squares sat amphitheaters and bath houses. They had culture and power, and I have a clearing in a jungle. The island let them in, gave them quarries and lumber. It told them secrets and gave them essence. The island was their culture, and here I am, a castaway grateful to merely catch a glimpse of what others dwelled in.
What hope did I have, when better men came before me and failed? Men of strength and wisdom. Men of experience who’s knowledge far surpassed my meager education. What do my words compare against that of their best poets? What can my tools make of this island that their architects could not construct with ease? My whistles and songs are like a child's lullaby next to the drums of their musicians. And I hope to survive. I hope to survive where their farmers, who brought crops high from the ground, starved to death?
How could I live? Mere months in this land, and a nation here for millennia crumbled. How could someone so green and new, so inexperienced and naïve hope to out last the elements? They knew secrets I never would, knew the island better than I know myself. And the island embraced them, made them kings and gods. It gave them food and water and life. The island let them in and showed them beauty. The island trusted them and together they built magnificent cities. Better men had tried and failed…
Why had I not floated to a different shore? Or still, no shore at all? Then by gods divine mercy I’d be free. I wouldn’t know beauty or the fear of losing it. I wouldn’t tremble for fear the island would consume me and add me to its list of souls. But what other land would I prefer? I’ve been from land to kingdom, kingdom to nation, nation to empire. Continent after continent, and all the while I was miserable. I found no happiness, not in the exotic or the mundane. I found no joy in anything, save this land. When I walk through its forests and my mind fills with poetry. Or when I swim in its waters and feel life flowing through me. And I don’t think I could go back to what passed for existence before the island.
That night as I sat in my hut, exhausted from the journey back, sleep eluded me. I sat and stared at the stars. So bright and vibrant in the sky. Some nights the island reminded me why I was happy there. But for all the happiness, my mind would fly back to the ruins. To the other part of the island, that prevented me from losing myself in the moment. That wounded desert prevented my happiness, because I wouldn’t allow myself to forget it. Would I have the chance to achieve such great things? Would I have the chance to fail? Or would I remain here, and when my life passed away no trace would be left of me. It is troubling to believe that I was not the greatest of the inhabitants, and possibly not the last. I wanted this to be my island but more still I wanted the island and I to be one in the same. But such a task is difficult when one is insignificant. Greater men had left their mark, in art, in stone, and in words…but also in scars, in wounds, in desolation. I wonder if the two go hand in hand.
The ruins haunted my memory. It made no sense, how such a great people could fall so far. That such a relationship, so symbiotic and pure could be torn asunder. That the ancients betrayed their island and bled it dry, left in nearly unfit for future generations. In time I came to understand that the island I knew, the one of plenty and splendor was such a small part. The island had been ravaged through out, and the drought spread to nearly every corner. It became clear that it was not the island could not sustain life, but that life could not sustain the island. The more I searched of the island the more I found cleared forests, fields devoid of nutrients from over use, and rivers dried from excessive irrigation. And I saw that this society, while powerful, was not perfect. Still they lasted longer than I had been there. They had their existence and their happiness, and in my mind I still could not see how long I would last. Alone, in a strange new world, simple and honest, perhaps I was not cut out for this type of life.
Still though, I’m alive and they exist only in memory. It is likely the forest will consume me, and I’ll remain little more than a skeleton lost in a jungle. I’ll leave no great monuments and they’ll be no trace that I was here. Some days I go into the forest and I come back bloody and bruised and others I come back exhausted with joy. I don’t know if that’s enough, most days it seems like it isn’t. But where else would I belong?
This is what I thought to myself yesterday as I made my way through the cavern to return to the ruins. And when I arrived I stopped to behold the damage which existed deep within the island. And with my meager shovel I dug a whole, and then another and still another. In to each I placed a sapling, much like myself, green and naïve, and alone in a strange new world. Most were not cut out for this type of life. To each I gave a drink, water from the bubbling brook that rejuvenated me every day. To each I gave a prayer, from my heart that gives me hope every day. And I left to find a river, to keep my trees alive in this wounded earth, so that they could one day bear fruit for me and bandage the island.
So to the finder of this, my life on a parchment, sealed in a gourd, I hope my tale reaches you well. It is my hope that one day you stumble upon this island, beauty incarnate, and find it alive. Its body covered in trees and luminescent flowers. Walk its earth and through its mountains, and come upon its ruins choked and cloaked by vines. May you find it with the wounded ground healed, and its rivers clear and sweet. This is my wish, nothing more.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Kroger Confidential
"I'm headed for bigger and better things.”
A phrase I repeated ad nauseam to myself every time a customer yelled at me because the grapes were priced wrong. Soon enough I'll be off to college, discussing Marx and Du Bois, well beyond the scent of old fruit and industrial cleaners. No cleaning schedules to make, no white washed renditions of Marvin Gaye songs blaring over the loud speakers, most importantly no Kroger.
These thoughts swam around my brain whenever I was face down in a crumpled newspaper, eagerly awaiting the beep of the microwave in the break room. The spastic air conditioner would hack and cough, drowning my exhausted body in a swell of mechanical desperation. I could identify with that machine, it kept going, but lord how it needed a break.
"Are you aware that Kroger makes products to compete with most national brands? You owe it to yourself to try Kroger brand items..."
The loudspeaker would wake me from my dozing; you'd think you would become used to the announcements after a while. As if they'd become white noise, like crickets or late night traffic, but what good would they be if you could ignore them? That voice, a sickly sweet mixture of genuine interest and concern. Somewhere there existed a woman truly excited that Kroger brand Pasta Sauce had real Italian flavor, just like the national brand. This woman was so proud of her discovery that she took it upon herself to inform every customer in the store over the loud speaker. I always wondered if these advertisements ever convinced anyone to put down their jar of Ragu in order to grab Kroger brand Tomato flavored Sauce (now with mushrooms!!!).
30 minutes. Enough time for the numbness in your feet to wear off so you can feel pain again. I only got a lunch those days. There was never anyone to give supervisors breaks, so I had to wait for a lull in the waves of customers, shove my keys into the hand of the least incompetent cashier and run off before someone could stop me with a problem. There was no guarantee I wasn't going to be called back to scan alcohol for someone, or to make a money exchange, but at least if I made it to the back of the store before that happened I could vocalize my indignation with some justification.
There was a process to taking a break at this store. You learn it when you’re a bagger, usually within your first week after you've shaken off the horrific memories of company training videos. First you head to the front end time clock and press a bunch of buttons. Just make it look like you’re clocking out, no point in giving your self less time if you don't have to. If a manager comes by, your shit outta luck, but the managers wouldn't dare come down to the front end unless they had a good reason, like a regional manager showed up, or they were about to take an obscenely long lunch. The second step is to scramble around the store to find something to eat. It's kind of painful to give money back to the store that is working you to death, but it's just so damn convenient. Finally you head back to the break room, clock out, sit down, and entertain fantasies about the wonderful jobs at Foot Locker or Applebee's you'll get once you finally work up the nerve to quit.
I often made the mistake of trying to take book into the break room with me. I'd
finish eating my over priced Kroger Cheese filled Hot Pouch and try desperately to make it through the same two pages of East of Eden for 20 minutes.
"What you readin?"
"East of Eden"
"Oh, is it good?"
"I don't know yet"
"Who's it by?"
".......Steinbeck"
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt"
"It's cool; I'm just trying to finish this chapter before I have to go back...."
"Oh ok"
.................
"You know...."
At this point I'd insert a book mark to hold my place and hope for the best later that day.
"What?"
"I like to read to..."
"You don't say...."
"You ever read anything by Zane"
"I can't say that I have"
"You should, it's good"
"....."
"Oh, well I've got to go back now, see you in a bit".
I used to try and resume reading after these conversations ended, but what was the point. Before I even resumed my place someone else would suggest I read Eric Jerome Dickey, or ask me what I thought about the Titans, or any number of things I found only slightly more interesting than going back to work.
I don't blame them though, they weren't trying to bother me, they were trying to hold on to the last strains of humanity that Kroger afforded them. I just wish they could have found a way to do so that didn't involve me. Before I knew it, my time would be whittled down to a meager 2 minutes, the point at which the overwhelming sense of dread and doom consumed the average worker. It was this terror that could only be felt in the pit of the stomach, twisting and knotting its self around the soul, obliterating all memories of joy and self worth. It was time to resume life amongst the horde; it was time to face the locusts.
"Yes mam, you can make exchanges at customer service.....No sir rain checks can not be used on multiple orders....Kalisha the code is 4011....I apologize miss I'll have someone help you out to your car immediately...Well sir we are having a sale, most items on sale will be running low by this time of day...Sir, I don't control what they do at other Krogers, at this one rain checks are void after their first use....I'll have someone check in the back....Why isn't Jeremy getting carts? Well who is getting carts? Why is she getting carts? She has carts at 8 not 7. You can't just switch cart times without telling me No, don't leave I'll get Jeremy.....Sir, I can get you a manger if you want, but he'll tell you what I'm telling you, the rain check issue isn't negotiable....Why isn't Dana at her register? You don't think that's something you should have told me?....No you can't take your break, you've were outside for ten minutes talking instead of getting carts, I'm pushing your break back until 7:45. The hell I can't. Ok, go ahead and quit it isn't like you do a whole lot of work anyway....WHERE IS DANA DAMN IT?"
9 hours most days (up to 15 some days), over 40 hours a week of bickering and pettiness, and swollen feet, and bloodshot eyes. For Under 300 dollars a week. I know I worked harder than 300 dollars a week. I know because I wasn't really a supervisor...I was a janitor, a baby sitter, a secretary, a customer service rep, a mediator and a counselor, and an accountant.
