You Can’t Will Yourself a Better Life

Years ago, I read this mediocre tween novel about a group of people who enslaved another group of people on a frost planet or something. The privileged group lived in luxury while the oppressed group slaved away in ice mines.

I’m not sure why they were mining ice, but the result was this group of people was always cold. Not just chilly, but perpetually on the verge of freezing to death.

This made them easy to oppress. Not only did the ruling group have the power to quash any rebellion, but the enslaved group was so physically devastated as to be hardly able to rouse a resistance in the first place.

In the end – spoiler alert, but don’t read this book anyway – the oppressed group rallied the power do fight for and achieve equality. The catalyst which allowed them to achieve this momentous feat was when our hero discovered the power was in her all the time.

She and her people could be warm, she discovered. All they had to do was think warm thoughts.

No, seriously. The solution to these people being enslaved for generations was for them to visualize images of fire. Problem solved.

Even knowing this was a fantasy novel, that was always a little much suspension of disbelief for me.

You can’t will yourself to be warm.

In fact, feeling warm in a cold environment is one of the warning signs for frostbite, but I suppose it could also mean your ready to throw off the shackles of oppression.

It’s a nice story. It’s a nice idea that all you need to do is find your inner power and believe in yourself. I believe there’s a story like that about a girl with “magic” ballet shoes. It turns out she could dance beautifully the whole time – the “magic” shoes just helped her believe.

It’s a nice story. But it IS a story. And it is, in fact, a dangerous story.

In the short story American Hijiki, Akiyuki Nosaka recounts his moments from his childhood in post-war Japan. The work gets its name from his experience of an American airdrop of what his family took to be Hijiki – a type of seaweed. They were confused when they tried to eat it, though – as it turns out, it was tea.

But there’s another parable in there which seems relevant. After the war ended, Americans generously air-dropped aid packages Japanese families, who were starving since all their fields had been destroyed. They had been defeated, they had been humiliated, and they had no food to survive. But Americans dropped aid packages.

For weeks at a time they dropped nothing but bubble gum.

They dropped bubble gum to feed these starving souls.

And that, Nosaka says, is when he learned: you can’t get full from bubble gum.

And don’t think he didn’t try. Nosaka details different ways they tried to prepare the gum. Ways they tried to squeeze out the flavor or use the sticks to quell their empty stomachs. But nothing they did helped.

Because you can’t get full from bubble gum.

Just like you can’t warm yourself by thinking about it and you can’t will yourself a better life if you try.

Yes, individuals have agency. They have the capacity to make good choices and bad, and a lot can be changed by a person’s will and resolve. But at the end of the day, context is everything.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t get full on bubble gum.

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Trusting Young People

Not long ago, there was a story on the news about parents being investigated after their children, 10 and 6, were found walking to the park on their own.

A few weeks after that, someone told me how folks in their neighborhood complained about teens “hanging out” downtown. A complaint I’ve heard more than a few times in my own communities.

Those teens were probably up to no good, older neighbors seemed to think. With their loud talking and lack of important business.

These stories seem some how connected.

I do not nor have I ever had children, so I certainly don’t intend to tell people how to raise their own. Besides, each child has their own quirks and personalities, and I rather suspect there’s not a single style of parenting that works for them all.

But I often wonder if we – collectively, as society – ought to put more trust in our young people.

I have no children, but I’ve had the pleasure of learning from many young people. And I humbly hope they have learned something from me.

It may not be my responsibility to raise them, but it is our collective responsibility to welcome them, to engage them, to support them.

But apparently, teens hanging out can’t be trusted because they act like teens. Perhaps the kids going to the park can be trusted, but the world around them is so dangerous that we should fear letting them in it.

We’re so accustomed to thinking of kids as lesser beings that such a protective instinct seems natural. And perhaps it is, to some degree – I imagine if I did have children I would feel quite strongly that children need to be protected from some things.

But I’d never stand for a law saying that adult women couldn’t go out alone after dark – even if it was for their own protection. Such paternalism – inappropriate in most situations – is still appropriate in the situation from which it gets its name: pater, after all, is the Latin word for father.

And, again, perhaps paternalism of children is appropriate. I don’t imagine we’d want to simply unleash the world upon our kids – or worse yet, to unleash our kids upon the world. But the dangers of paternalism in other situations is enough to give me pause.

I suppose what I ask is this – that we collectively try to trust young people more, or at the very least, we look deeply at the roots of our concern.

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What Can be Done?

Faced with the ills of the world it is not uncommon to ask, What can be done?

This may be regret, heaved with a heavy sigh – what can be done?

Or it may be hope, seeking tactical advantage – what can be done?