But every week I'd rip open my check and feel a flood of mixed emotions. Happy I wasn't making minimum wage anymore, upset I received such ridiculous compensation for smiling at customers while they spewed flecks of spit on my face as they complained about having to wait 2 extra minutes for a propane exchange. My only consolation was that I was somewhat lucky; some of my fellow employees had to raise a family on less.
By 10 it would be quiet, only a few customers remained walking down the bare aisles picked clean like a carcass. The store usually played better music at night, because god forbid the daytime customers be exposed to the hyper sexualized and offensive lyrics of Earth Wind and Fire and Bobby Caldwell. Usually by this time I'd set about my task of counting down the registers, filling the change machines up and preparing the store for the night shift. It was always a relief when I could lock myself in the safe room, blast Illmatic at concert level decibels, and count money in piece.
Thousands would sit before me, all neatly packaged in bundles of large and small denominations. The store took in more money in one day than I'd make all year. And it all went to paying for the red and ash gray shirts I had to wear, the spill magic cleaner that resembled blue asbestos, and mostly in to the pocket of some big wig executive that I'd never meet unless he needed a photo op with a Black employee.
If I focused I could get out before midnight, usually minutes before my ride called it quits and left without me. As I walked out the night shift walked in, fresh and ready to make the store ready for customers in the morning.
"Hey Manuel..."
"Hey Aaron...u look tired man"
"Yeah, I'm so sick of this place...today was a bitch. The Customers were
relentless; it was like a zombie movie."
"If there were no customers we'd both be unemployed."
"Been reading the employee info posters again?"
"When do you leave?"
"September, my last day is the 3rd."
"Good luck man, study hard."
"Yeah, I don't plan on coming back here."
"It aint so bad, I mean it’s helping to pay for my tuition."
"You started school again?"
"Of course man, I'm moving on to bigger and better things."
A phrase I repeated ad nauseam to myself every time a customer yelled at me because the grapes were priced wrong. Soon enough I'll be off to college, discussing Marx and Du Bois, well beyond the scent of old fruit and industrial cleaners. No cleaning schedules to make, no white washed renditions of Marvin Gaye songs blaring over the loud speakers, most importantly no Kroger.
These thoughts swam around my brain whenever I was face down in a crumpled newspaper, eagerly awaiting the beep of the microwave in the break room. The spastic air conditioner would hack and cough, drowning my exhausted body in a swell of mechanical desperation. I could identify with that machine, it kept going, but lord how it needed a break.
"Are you aware that Kroger makes products to compete with most national brands? You owe it to yourself to try Kroger brand items..."
The loudspeaker would wake me from my dozing; you'd think you would become used to the announcements after a while. As if they'd become white noise, like crickets or late night traffic, but what good would they be if you could ignore them? That voice, a sickly sweet mixture of genuine interest and concern. Somewhere there existed a woman truly excited that Kroger brand Pasta Sauce had real Italian flavor, just like the national brand. This woman was so proud of her discovery that she took it upon herself to inform every customer in the store over the loud speaker. I always wondered if these advertisements ever convinced anyone to put down their jar of Ragu in order to grab Kroger brand Tomato flavored Sauce (now with mushrooms!!!).
30 minutes. Enough time for the numbness in your feet to wear off so you can feel pain again. I only got a lunch those days. There was never anyone to give supervisors breaks, so I had to wait for a lull in the waves of customers, shove my keys into the hand of the least incompetent cashier and run off before someone could stop me with a problem. There was no guarantee I wasn't going to be called back to scan alcohol for someone, or to make a money exchange, but at least if I made it to the back of the store before that happened I could vocalize my indignation with some justification.
There was a process to taking a break at this store. You learn it when you’re a bagger, usually within your first week after you've shaken off the horrific memories of company training videos. First you head to the front end time clock and press a bunch of buttons. Just make it look like you’re clocking out, no point in giving your self less time if you don't have to. If a manager comes by, your shit outta luck, but the managers wouldn't dare come down to the front end unless they had a good reason, like a regional manager showed up, or they were about to take an obscenely long lunch. The second step is to scramble around the store to find something to eat. It's kind of painful to give money back to the store that is working you to death, but it's just so damn convenient. Finally you head back to the break room, clock out, sit down, and entertain fantasies about the wonderful jobs at Foot Locker or Applebee's you'll get once you finally work up the nerve to quit.
I often made the mistake of trying to take book into the break room with me. I'd
finish eating my over priced Kroger Cheese filled Hot Pouch and try desperately to make it through the same two pages of East of Eden for 20 minutes.
"What you readin?"
"East of Eden"
"Oh, is it good?"
"I don't know yet"
"Who's it by?"
".......Steinbeck"
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt"
"It's cool; I'm just trying to finish this chapter before I have to go back...."
"Oh ok"
.................
"You know...."
At this point I'd insert a book mark to hold my place and hope for the best later that day.
"What?"
"I like to read to..."
"You don't say...."
"You ever read anything by Zane"
"I can't say that I have"
"You should, it's good"
"....."
"Oh, well I've got to go back now, see you in a bit".
I used to try and resume reading after these conversations ended, but what was the point. Before I even resumed my place someone else would suggest I read Eric Jerome Dickey, or ask me what I thought about the Titans, or any number of things I found only slightly more interesting than going back to work.
I don't blame them though, they weren't trying to bother me, they were trying to hold on to the last strains of humanity that Kroger afforded them. I just wish they could have found a way to do so that didn't involve me. Before I knew it, my time would be whittled down to a meager 2 minutes, the point at which the overwhelming sense of dread and doom consumed the average worker. It was this terror that could only be felt in the pit of the stomach, twisting and knotting its self around the soul, obliterating all memories of joy and self worth. It was time to resume life amongst the horde; it was time to face the locusts.
"Yes mam, you can make exchanges at customer service.....No sir rain checks can not be used on multiple orders....Kalisha the code is 4011....I apologize miss I'll have someone help you out to your car immediately...Well sir we are having a sale, most items on sale will be running low by this time of day...Sir, I don't control what they do at other Krogers, at this one rain checks are void after their first use....I'll have someone check in the back....Why isn't Jeremy getting carts? Well who is getting carts? Why is she getting carts? She has carts at 8 not 7. You can't just switch cart times without telling me No, don't leave I'll get Jeremy.....Sir, I can get you a manger if you want, but he'll tell you what I'm telling you, the rain check issue isn't negotiable....Why isn't Dana at her register? You don't think that's something you should have told me?....No you can't take your break, you've were outside for ten minutes talking instead of getting carts, I'm pushing your break back until 7:45. The hell I can't. Ok, go ahead and quit it isn't like you do a whole lot of work anyway....WHERE IS DANA DAMN IT?"
9 hours most days (up to 15 some days), over 40 hours a week of bickering and pettiness, and swollen feet, and bloodshot eyes. For Under 300 dollars a week. I know I worked harder than 300 dollars a week. I know because I wasn't really a supervisor...I was a janitor, a baby sitter, a secretary, a customer service rep, a mediator and a counselor, and an accountant.
But every week I'd rip open my check and feel a flood of mixed emotions. Happy I wasn't making minimum wage anymore, upset I received such ridiculous compensation for smiling at customers while they spewed flecks of spit on my face as they complained about having to wait 2 extra minutes for a propane exchange. My only consolation was that I was somewhat lucky; some of my fellow employees had to raise a family on less.
By 10 it would be quiet, only a few customers remained walking down the bare aisles picked clean like a carcass. The store usually played better music at night, because god forbid the daytime customers be exposed to the hyper sexualized and offensive lyrics of Earth Wind and Fire and Bobby Caldwell. Usually by this time I'd set about my task of counting down the registers, filling the change machines up and preparing the store for the night shift. It was always a relief when I could lock myself in the safe room, blast Illmatic at concert level decibels, and count money in piece.
Thousands would sit before me, all neatly packaged in bundles of large and small denominations. The store took in more money in one day than I'd make all year. And it all went to paying for the red and ash gray shirts I had to wear, the spill magic cleaner that resembled blue asbestos, and mostly in to the pocket of some big wig executive that I'd never meet unless he needed a photo op with a Black employee.
If I focused I could get out before midnight, usually minutes before my ride called it quits and left without me. As I walked out the night shift walked in, fresh and ready to make the store ready for customers in the morning.
"Hey Manuel..."
"Hey Aaron...u look tired man"
"Yeah, I'm so sick of this place...today was a bitch. The Customers were
relentless; it was like a zombie movie."
"If there were no customers we'd both be unemployed."
"Been reading the employee info posters again?"
"When do you leave?"
"September, my last day is the 3rd."
"Good luck man, study hard."
"Yeah, I don't plan on coming back here."
"It aint so bad, I mean it’s helping to pay for my tuition."
"You started school again?"
"Of course man, I'm moving on to bigger and better things."
Monday, February 26, 2007
A Prisoner of Logic
Faith is shaken, beaten and rattled, nearly knocked into submission. It lies fetal, barely moving lest the Mind dash it again for speaking out. Logic is its tyrant. Cold and heartless, correct and soulless. Faith whispers, telling stories to the inmates: Joy, and the long caged Hope. Silent stories of magic and love waft through the bars, lifting spirits and saving souls.
With a clang comes reality, hard against the gate. "What nonsense" Mind cries, as Logic dictates the list of crimes to the punished. "To Joy 15 years, reckless endangerment. Hope, 10 for perjury. And Faith, Two Lifetimes, for treason. Society is now safe from this refuse that tainted its streets. There is order now."
"And what of happiness", Faith whispers far beyond the cell. "What of mornings with love and warmth beside you in bed? Of small pleasures found in life's follies, of jokes hidden in the most mundane?"
"What of sadness", Mind replies, "What of loneliness and want? What of longing and regret? What of the lies you told and those told to you?"
Faith rose upon battered legs with his arms braced against bars.
"What lies? What lies have I told to warrant such abuse? Such callous hatred, such spiteful scorn? That I said to hang on? To Trust? To Love? Tell me, what strikes have I to be locked away?"
Mind turned to face Faith. "Look at you, your an anachronism. You are a remnant of something needed long ago. Something primitive and weak. Why you ask, are you confined to this zoo? Have we not proven your guilt? Your trial was more than fair, were there not scientists, and psychiatrists, and experts of every kind? Did you not have counsel? Were there not witnesses who saw you betray your sovereign? Your guilt was shown systematically. With reason there are no shadows no doubts. Logic exposed your lies, and for that you are here."
"But of what am I guilty?"
"You are guilty of That which is most terrible. You turned on your people. You told us to put our trust in another. To be easy and free, to let go, and to loosen our grip. You took our sovereignty, you made us slaves."
"And did you?"
"Did we what?"
"Did you trust? When did you believe me? When you tossed and turned night after night? When you worried for hours on end? When you clutched and grabbed? When you fulfilled your own prophecies? When you and Logic deduced your own truth? You trusted nothing, believed in no one. You saw ghosts and demons, made villains and scapegoats. And you believed Logic. Believed when he told you the worst was possible. Yet you silenced me when I said the best was attainable. You believed him when he whispered that the road would be lined with potholes and debris, but not me when I told of the beautiful land to be seen on the journey. You feared pain and received, and for this I am punished."
"I've heard enough. I'll not sit by and listen to such slander against the innocent, myself included."
"What shall I admit to? Ah yes, my advice was not perfect perhaps? Are there demons and villains? Are there potholes and debris? Almost certainly. But are we better for having sabotaged ourselves? Why give another the opportunity to hurt us? We can do that all alone."
"Why indeed"
"Because another can also help us. Another can see us without ego, without doubt. Another can simply see us clearly, and see us without. Another can also make us smile, and heal our wounds. I never said that to trust wouldn't ruin our sleep some nights, or leave us with scars. I just thought it better to smile with scars than to live life alone. None of us are innocent, some are just less guilty than others. From where I stand, you are on the wrong side of these bars."
Mind snapped and grabbed Faith through the bars. Mind raised his club and with a crack Faith crumpled to the floor, fingers still clinging to Mind's jacket. Another strike from Mind and Faith remained still, face upon the cold stone, in a fresh red pool. Joy and Hope sat with their eyes never leaving Faith, wishing they could comfort him in his cage.
"That's enough of that, lights out," Mind said as he shut the door behind him.
"Such a shame," sighed Hope
"Sometimes he doesn't know when he's beaten," added Joy.
"And other times Faith pays off in the end," came a whisper from the slumped body on the floor.
"What?" came the unified call from the inmates.
"You've lost, let it go and serve your time," cried Hope
"Let it never be said that Faith was all for naught," Faith said as he rose from the bloody floor, "Tonight I leave this hell. No longer will I be a prisoner to the Mind and logic."
"How?" asked Joy, "Do you think you convinced him of your worth? How hard did he hit you? Are you still so delusional? Nothing you say can grant you freedom. Do you think you've made him believe?"
Faith smiled through bloodied lips and straightened his broken body as a hint of gold flashed in his hands, "Of course not....I just stole his key."
With a clang comes reality, hard against the gate. "What nonsense" Mind cries, as Logic dictates the list of crimes to the punished. "To Joy 15 years, reckless endangerment. Hope, 10 for perjury. And Faith, Two Lifetimes, for treason. Society is now safe from this refuse that tainted its streets. There is order now."
"And what of happiness", Faith whispers far beyond the cell. "What of mornings with love and warmth beside you in bed? Of small pleasures found in life's follies, of jokes hidden in the most mundane?"
"What of sadness", Mind replies, "What of loneliness and want? What of longing and regret? What of the lies you told and those told to you?"
Faith rose upon battered legs with his arms braced against bars.
"What lies? What lies have I told to warrant such abuse? Such callous hatred, such spiteful scorn? That I said to hang on? To Trust? To Love? Tell me, what strikes have I to be locked away?"
Mind turned to face Faith. "Look at you, your an anachronism. You are a remnant of something needed long ago. Something primitive and weak. Why you ask, are you confined to this zoo? Have we not proven your guilt? Your trial was more than fair, were there not scientists, and psychiatrists, and experts of every kind? Did you not have counsel? Were there not witnesses who saw you betray your sovereign? Your guilt was shown systematically. With reason there are no shadows no doubts. Logic exposed your lies, and for that you are here."
"But of what am I guilty?"
"You are guilty of That which is most terrible. You turned on your people. You told us to put our trust in another. To be easy and free, to let go, and to loosen our grip. You took our sovereignty, you made us slaves."
"And did you?"
"Did we what?"
"Did you trust? When did you believe me? When you tossed and turned night after night? When you worried for hours on end? When you clutched and grabbed? When you fulfilled your own prophecies? When you and Logic deduced your own truth? You trusted nothing, believed in no one. You saw ghosts and demons, made villains and scapegoats. And you believed Logic. Believed when he told you the worst was possible. Yet you silenced me when I said the best was attainable. You believed him when he whispered that the road would be lined with potholes and debris, but not me when I told of the beautiful land to be seen on the journey. You feared pain and received, and for this I am punished."
"I've heard enough. I'll not sit by and listen to such slander against the innocent, myself included."
"What shall I admit to? Ah yes, my advice was not perfect perhaps? Are there demons and villains? Are there potholes and debris? Almost certainly. But are we better for having sabotaged ourselves? Why give another the opportunity to hurt us? We can do that all alone."
"Why indeed"
"Because another can also help us. Another can see us without ego, without doubt. Another can simply see us clearly, and see us without. Another can also make us smile, and heal our wounds. I never said that to trust wouldn't ruin our sleep some nights, or leave us with scars. I just thought it better to smile with scars than to live life alone. None of us are innocent, some are just less guilty than others. From where I stand, you are on the wrong side of these bars."
Mind snapped and grabbed Faith through the bars. Mind raised his club and with a crack Faith crumpled to the floor, fingers still clinging to Mind's jacket. Another strike from Mind and Faith remained still, face upon the cold stone, in a fresh red pool. Joy and Hope sat with their eyes never leaving Faith, wishing they could comfort him in his cage.
"That's enough of that, lights out," Mind said as he shut the door behind him.
"Such a shame," sighed Hope
"Sometimes he doesn't know when he's beaten," added Joy.
"And other times Faith pays off in the end," came a whisper from the slumped body on the floor.
"What?" came the unified call from the inmates.
"You've lost, let it go and serve your time," cried Hope
"Let it never be said that Faith was all for naught," Faith said as he rose from the bloody floor, "Tonight I leave this hell. No longer will I be a prisoner to the Mind and logic."
"How?" asked Joy, "Do you think you convinced him of your worth? How hard did he hit you? Are you still so delusional? Nothing you say can grant you freedom. Do you think you've made him believe?"
Faith smiled through bloodied lips and straightened his broken body as a hint of gold flashed in his hands, "Of course not....I just stole his key."
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Ibuprofen for the Soul
The divide beetween need and want. What I need is clarity. What I want is happiness. What I get is confusion. Across this chasm spreads a rope, taught and slim, spanning the vast expanse that extends miles beneath me. And I inch my way along, but I've got terrible balance. So i creep across, as the wind makes me weary legs wobble, and my vertigo kicks in. So I hang on to the rope, hands raw, legs wrapped around the rope, choking it because it wants to save me.
And as I sit, sqaure in the center, as I sway in the breeze, I see the two edges drift into the distance. And I'm stuck...miles away from sanity. So now I get to stay, neither happy nor clear, somewhere in between. Happy when I look north, clear when I gaze south. But I can't remember in which direction I'm going. Where I started and where I'm going.
Below me there is the abyss, joyfull to be hold. This massive crevice calling me, to release and be free, of the rope, of desire, of need, of want. And for a moment, my fingers slip, just enough for me to feel a rush of weightlessness. And then in an instant I'd catch myself...I reaffirm my grip on the rope, and once again I'm caught between want and desire.
Every now and again I'll make a move, not sure which bank will be better for me. But I move, never sure which way will grant me peace, not sure when the rope will snap, but I move. And you will find me a mere dot in the expanse, sad and cloudy, happy and clear.
And as I sit, sqaure in the center, as I sway in the breeze, I see the two edges drift into the distance. And I'm stuck...miles away from sanity. So now I get to stay, neither happy nor clear, somewhere in between. Happy when I look north, clear when I gaze south. But I can't remember in which direction I'm going. Where I started and where I'm going.
Below me there is the abyss, joyfull to be hold. This massive crevice calling me, to release and be free, of the rope, of desire, of need, of want. And for a moment, my fingers slip, just enough for me to feel a rush of weightlessness. And then in an instant I'd catch myself...I reaffirm my grip on the rope, and once again I'm caught between want and desire.
Every now and again I'll make a move, not sure which bank will be better for me. But I move, never sure which way will grant me peace, not sure when the rope will snap, but I move. And you will find me a mere dot in the expanse, sad and cloudy, happy and clear.
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Wars On Christmas
On behalf of the people of the United States of America I implore you to join your countrymen in defending our way of life from those who would do us harm, I'm reffering to the insatiable Empire of Secular Progressives. We stood idly by when they forced our sons to have same sex weddings and made abortions mandatory for our daughters. Well no more. Today these anti-American agitators have gone to far, they have declared war upon Americas most holy creation...Christmas. They are pushing their multicultural agenda upon us, asking us to take part in a variety of heathen festivals that I'm sure would disgust the Marquis de Sade. Last time I read my bible (which was about 10 minutes prior to typing this) I distinctly remember noting that the infant christ recieved gold, frankincense, and myrrh...not latkas, pahos, or whatever voodoo crap Karenga Claus hands out on Kwanzaa. So I ask you, my brothers and sisters in the struggle...take up arms with me and together we can drive this secular menace back into the sea!!!