Either way the question is the same. Whether the problems of the world seem utterly insurmountable or whether scrappy solutions seem effective enough, the question remains: what can be done?

The question itself is arguably disempowering – conjuring images of far-off experts or distant lands. What can be done [by those in power]? The question seems to ask.

In civic studies, we focus on an individual’s agency and on the collective power of people. Instead of asking what can be done, we ask what can we do?

What can be done by you and I? What can be done collectively by anyone seeking solutions to our most challenging problems? What steps can you and I take today, tomorrow, and ever onward to make the world better? What can we do?

The question is a daunting one. Putting the focus on ourselves puts the pressure on ourselves. What can we do?

What can I do?

I could do nothing. An option, perhaps, but a wholly dissatisfying one.

I could do something. A more promising tack, but with many questions in its wake. What something should I do? How much something is enough?

There is no solution, no easy formula, no simple way of knowing that x number of hours or y number of dollars fulfills your moral obligations to your fellow man. So still we are left with the question, what can we do?

You can try to logic your way into an answer – I shouldn’t give so much time that I burn out, I shouldn’t give more philanthropically than is sustainable. But to me those answers always feel hollow.

There is always more work to be done. There is always more I could give.

And then there are the myriad challenges for which I have no solutions. For which I have no knowledge and no real capacity to bring about positive change. Thousands are dying in Nigeria.

What can I do?

The haunting answer maybe nothing.

There are certainly things in this world which are beyond my control. I’ve no powers over life or death, over good fortune or ill. There are times when you have to let go. There are times when there is nothing to be done.

But this doesn’t have to be an icy fate. Even knowing the odds, knowing the challenges, knowing how little power we have in the face of cataclysmic challenges. Even knowing all this we can still pause and ask…

What can we do?

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Protest Strategies

Last week, protesters in Boston shut down 93 in both directions during rush hour. As they explained in their statement, they took this action to “disrupt business as usual” and protest police and state violence against Black people.

And disrupt they did.

But over the last few days, I’ve watched a fascinating debate emerge: was this the best form of action?

There are concerns about safety: at least one ambulance was diverted as a result of the action. There are concerns about precedent: do we want to be telling anyone that the dangerous act of blocking traffic is okay? There are concerns about effect: will this just make people angry, turning them off from really caring about the (important) cause?

And, of course, there are concerns about legitimacy: were the protesters just entitled white people? Did they truly have the buy in and support of Black Lives Matter? Were black people and people of color disproportionally negatively effected by being stuck in traffic? Did they lose wages? Did they lose their jobs? Did the protesters wildly misunderstand their target by calling Medford/Somerville “predominantly white, wealthy suburbs”?

These are all good questions.

There are, of course, rebuttals to all these points. One blogger, for example, argues: Boston is notorious for its traffic coming to a complete standstill on major thoroughfares. During baseball season, ambulances are routinely prevented from reaching major Boston hospitals in an efficient manner. I wonder whether the people who are attempting to discredit the #BlackLivesMatter protest also speak out against the Red Sox and their fans for blocking traffic? 

Those into history can revisit three weeks in 1981 when firefighters, police officers, and others regularly blocked rush hour traffic to protest layoffs – and there were no arrests. Like a Blue Mass Group blogger you might ask: Is it possible that there were no arrests because the police, although charged with trying to keep the roadways open, were basically in sympathy with the protesters?  Or have policies regarding when to arrest protesters changed over the years? 

These are also good questions.

Everybody has good questions, but but no one has good answers. It’s not that surprising, I suppose – if anyone had designed the “perfect protest” I’m sure we’d all have heard about it by now.

But there is no ideal protest formula, no way of know exactly what is best. Protests are messy, they’re complicated, and most of all, they are controversial.

And that is truly the crux of the matter. The debate isn’t really about how many ambulances were effected, or how this traffic compares to regular terrible traffic.

The real question is: are disruptive tactics good? Do they generate change in ways that other tactics cannot?

I don’t know the answer to that question – no one does – and it’s a great, interesting, rich topic of debate.

Personally, I tend to be conflict-avoidant: I can’t honestly say that I’m prepared to take part in any action which will lead to being arrested. But I’m not convinced that’s a good thing. Perhaps I am wise, perhaps I am a coward. I couldn’t say for sure.

But I will say this: I’m not prepared to judge anyone else for participating in the actions they think are most likely to bring about the change they want to see.

Let’s talk about strategy. Let’s talk about tactics. Let’s discuss what works and what doesn’t work, let’s debate what actions and reactions are most meaningful. But at the end of the day, yes – I stand by the Boston protesters.

I am proud they had the courage to stand up for what they believe. If only each of us could say the same.