Oh...and before we go to battle I thought I'd share some information on others who will be doing some fighting of their own this Holiday Season...
Somali Civil War
Combatants: Islamic Court Unions, Islamist Militias, Eritrea, & Foriegn Jihadists vs. ARPCT(Alliance of Somali Warlords), Transitional Federal Parliment of Somalia, Puntland, Rahanweyn Resistance Army, & Ethiopia.
The Issue At Hand: While Somalia has been war torn for some time, the ICU recently took over the capital Mogadishu and is currently in control of the majority of the Country. The ICU has claimed that they wish to bring the entire nation under Quranic law. In July of 2006 Ethiopia deployed troops as well as tanks and attack helicopters into Somalia. Tensions have escalated ever since. Many see this conflict as a means for Ethiopia and Eritrea to continue agressions against one another.
Recent Developments: On December 19th the ICU declared that it would press the attack, however on December 20th fighting broke out between Somali and ICU forces near Baioda. Recently Ethiopia has joined the fray in Baioda and is attempting to push back the ICU from the Parliment's only remaining bastion.
Central African War (The CAR Civil War, the Darfur Conflict, and the Chadian-Sudanese Conflict)
Combatants: Sudan backed rebels, Chad Rebels, UFDR Rebels, & Janjaweed vs. Central African Republic, Chad, & France.
The Issue At Hand: Three seperate hostilities, the CAR Civil War, the Darfur Conflict, and the Chadian-Sudanese conflict have merged into a grand conflict taking place in all three of the nations mentioned. The Central African Republic accused the Sudanese government of backing and aiding the UFDR in the CAR civil war leading to hostilities between the two governments. As a result Sudanese forces including the Janjaweed are now hostile towards CAR forces. In addition Chad is currently hostile towards the Sudan due to the Janjaweed raiding villages and towns in Chad. Over 200,000 refugees from the Sudan have sought asylumin Chad leading many officials in the nation to claim that the Sudanese are trying to spread their conflict into other regions. Finally both sides claim that the other is funding various rebel groups attempting to distabalize the respective nations. As a result of both the CAR and Chad bordering the Darfur region, many feel that the Darfur conflict has spread into other nations.
Iraqi Civil War
Combatants: Al-Qaeda in Iraq, Islamic Army in Iraq, Mohammad's Army, Black Banner Organization, Ba'ath Loyalists, Various Sunni Militias vs. Mahdi Army, Badr Organization, Various Shiite Militias.
The Issue at Hand: While the Iraq war is still going on, it has become clear that the nation has fractioned to the point of a civil war (or is at least on the brink of a civil war). The various factions have utilized the country's instability and the impotence of the New Iraqi government to carry out attacks against one another. This conflict has resulted in the deaths of possibly over half a million Iraqis, the assassinations of various Iraqi govt. officials, the destruction of non-military targets, in addition to turning over 1 million Iraqis in to refugees.
...Those are real wars...just some of the real wars going on in the world right now. I'd like to tell the Bill O'Reillies of the World to cut the War on Christmas Crap. We should all be grateful that we even get to enjoy this time with our families. We should be grateful that we aren't being forced from our homes as tanks storm through our neighborhoods. We should be grateful that there aren't bullets whizzing by our heads and that the only lights we'll be seeing are from Christmas lights and not from roadside bombs.
Most of all we should be grateful that the most we have to worry about is whether or not we get a good gift for Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or whatever holiday we choose to celebrate. Some people have bigger things to worry about...
Happy Holidays....
Oh...and before we go to battle I thought I'd share some information on others who will be doing some fighting of their own this Holiday Season...
Somali Civil War
Combatants: Islamic Court Unions, Islamist Militias, Eritrea, & Foriegn Jihadists vs. ARPCT(Alliance of Somali Warlords), Transitional Federal Parliment of Somalia, Puntland, Rahanweyn Resistance Army, & Ethiopia.
The Issue At Hand: While Somalia has been war torn for some time, the ICU recently took over the capital Mogadishu and is currently in control of the majority of the Country. The ICU has claimed that they wish to bring the entire nation under Quranic law. In July of 2006 Ethiopia deployed troops as well as tanks and attack helicopters into Somalia. Tensions have escalated ever since. Many see this conflict as a means for Ethiopia and Eritrea to continue agressions against one another.
Recent Developments: On December 19th the ICU declared that it would press the attack, however on December 20th fighting broke out between Somali and ICU forces near Baioda. Recently Ethiopia has joined the fray in Baioda and is attempting to push back the ICU from the Parliment's only remaining bastion.
Central African War (The CAR Civil War, the Darfur Conflict, and the Chadian-Sudanese Conflict)
Combatants: Sudan backed rebels, Chad Rebels, UFDR Rebels, & Janjaweed vs. Central African Republic, Chad, & France.
The Issue At Hand: Three seperate hostilities, the CAR Civil War, the Darfur Conflict, and the Chadian-Sudanese conflict have merged into a grand conflict taking place in all three of the nations mentioned. The Central African Republic accused the Sudanese government of backing and aiding the UFDR in the CAR civil war leading to hostilities between the two governments. As a result Sudanese forces including the Janjaweed are now hostile towards CAR forces. In addition Chad is currently hostile towards the Sudan due to the Janjaweed raiding villages and towns in Chad. Over 200,000 refugees from the Sudan have sought asylumin Chad leading many officials in the nation to claim that the Sudanese are trying to spread their conflict into other regions. Finally both sides claim that the other is funding various rebel groups attempting to distabalize the respective nations. As a result of both the CAR and Chad bordering the Darfur region, many feel that the Darfur conflict has spread into other nations.
Iraqi Civil War
Combatants: Al-Qaeda in Iraq, Islamic Army in Iraq, Mohammad's Army, Black Banner Organization, Ba'ath Loyalists, Various Sunni Militias vs. Mahdi Army, Badr Organization, Various Shiite Militias.
The Issue at Hand: While the Iraq war is still going on, it has become clear that the nation has fractioned to the point of a civil war (or is at least on the brink of a civil war). The various factions have utilized the country's instability and the impotence of the New Iraqi government to carry out attacks against one another. This conflict has resulted in the deaths of possibly over half a million Iraqis, the assassinations of various Iraqi govt. officials, the destruction of non-military targets, in addition to turning over 1 million Iraqis in to refugees.
...Those are real wars...just some of the real wars going on in the world right now. I'd like to tell the Bill O'Reillies of the World to cut the War on Christmas Crap. We should all be grateful that we even get to enjoy this time with our families. We should be grateful that we aren't being forced from our homes as tanks storm through our neighborhoods. We should be grateful that there aren't bullets whizzing by our heads and that the only lights we'll be seeing are from Christmas lights and not from roadside bombs.
Most of all we should be grateful that the most we have to worry about is whether or not we get a good gift for Christmas, or Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa, or whatever holiday we choose to celebrate. Some people have bigger things to worry about...
Happy Holidays....
Monday, December 18, 2006
Nigger
"Fuckin niggers".
"Excuse me"?
"Aww come on don't call me a racist cuz I'm not."
"What? You just called that guy a nigger"
"Calm down, he wasn't calling all black people niggers. There's a difference".
"Yeah, see you're black...those people back there were niggers".
"Yeah man, anyone can be a nigger. See nigger comes from the word niggardly, it means
someone who's ignorant, anyone can be ignorant black, white, asian, mexican".
"How was that guy being ignorant, he just cut you off in traffic. That isn't being ignorant, that's just being a bad driver. The only reason you called him that was because he was black".
"Oh my god, here we go. Look we aren't racist, now I know some racist guys. I went to a camp where guys were talking about being in the Klan...those guys were racist".
"......"
I held back. I never mentioned how niggardly means miserly, not ignorant, or that nigger is derived from a completly word for that matter. Instead I sat back and barely put up a fight while I was enlightened on the differences between blacks and niggers. I sat for forty minutes and listened to the mindless philosophies of two boys who thought Jim Crow was a brand of whiskey. It hurt, not their words, but my complacency. It hurt that I sat and just listened, that I didn't open my mouth and shut up the fools that spewed their racist virtole. I let them continue on unchecked, every now and again I would butt in and attempt to shed light on their ignorance, but for the most part I sat...shocked at my first encounter with actual racists.
I would say that in my defense I was 20 miles from home...that I couldn't have let my anger rise to the surface lest I be ejected from the car on a busy highway...I didn't want to be left stranded for telling them the truth. What could I have done? I didn't know where I was, I couldn't have found my way home. No, it was best for me to just sit back and take...it would be over soon...if I just say back and took it everything would be fine. I would say that in my defense...but what kind of defense is that? How could I justify selling my soul for a ride home?
I didn't mention it the next day at practice...see the two brilliant gentleman who gave me a discourse on why Blacks deserve to be poor were on my tennis team...and me bring the only freshman and one of only two Black people on the team...I didn't want to cause trouble...so I just shook it off and hoped that I'd never be in that position again. I didn't want to be the angry black guy, I just wanted to play tennis.
That made me a hypocrite though...because off the court I was Malcolm fucking Newton. I had an afro that would put Cornel West's to shame, perfectly shaped with an afropick proudly jutting from the top. I carried around a copy of the autobiography of Malcolm X where ever I went, and I quoted the communist ad nauseum. I brought up my mother's Black Panther days as a validation of my militant positions...simply put, I was a fraud.
It was easy to be militant in public...when I could take on the racist capitalist oppressors in front of a crowd. I could quote Huey Newton as long as I was safely in the eyes of people who could applaud my sterling defense of Black people and Black culture. But behind closed doors, when I was alone and friendless, when the time came to stnad strong in my convictions I sold out. I was more Fred Savage than Fred Hampton.
That was over four years ago. And I've grown...I've learned...I've strived and failed gain redemption. By no means would I sit back and allow that situation occur again without putting up a fight, two years after the incident I confronted one of the people again...but I still feel this pain in my soul. Not only because of what I did, but because of what I see and hear today. Everyday I see Black people who are not only silent, but people who except the things that are said about them. I see Black people who see themselves as niggers. Who believe the myth of black inferiority...who play in to the self fullfilling prophecy.
I see people who believe in every stereotype known to man, who still believe in the myth that "if you're white you're alright". And I try to help them...not just to help them but to clear my concious. I try to share with them the knowledge I have...of the potential they have...of the beauty that exists in our people...but to know avail. They play in to the role of the thug, of the shiftless Black man, of the "welfare" queen, of the nigger. They just sit back and accept it...like I did.
What is to be done about this? Is it enough for me to simply chastise my friend when he says things about his own people that would shock David Duke? Is it enough for us to leave such people behind and move towards a better future ourselves? Certainly the answer can not be to cast off those that "embaress the race"...they are still our brothers and sisters...after all you can't choose family. But is the reverse fair? Is it our job to educate the world? Our any of us so much better than others that we are in a position to point a finger? At times I feel as if I'm not even fit to uplift my self. But then I must remember that I can't expect myself to be anything more than a man...and men stumble at times. I can only expect the same from anyone else. But that's why men have brothers...to lift them up and help them when they fall.
I often feel as if I can't pick myself up let alone support the weight of others...but though that have supported me have been lifted up themselves. It is difficult to live a life trying to uplift others....but i can tell you from experience that nothing can be as painful as sitting back and taking the abuse.
"Excuse me"?
"Aww come on don't call me a racist cuz I'm not."
"What? You just called that guy a nigger"
"Calm down, he wasn't calling all black people niggers. There's a difference".
"Yeah, see you're black...those people back there were niggers".
"Yeah man, anyone can be a nigger. See nigger comes from the word niggardly, it means
someone who's ignorant, anyone can be ignorant black, white, asian, mexican".
"How was that guy being ignorant, he just cut you off in traffic. That isn't being ignorant, that's just being a bad driver. The only reason you called him that was because he was black".
"Oh my god, here we go. Look we aren't racist, now I know some racist guys. I went to a camp where guys were talking about being in the Klan...those guys were racist".
"......"
I held back. I never mentioned how niggardly means miserly, not ignorant, or that nigger is derived from a completly word for that matter. Instead I sat back and barely put up a fight while I was enlightened on the differences between blacks and niggers. I sat for forty minutes and listened to the mindless philosophies of two boys who thought Jim Crow was a brand of whiskey. It hurt, not their words, but my complacency. It hurt that I sat and just listened, that I didn't open my mouth and shut up the fools that spewed their racist virtole. I let them continue on unchecked, every now and again I would butt in and attempt to shed light on their ignorance, but for the most part I sat...shocked at my first encounter with actual racists.
I would say that in my defense I was 20 miles from home...that I couldn't have let my anger rise to the surface lest I be ejected from the car on a busy highway...I didn't want to be left stranded for telling them the truth. What could I have done? I didn't know where I was, I couldn't have found my way home. No, it was best for me to just sit back and take...it would be over soon...if I just say back and took it everything would be fine. I would say that in my defense...but what kind of defense is that? How could I justify selling my soul for a ride home?
I didn't mention it the next day at practice...see the two brilliant gentleman who gave me a discourse on why Blacks deserve to be poor were on my tennis team...and me bring the only freshman and one of only two Black people on the team...I didn't want to cause trouble...so I just shook it off and hoped that I'd never be in that position again. I didn't want to be the angry black guy, I just wanted to play tennis.
That made me a hypocrite though...because off the court I was Malcolm fucking Newton. I had an afro that would put Cornel West's to shame, perfectly shaped with an afropick proudly jutting from the top. I carried around a copy of the autobiography of Malcolm X where ever I went, and I quoted the communist ad nauseum. I brought up my mother's Black Panther days as a validation of my militant positions...simply put, I was a fraud.
It was easy to be militant in public...when I could take on the racist capitalist oppressors in front of a crowd. I could quote Huey Newton as long as I was safely in the eyes of people who could applaud my sterling defense of Black people and Black culture. But behind closed doors, when I was alone and friendless, when the time came to stnad strong in my convictions I sold out. I was more Fred Savage than Fred Hampton.
That was over four years ago. And I've grown...I've learned...I've strived and failed gain redemption. By no means would I sit back and allow that situation occur again without putting up a fight, two years after the incident I confronted one of the people again...but I still feel this pain in my soul. Not only because of what I did, but because of what I see and hear today. Everyday I see Black people who are not only silent, but people who except the things that are said about them. I see Black people who see themselves as niggers. Who believe the myth of black inferiority...who play in to the self fullfilling prophecy.
I see people who believe in every stereotype known to man, who still believe in the myth that "if you're white you're alright". And I try to help them...not just to help them but to clear my concious. I try to share with them the knowledge I have...of the potential they have...of the beauty that exists in our people...but to know avail. They play in to the role of the thug, of the shiftless Black man, of the "welfare" queen, of the nigger. They just sit back and accept it...like I did.
What is to be done about this? Is it enough for me to simply chastise my friend when he says things about his own people that would shock David Duke? Is it enough for us to leave such people behind and move towards a better future ourselves? Certainly the answer can not be to cast off those that "embaress the race"...they are still our brothers and sisters...after all you can't choose family. But is the reverse fair? Is it our job to educate the world? Our any of us so much better than others that we are in a position to point a finger? At times I feel as if I'm not even fit to uplift my self. But then I must remember that I can't expect myself to be anything more than a man...and men stumble at times. I can only expect the same from anyone else. But that's why men have brothers...to lift them up and help them when they fall.
I often feel as if I can't pick myself up let alone support the weight of others...but though that have supported me have been lifted up themselves. It is difficult to live a life trying to uplift others....but i can tell you from experience that nothing can be as painful as sitting back and taking the abuse.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
God is on Life Support....
I find it odd how people cling to the idea of God. Not out of true belief but because they desire something greater than themselves to latch on to. God has become a necessity for many. Rarely is this devotion brought about through sheer love, rather it is often a mix of several factors; being alone, lacking a source of love, imagining that this world is all they have to look forward to, the desire for a purpose. But in reality such an approach diminishes not only the religious but also humans in general.
At most this mode of thinking reduces god to a glorified nanny. Someone who's there to clean up our messes, to offer support, and to make us feel better when we stumble. This notion is undeniably selfish. It reduces belief to a mere act of building up self esteem. In order to have self-worth we must have faith in some unknowable deity? Truth be told holding such beliefs is comforting, the idea that we are not alone in our struggles, that there is something out there watching over us, but at a certain point such belief can be debilitating. For one it often requires that people adhere to ridiculous ideals and traditions, and if not that it limits our ability to use reason. How empowering is it to rely not on your own mind, but on some set of standards created by someone else as interpreted by a middle eastern prophet from ancient Palestine? Perhaps the greatest quote I've ever heard from a Christian was "God gave you a brain for a reason." Truer words have never been spoken. Is it that far fetched to imagine that we could come to concepts of morality without the aid of some ancient tome? From our own experiences we see how our actions affect ourselves and the world around us. Reason will tell you that even independent of laws, killing someone has negative repercussions for society and yourself. Yet for some reason we require "God" to dictate what constitutes morality? With so many interpretations of "God's will" is it really wise to leave morality up to "spiritual" standards? Wouldn't it be much simpler and much more effective to leave it up to our own intellects? The problem with "spiritual morality" is that it starts with a set of boundaries and then asks us to decipher their meaning...Instead we should operate from a position where we establish the boundaries after logically deducing the effects of certain actions. We do not need to live in a society where robbery is legal to deduce that such a society will not work.
Perhaps an even greater problem that we face when confronting the necessity of god is the idea of purpose. Given the rather sadistic nature inherent in the act of "creating" sentient beings, it would seem that we are no more than playthings created to glorify the ego of some all powerful spirit. If our purpose is dependent upon God, then what purpose he possibly give us? One concept of "purpose" is what something was created for. So in order to discover our purpose we must discover God's reason for creating us. First of all if god is truly a perfect being then he would have no desire to create as desire is subjectively a human characteristic. However, leaving such a notion aside, deciphering God's purpose for creation is subject to the same types of multiple interpretations as God's Will, meaning that humans must determine what they think God's reasons for creation was. Thus humans end up making their own purpose either way.
My argument is not against God its self. Certainly there is a possibility of God existing. My contention is that God is not necessary.
At most this mode of thinking reduces god to a glorified nanny. Someone who's there to clean up our messes, to offer support, and to make us feel better when we stumble. This notion is undeniably selfish. It reduces belief to a mere act of building up self esteem. In order to have self-worth we must have faith in some unknowable deity? Truth be told holding such beliefs is comforting, the idea that we are not alone in our struggles, that there is something out there watching over us, but at a certain point such belief can be debilitating. For one it often requires that people adhere to ridiculous ideals and traditions, and if not that it limits our ability to use reason. How empowering is it to rely not on your own mind, but on some set of standards created by someone else as interpreted by a middle eastern prophet from ancient Palestine? Perhaps the greatest quote I've ever heard from a Christian was "God gave you a brain for a reason." Truer words have never been spoken. Is it that far fetched to imagine that we could come to concepts of morality without the aid of some ancient tome? From our own experiences we see how our actions affect ourselves and the world around us. Reason will tell you that even independent of laws, killing someone has negative repercussions for society and yourself. Yet for some reason we require "God" to dictate what constitutes morality? With so many interpretations of "God's will" is it really wise to leave morality up to "spiritual" standards? Wouldn't it be much simpler and much more effective to leave it up to our own intellects? The problem with "spiritual morality" is that it starts with a set of boundaries and then asks us to decipher their meaning...Instead we should operate from a position where we establish the boundaries after logically deducing the effects of certain actions. We do not need to live in a society where robbery is legal to deduce that such a society will not work.
Perhaps an even greater problem that we face when confronting the necessity of god is the idea of purpose. Given the rather sadistic nature inherent in the act of "creating" sentient beings, it would seem that we are no more than playthings created to glorify the ego of some all powerful spirit. If our purpose is dependent upon God, then what purpose he possibly give us? One concept of "purpose" is what something was created for. So in order to discover our purpose we must discover God's reason for creating us. First of all if god is truly a perfect being then he would have no desire to create as desire is subjectively a human characteristic. However, leaving such a notion aside, deciphering God's purpose for creation is subject to the same types of multiple interpretations as God's Will, meaning that humans must determine what they think God's reasons for creation was. Thus humans end up making their own purpose either way.
My argument is not against God its self. Certainly there is a possibility of God existing. My contention is that God is not necessary.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
African American Men to Leave America
I'm serious, I think we need to collectively pull a "Dubois" and get the fuck out of America. granted the United States has created an environment that has been beneficial to a select group of African American men....but in general I think that African-American males would benefit from a few years abroad.
I'm not saying that we need to leave for good, we just need to leave for a while. The purpose of this is to establish a sense of self that is sorely lacking in our community. Regardless of what people say there is a stigma associated with being a black male. In the public's eye you are either in a suit or in an orange jumpsuit. Certainly the average middle class black man exists, but this segment of the community is often ignored. The psyche of the Black man is so burdened by a system that is racist or presents an illusion of racism, that I can't really see the majority of Black males advancing beyond a certain point in society.
The advancement I speak of isn't simply material. In fact I often believe that people make the mistake of measuring success in material wealth. David Horowitz and his ilk often claim that the existence of the black middle class negates institutionalized racism. Well to quote a rather cliched aphorism "Money Can't buy happiness". For too long African Americans have tried to fill the emptiness in our lives with "things". The true measure of success should be how well adjusted you are, how comfortable and secure you are with your own existence, how you value yourself and how you evaluate your self. I'm sad to say that I don't know that many well adjusted black males, and I'm sure that if I analyzed myself enough I would come to the conclusion that I'm not all that well adjusted either.
Where should we go? Africa...not on a Dave Chappelle style soul searching vacation, but as a way to come to terms with our own existence. The reason I suggest we move to African nations is this, in America we are BLACK. That is the first description that pops into people's minds regardless of their race. They see us and they see black, black men to be specific. And the idea of Black men in America registers one of a few stereotypes. The problem is that we register these same stereotypes. In Africa you aren't Black...because everyone is Black. I'm only Black because there is something else to compare me to, ie white, Hispanic, Asian, etc. Moving to an area where race can't be a factor, can't be a crutch, and can't be an excuse is vital to the betterment of African-American males.
Now, I know most of you are thinking, well if we were to move to African nations we would be automatically labeled as "American". And of course you are right, nationality would distinctly seperate us from the population. The difference is that I'm calling for a mass exodus orchestrated by both African-Americans and the governments of African nations. At the very least it would foster brotherhood between the African American expatriate so that they develop a sense of unity and community by being together in a strange environment, and at best the nationality barriers slowly erode and we find a sense of kinship with our African brothers.The idea would be that an African nation makes an agreement with a group of emigratings African Americans. The government agrees to allow them in to the nation as legal residents, helps them find jobs, and embarks on a program to help acclimate the expatriots to the new nation. In return the African American emigrants agree to work, abide by the nations' laws, etc. The nation gets the added revenue of new residents, and African American men get a chance to start off in a society where the stigma of the American Black man doesn't exist.
Now let me end by saying a few things. 1) I'm aware of the fact that there are many successful black men in America, but the prison and education statistics are bleak at best. 2) I'm advocating such a program specifically for African American men mainly because African American Women are doing better than African American me. 3) I understand that logistically this is pretty much an impossibility, I mean if Marcus Garvery couldn't do it, I'm fairly sure I can't either.
I'm not saying that we need to leave for good, we just need to leave for a while. The purpose of this is to establish a sense of self that is sorely lacking in our community. Regardless of what people say there is a stigma associated with being a black male. In the public's eye you are either in a suit or in an orange jumpsuit. Certainly the average middle class black man exists, but this segment of the community is often ignored. The psyche of the Black man is so burdened by a system that is racist or presents an illusion of racism, that I can't really see the majority of Black males advancing beyond a certain point in society.
The advancement I speak of isn't simply material. In fact I often believe that people make the mistake of measuring success in material wealth. David Horowitz and his ilk often claim that the existence of the black middle class negates institutionalized racism. Well to quote a rather cliched aphorism "Money Can't buy happiness". For too long African Americans have tried to fill the emptiness in our lives with "things". The true measure of success should be how well adjusted you are, how comfortable and secure you are with your own existence, how you value yourself and how you evaluate your self. I'm sad to say that I don't know that many well adjusted black males, and I'm sure that if I analyzed myself enough I would come to the conclusion that I'm not all that well adjusted either.
Where should we go? Africa...not on a Dave Chappelle style soul searching vacation, but as a way to come to terms with our own existence. The reason I suggest we move to African nations is this, in America we are BLACK. That is the first description that pops into people's minds regardless of their race. They see us and they see black, black men to be specific. And the idea of Black men in America registers one of a few stereotypes. The problem is that we register these same stereotypes. In Africa you aren't Black...because everyone is Black. I'm only Black because there is something else to compare me to, ie white, Hispanic, Asian, etc. Moving to an area where race can't be a factor, can't be a crutch, and can't be an excuse is vital to the betterment of African-American males.
Now, I know most of you are thinking, well if we were to move to African nations we would be automatically labeled as "American". And of course you are right, nationality would distinctly seperate us from the population. The difference is that I'm calling for a mass exodus orchestrated by both African-Americans and the governments of African nations. At the very least it would foster brotherhood between the African American expatriate so that they develop a sense of unity and community by being together in a strange environment, and at best the nationality barriers slowly erode and we find a sense of kinship with our African brothers.The idea would be that an African nation makes an agreement with a group of emigratings African Americans. The government agrees to allow them in to the nation as legal residents, helps them find jobs, and embarks on a program to help acclimate the expatriots to the new nation. In return the African American emigrants agree to work, abide by the nations' laws, etc. The nation gets the added revenue of new residents, and African American men get a chance to start off in a society where the stigma of the American Black man doesn't exist.
Now let me end by saying a few things. 1) I'm aware of the fact that there are many successful black men in America, but the prison and education statistics are bleak at best. 2) I'm advocating such a program specifically for African American men mainly because African American Women are doing better than African American me. 3) I understand that logistically this is pretty much an impossibility, I mean if Marcus Garvery couldn't do it, I'm fairly sure I can't either.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Black & Buddhist: Why Buddhism is the best alternative for African Americans
While it would be irresponsible of me to deny the importance of Christianity in the history of African Americans, I have come to the conclusion that at this time Buddhism would offer the greatest benefit to the Black community. Certainly Christianity, and any other religion for that matter, can serve as a positive force in the social, spiritual, and mental development of any group, however it has become increasingly obvious that Buddhism can satisfy the current needs of the Black community in a way that no other religion can. The following will outline why I believe that Buddhism would be a good fit for African Americans.
Before I begin let me just say that in no way do I believe that Buddhism is a cure all for African Americans, or any other ethnic group. Different religions satisfy the needs of different people, I just happen to feel that the majority of African Americans would benefit from Buddhism.
1. Buddhism promotes personal responsibility and empowering.
While I'm certainly no fan of Bill Cosby's finger waging diatribes, it is difficult to argue with the idea that individuals need to assume a degree of responsibility. However, I differ from Mr. Cosby as to the source of this lack of responsibility. While he asserts that it is derived from a general sense of apathy, I believe it stems from a lack of empowerment.
One of the reasons that people find it difficult to improve their situations is that they do not believe that they can...or because there are actual institutional barriers stopping them from doing so. Either way Buddhism offers a remedy to this problem. The answer can be seen in the example of the Buddha himself.
Unlike other religious leaders, the Buddha never claimed to be a god, he never claimed to be divine, and he never claimed to have been inspired by a god. The Buddha was nothing more than a man that utilized tools available to all human beings. He relied on his own intellect and efforts to achieve enlightenment. The Buddha was no more divine than anyone reading these words, rather he understood that he had the potential to accomplish great things, the same potential exists in all of us.
In Buddhism humans are in a supreme position, not in an all powerful "god" sense, but because they are in a position to control their own destiny. There is no supreme being that runs the show, a person is responsible for their own spiritual, mental, and social growth. The reason for this is that within every person is Buddha nature. This means that one does not need to rely on anyone else to achieve enlightenment. As the Buddha once said, "You should do your own work, for the Tathagatas(Buddhas) only teach the way".
Similarly the Buddha stressed a personal search for truth. He did not want people to become solely reliant on his teachings, instead he urged others to seek the truth for themselves. This prevents people from becoming constrained by dogma and convention. Dogma prevents people from adapting to new situations and learning from new experiences that might not fit with what they previously believed.
This concept allows people to free themselves from this idea that the forces of the world can bar them from achieving a better life. There is a greatness in all individuals, it is simply a matter of tapping in to this greatness. Granted the journey will be filled with obstacles, but Buddhism will allow African Americans to see these obstacles as speed bumps instead of mountains.
2. Buddhism will allow African Americans to come to terms with their suffering.
The very first teaching of the Buddha was "The Four Noble Truths". In these truths, the Buddha summarized the totality of Buddhist philosophy. The Truths are:
I) Dukkha: All life is suffering*
II) Samudaya: The cause of suffering is desire/attachment
III) Nirodha: The cessation of suffering
IV) Magga: The way to the cessation of suffering
*While Dukkha is translated to mean suffering, it is done purely out of necessity. Dukkha merely refers to the impermanence in life, what ever is impermanent is Dukkha, there for happiness (which is impermanent) is Dukkha just as pain is. The experience of happiness is impermanent, when we are happy we wish to hold on to this sensation, but it eventually goes away, when it is away we want it back, as a result we suffer.
Upon first glance, the Four Noble Truths appear to be pessimistic, however they are in all actuality realistic. Buddhism does not sugar coat life, nor does it assume that life is an inescapable pit of despair. It simply puts life into its proper context. This is what the African American community needs to do with its own suffering.
historically African Americans have been the victims of reprehensible offenses and to this day are subject to injustices. However, we can not allow this to paralyze our progression. This isn't to say that Blacks need to "stop acting like victims" as so many conservative pundits have stated, rather it means that we as a people need to understand that suffering can not rule our lives.
One of the main reasons that we allow suffering to rule our lives is that we do not seek out the cause of our suffering. Obviously the source of our aggregate suffering during slavery and the Jim crowe era arose from institutionalized oppression. During those times it was easy to blame "the white man" because he was the one aiming the fire hose and releasing the police dogs. Today however, the source of many of the Black communities problems is not so easily identified, and what's worse is that many of us don't even seem all that concerned with discovering the source. We seem content with suffering and being surprised that it isn't magically disappearing.
What we need to do is take a Buddhist approach to both the general suffering that we experience from day to day life, and the overall suffering that we feel as a community. Then like the Buddha we can accept suffering as a part of life, discover the root of this suffering, realize that we can end this suffering, and discover a way to end this suffering.
3. Buddhism can strengthen community
While the Buddha emphasized the need to discover personal truth, he also stressed the importance of community. One of the three jewels of Buddhism is Sangha which means community. The idea of an individual path to enlightenment does not mean that we ignore others, to the contrary this approach encourages individuals to share what they have discovered with others because everyone is trying to reach the same goal. The difference is that Buddhism does not require that an individual accept what someone else has said unless they can find it to be personally true.
It is very important in Buddhism to learn from and teach others. Since we can not all see the world in the same way, it is important for us to share our knowledge with others so that we may come to a better understanding of those around us.
A great problem in the Black community is our desire to follow demagogues. Instead of being a community of followers, we need to be a community of leaders. Since Buddhism has an individual approach to seeking knowledge, every member of the sangha has something to offer the other members. Personal insights, understandings, and interpretations can help encourage others to seek out new ways to tackle old problems. In addition, since we share knowledge with others, it is important that the community be inclusive, something that can be difficult at times.
4. Buddhism can eradicate rampant materialism
The second Noble Truth states that attachments and desires lead to suffering. This certainly applies to material goods. Since the Black community is finally in a position where upward mobility is a possibility for many people, we have become obsessed with materialism. Buddhism teaches that all things are impermanent, and trying to derive lasting joy out of impermanent things causes us to suffer.
While I am not against people owning things, we as a people must take a serious look at what we place value in. The average Black person (or any person for that matter) places more value in a piece of jewelry than in a book. Black youths would rather have money than knowledge. This is a dangerous trend, money is perhaps the most divisive creation in human history.
We must learn to let go of our attachments lest they drive us apart.
To conclude let me say that I do not wish to imply that other religions can not serve the Black community. Simply that the Buddhist example when applied on an individual and aggregate level would be of tremendous benefit to African Americans. The beautiful thing about Buddhism is that it does not force people to submit, Blacks have submitted for far too long. It is time we began to take charge of our own futures.
Before I begin let me just say that in no way do I believe that Buddhism is a cure all for African Americans, or any other ethnic group. Different religions satisfy the needs of different people, I just happen to feel that the majority of African Americans would benefit from Buddhism.
1. Buddhism promotes personal responsibility and empowering.
While I'm certainly no fan of Bill Cosby's finger waging diatribes, it is difficult to argue with the idea that individuals need to assume a degree of responsibility. However, I differ from Mr. Cosby as to the source of this lack of responsibility. While he asserts that it is derived from a general sense of apathy, I believe it stems from a lack of empowerment.
One of the reasons that people find it difficult to improve their situations is that they do not believe that they can...or because there are actual institutional barriers stopping them from doing so. Either way Buddhism offers a remedy to this problem. The answer can be seen in the example of the Buddha himself.
Unlike other religious leaders, the Buddha never claimed to be a god, he never claimed to be divine, and he never claimed to have been inspired by a god. The Buddha was nothing more than a man that utilized tools available to all human beings. He relied on his own intellect and efforts to achieve enlightenment. The Buddha was no more divine than anyone reading these words, rather he understood that he had the potential to accomplish great things, the same potential exists in all of us.
In Buddhism humans are in a supreme position, not in an all powerful "god" sense, but because they are in a position to control their own destiny. There is no supreme being that runs the show, a person is responsible for their own spiritual, mental, and social growth. The reason for this is that within every person is Buddha nature. This means that one does not need to rely on anyone else to achieve enlightenment. As the Buddha once said, "You should do your own work, for the Tathagatas(Buddhas) only teach the way".
Similarly the Buddha stressed a personal search for truth. He did not want people to become solely reliant on his teachings, instead he urged others to seek the truth for themselves. This prevents people from becoming constrained by dogma and convention. Dogma prevents people from adapting to new situations and learning from new experiences that might not fit with what they previously believed.
This concept allows people to free themselves from this idea that the forces of the world can bar them from achieving a better life. There is a greatness in all individuals, it is simply a matter of tapping in to this greatness. Granted the journey will be filled with obstacles, but Buddhism will allow African Americans to see these obstacles as speed bumps instead of mountains.
2. Buddhism will allow African Americans to come to terms with their suffering.
The very first teaching of the Buddha was "The Four Noble Truths". In these truths, the Buddha summarized the totality of Buddhist philosophy. The Truths are:
I) Dukkha: All life is suffering*
II) Samudaya: The cause of suffering is desire/attachment
III) Nirodha: The cessation of suffering
IV) Magga: The way to the cessation of suffering
*While Dukkha is translated to mean suffering, it is done purely out of necessity. Dukkha merely refers to the impermanence in life, what ever is impermanent is Dukkha, there for happiness (which is impermanent) is Dukkha just as pain is. The experience of happiness is impermanent, when we are happy we wish to hold on to this sensation, but it eventually goes away, when it is away we want it back, as a result we suffer.
Upon first glance, the Four Noble Truths appear to be pessimistic, however they are in all actuality realistic. Buddhism does not sugar coat life, nor does it assume that life is an inescapable pit of despair. It simply puts life into its proper context. This is what the African American community needs to do with its own suffering.
historically African Americans have been the victims of reprehensible offenses and to this day are subject to injustices. However, we can not allow this to paralyze our progression. This isn't to say that Blacks need to "stop acting like victims" as so many conservative pundits have stated, rather it means that we as a people need to understand that suffering can not rule our lives.
One of the main reasons that we allow suffering to rule our lives is that we do not seek out the cause of our suffering. Obviously the source of our aggregate suffering during slavery and the Jim crowe era arose from institutionalized oppression. During those times it was easy to blame "the white man" because he was the one aiming the fire hose and releasing the police dogs. Today however, the source of many of the Black communities problems is not so easily identified, and what's worse is that many of us don't even seem all that concerned with discovering the source. We seem content with suffering and being surprised that it isn't magically disappearing.
What we need to do is take a Buddhist approach to both the general suffering that we experience from day to day life, and the overall suffering that we feel as a community. Then like the Buddha we can accept suffering as a part of life, discover the root of this suffering, realize that we can end this suffering, and discover a way to end this suffering.
3. Buddhism can strengthen community
While the Buddha emphasized the need to discover personal truth, he also stressed the importance of community. One of the three jewels of Buddhism is Sangha which means community. The idea of an individual path to enlightenment does not mean that we ignore others, to the contrary this approach encourages individuals to share what they have discovered with others because everyone is trying to reach the same goal. The difference is that Buddhism does not require that an individual accept what someone else has said unless they can find it to be personally true.
It is very important in Buddhism to learn from and teach others. Since we can not all see the world in the same way, it is important for us to share our knowledge with others so that we may come to a better understanding of those around us.
A great problem in the Black community is our desire to follow demagogues. Instead of being a community of followers, we need to be a community of leaders. Since Buddhism has an individual approach to seeking knowledge, every member of the sangha has something to offer the other members. Personal insights, understandings, and interpretations can help encourage others to seek out new ways to tackle old problems. In addition, since we share knowledge with others, it is important that the community be inclusive, something that can be difficult at times.
4. Buddhism can eradicate rampant materialism
The second Noble Truth states that attachments and desires lead to suffering. This certainly applies to material goods. Since the Black community is finally in a position where upward mobility is a possibility for many people, we have become obsessed with materialism. Buddhism teaches that all things are impermanent, and trying to derive lasting joy out of impermanent things causes us to suffer.
While I am not against people owning things, we as a people must take a serious look at what we place value in. The average Black person (or any person for that matter) places more value in a piece of jewelry than in a book. Black youths would rather have money than knowledge. This is a dangerous trend, money is perhaps the most divisive creation in human history.
We must learn to let go of our attachments lest they drive us apart.
To conclude let me say that I do not wish to imply that other religions can not serve the Black community. Simply that the Buddhist example when applied on an individual and aggregate level would be of tremendous benefit to African Americans. The beautiful thing about Buddhism is that it does not force people to submit, Blacks have submitted for far too long. It is time we began to take charge of our own futures.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
George....maybe it's time you started reading the papers
"If I worried about polls, I wouldn't be doing my job"-George Bush
Really? Even in when it's in the low forties/high thirties?
A bit of advice Mr. Bush, saying that poll numbers don't concern you doesn't make you seem like a decisive leader...they make you seem distant, out of touch, and a tad bit conceited. While I've never believed that politicians should allow poll numbers to dictate their policy decisions, I'm not really sure that your declining...your plummeting poll numbers are a result of unpopular policy decisions (though you have made some pretty bad decisions) no, your problems are due to a secretive administration that seems to believe that it has a massive stockpile of credibility that doesn't really exist.
Really? Even in when it's in the low forties/high thirties?
A bit of advice Mr. Bush, saying that poll numbers don't concern you doesn't make you seem like a decisive leader...they make you seem distant, out of touch, and a tad bit conceited. While I've never believed that politicians should allow poll numbers to dictate their policy decisions, I'm not really sure that your declining...your plummeting poll numbers are a result of unpopular policy decisions (though you have made some pretty bad decisions) no, your problems are due to a secretive administration that seems to believe that it has a massive stockpile of credibility that doesn't really exist.
Honestly, do you think that you can just get a free pass on every single decision you make? Sorry chief, that pass expired after the whole WMD fiasco. So it probably would have been advantageous had you actually explained (thoroughly) why you approve of the UAE port deal, and better still had you been aware of the deal before every major media operation in the nation got a hold of the story. Not that I see anything inherently wrong with the deal, of course this deal was such a massive political liability that even Stevie Wonder could have seen it coming. The problem isn't that you don't care Mr. Bush, it's that you didn't anticipate that the majority of the nation would care.
With Iran growing increasingly hostile and Iraq on the verge of civil war, it isn't surprising that people were going to be a little upset at the idea of Dubai taking over major American ports. And I'm sure you've got a legitimate reason....Ok I'm sure you have a reason for approving of the deal, but it's a little late put that reason out there. Instead of coming off as a rational decision maker you'll be seen as someone trying desperately to cover his tracks, and believe me Mr. President people are starting to notice the difference between the two.
Of course the UAE debacle is only a bullet point on your long list of screw ups, it seems like since Hurricane Katrina (well really since you took office, but I'll be nice just this once) you've made mistake after mistake, but what's worse is you don't seem to be adapting. You don't seem to understand that America isn't going to wake up and suddenly share your bizarre take on the world, sure you've got your base that wouldn't leave you if you drove America into an irreversible spiral of despair...*pause*...but for the most part Americans don't like the idea of politicians that seem/are disconnected.
Do you even know why the Dick Cheney hunting accident was such a big story...I mean other than the fact that it was almost ridiculously funny? The reason is that people were put off by the fact that Dick Cheney didn't think enough of the American people to release some type of public statement until that softball interview on Fox News. Had Dick Cheney been a little more forthcoming about the accident I wouldn't have cared, hell he actually would have earned a couple approval points in my eyes. Instead his approval rating has dropped to a Caligula like percentage(18%).
So you see, Mr. President Americans don't like to be neglected, we prefer that our elected officials be open and honest with us. And while I'm sure the later will be a bit more difficult for you, I'm sure you can at least fake the former.
To close I'd like to refute this comment: "...I know the American people want somebody to stand on principle, make decisions and stand by them and lead this world toward a more peaceful tomorrow, and I strongly believe we're doing that..."
If you could draw your attention to the last line of that statement....You see it? Ok, there is your problem. You have a tendency to put a great deal of emphasis on yourself. At this point what you believe is damn near irrelevant. If you know what the American want then why are you steadily losing support? Maybe the American people don't know what they want, or maybe, just maybe you should pick up a Newspaper.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Black History Died with Martin Luther King Jr.
Or at least this is what society would have us believe. Prior to Dr. King's grand entrance onto the public stage, George Washington Carver invented peanuts, Harriet Tubman worked in a train station, and blacks weren't treated so kindly by whites. Then came the glorious pinnacle of black society, a short Southern preacher with a booming voice and a charismatic personality. In him resided the entire wealth of black culture, dignity, and potential...and then he was assassinated and Black America deteriorated into an amalgamation of booty shaking, gang violence, and UPN that is not worth even mentioning as a footnote in a textbook.
Yes, in the four decades since King's death there has been nothing of note in the black community. I was surprised to discover this last month when I was informed that the piece I was prepared to read for my school’s African American history program was not going to make it on to the video. I selected some excerpts from Huey Newton's To Die For the People in the hopes that I would expose others to a segment of Black history that is so often overlooked. I'm sure that everyone here is familiar with Mr. Newton and some of the positive work he did in the black community. Granted there were many negative events in the man's life, but to deny that he did not play a significant role in black history is to spit on the efforts of an entire generation. Also, I challenge anyone to find a public figure that does not have one or two skeletons in their closet (Dr. King included).
The decision to have my piece cut came directly from my principal (I’m withholding her name), who felt that in light of a recent incident involving a school dance group's performance and negative depictions of police officers, it was best not to allow me to read Mr. Newton's work. While disappointed, I can understand why she made her decision, at least from an administrative point of view. However I take issue with her objection on two accounts. The first being that the excerpts mentioned police officers twice, neither one advocates violence against police officers, they simply mention that blacks have historically been harassed by them. My second qualm is with her statement that the work is not positive. In her eyes, and I’m sure in the eyes of many Americans, "positive" constitutes the "I have a Dream Speech", a rather hackneyed black history month tradition. Frankly I'm not sure how they got through black history week (later month) before Dr. King made the speech. Not to diminish the importance of the speech, but I do believe that there have been other addresses (lots of them made by King himself) that are of great importance as well.
What annoys me to no great end about this entire ordeal, is this idea that there is some acceptable form of black history, as if it is okay to ignore those aspects of history that make us uncomfortable. In an age where black youths are more concerned with rims than with education, in a country where African-American men are more likely to end up in prison than in college, and in a time when African-Americans have more opportunity than ever before, the messages of Huey Newton, Malcolm X, and others are needed more now than ever before. The students at my high school, and many schools around the nation need to be reminded that black history is supposed to empower and uplift us, it is supposed to restore a sense of pride in our community that is rapidly fading away.
no....
Instead of creating a program that incorporates all aspects of black history, the school was given a watered down mush of gospel music and Dr. King. We will continue to portray black history as a series of hymns and Negro spirituals, we will continue to pretend that all became well when Dr. King uttered those famous words.
But if I may remind of us of Huey Newton's words for just a moment: " We, with all of our numbers are recognized with no one. In fact, we do not even recognize ourselves. We are unaware of the potential power latent in our numbers..."
And we shall continue to be unaware of this power as long as Black History is regulated to the same old speeches and spirituals. I suppose it's irrelevant though, we have little to look forward to anyway, because Black History died with Martin Luther King jr.
Yes, in the four decades since King's death there has been nothing of note in the black community. I was surprised to discover this last month when I was informed that the piece I was prepared to read for my school’s African American history program was not going to make it on to the video. I selected some excerpts from Huey Newton's To Die For the People in the hopes that I would expose others to a segment of Black history that is so often overlooked. I'm sure that everyone here is familiar with Mr. Newton and some of the positive work he did in the black community. Granted there were many negative events in the man's life, but to deny that he did not play a significant role in black history is to spit on the efforts of an entire generation. Also, I challenge anyone to find a public figure that does not have one or two skeletons in their closet (Dr. King included).
The decision to have my piece cut came directly from my principal (I’m withholding her name), who felt that in light of a recent incident involving a school dance group's performance and negative depictions of police officers, it was best not to allow me to read Mr. Newton's work. While disappointed, I can understand why she made her decision, at least from an administrative point of view. However I take issue with her objection on two accounts. The first being that the excerpts mentioned police officers twice, neither one advocates violence against police officers, they simply mention that blacks have historically been harassed by them. My second qualm is with her statement that the work is not positive. In her eyes, and I’m sure in the eyes of many Americans, "positive" constitutes the "I have a Dream Speech", a rather hackneyed black history month tradition. Frankly I'm not sure how they got through black history week (later month) before Dr. King made the speech. Not to diminish the importance of the speech, but I do believe that there have been other addresses (lots of them made by King himself) that are of great importance as well.
What annoys me to no great end about this entire ordeal, is this idea that there is some acceptable form of black history, as if it is okay to ignore those aspects of history that make us uncomfortable. In an age where black youths are more concerned with rims than with education, in a country where African-American men are more likely to end up in prison than in college, and in a time when African-Americans have more opportunity than ever before, the messages of Huey Newton, Malcolm X, and others are needed more now than ever before. The students at my high school, and many schools around the nation need to be reminded that black history is supposed to empower and uplift us, it is supposed to restore a sense of pride in our community that is rapidly fading away.
no....
Instead of creating a program that incorporates all aspects of black history, the school was given a watered down mush of gospel music and Dr. King. We will continue to portray black history as a series of hymns and Negro spirituals, we will continue to pretend that all became well when Dr. King uttered those famous words.
But if I may remind of us of Huey Newton's words for just a moment: " We, with all of our numbers are recognized with no one. In fact, we do not even recognize ourselves. We are unaware of the potential power latent in our numbers..."
And we shall continue to be unaware of this power as long as Black History is regulated to the same old speeches and spirituals. I suppose it's irrelevant though, we have little to look forward to anyway, because Black History died with Martin Luther King jr.
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