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Paradigm Shift

You don’t get it, we don’t want to end the exploitation – we want to become the exploiters!

That satirical utterance from a television character so eloquently captures one of the greatest challenges in tackling inequality in all its forms.

And if you doubt for a moment that people still believe that they can grow up to be multimillionaires, consider this excerpt from Senator Marco Rubio’s 2011 floor speech:

We have never been a nation of haves and have-nots. We are a nation of haves and soon-to-haves, of people who have made it and people who will make it.

The American Dream has been a driver of great vision and innovation in this country, but it has also been a driver of great disparity.

Our system is not set up to have only “haves.” I suspect economists would argue that no system could be.

So we’re left with a system where we each desperately try to claw our way to the top, only to try to keep everybody else down once we get there. A sort of global King of the Hill.

And not only are we willing to elbow our way to success, we’re hesitant to support policies which address issues such as income inequality – because we believe that one day those policies might benefit ourselves.

As John Oliver recently joked, “I can clearly see this game is rigged, which is what’s going to make it so sweet when I win this thing!”

But is this the way things really need to be.

What if we started to generate a new culture? One where people worked to help those around them flourish? Where we each put our talents and resources to use supporting the growth and well being of others?

Could we then, bit by bit, shift this paradigm? Shift the every [person] for themselves mentally and find a system where we all had the opportunity to develop and live as our greatest selves?

Would that be possible?

 

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2015 Summer Institute of Civic Studies

The annual Summer Institute of Civic Studies is now accepting applications for its 2015 session.

This two-week, graduate level seminar is an intensive experience – discussions cover about a thousand pages of reading over nine full days. But it’s an amazing experience for anyone interested in exploring an academic, interdisciplinary understanding of citizens and societies.

The seminar brings together an impressive range of scholars and practitioners, all with a variety of experience but with a shared commitment of improving societies.

Of course, there’s plenty to question, argue about, and discuss when it comes to questions of what is a good society or how we might get there.

And that’s what makes this Institute so fun.

The Summer Institute will take place from June 15-27, 2015. For best consideration, applications should be submitted by March 15, 2015.

You can read all about the Summer Institute here: http://activecitizen.tufts.edu/civic-studies/summer-institute/

 

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Guerilla Service

Sometimes it takes an awful long time to get things done.

That’s not necessarily anybody’s fault, but it is a reality of bureaucracy – a process which does, indeed, have many benefits in it’s favor.

But when you’re outside the the bureaucracy, when it’s not your money to spend or your ducks to get in a row, delay can seem long and unnecessary.

Years ago – not too long before they rebuilt a certain MBTA stop – I used to go through that stop every day.

The paint was peeling in a most unsightly manner. This left the bare wood exposed to the elements, which only compounded the dilemma. It had been getting progressively worse over the years and it was getting to the point where a homeowner’s neighbors might start complaining.

Something really needed to be done.

Of course, something was done – the whole station was replaced a few years later. But as I stared at the peeling paint, I couldn’t help but wonder if something should happen sooner.

I had this dream – a crazy idea, of course, and I never did end up acting on it. But I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen –

If a broken into the station at night an repainted the walls.

I really wanted to do it.

Of course, the whole idea was impractical. I’d need to strip the wood, treat the wood, paint the wood, and probably let it dry between a few coats. That would never happen in one night. Even if I got a few people together.

It was a shame it wouldn’t have worked.

I always wondered what would happen if somebody did that. Technically it would be trespassing and vandalism, but would the state press charges if the work was completed in a professional manner? Would their be complaints about a citizen service vigilante taking on this work which needed to be done?

I didn’t know, and I really wanted to hear the conversation after.

Of course, there is another point, which could be raised in the face of well-meaning service: does a citizen’s volunteer work imply that such tasks are not the responsibility of the government?

A city, for example, ought to devote resources to maintaining it’s public parks, so a dedicated citizen ought to demand government action rather than cleaning the park themselves.

That is a valid concern, but I’m not sure what is better. All I know is that when I see old, dingy paint peeling off of old, dingy, walls –

I just want to get it done.

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Work, Dialogue, and Liberation

I was struck this morning by this excerpt from Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed:

I shall start by reaffirming that humankind, as beings of the praxis, differ from animals, which are beings of pure activity. Animals do not consider the world; they are immersed in it. In contrast, human beings emerge from the world, objectify it, and in so doing can understand it and transform it with their labor.

Animals, which do not labor, live in a setting which they cannot transcend. Hence, each animal species lives in the context appropriate to it, and these contexts, while open to humans, cannot communicate among themselves.

Animals are “beings of pure activity,” but animals “do not labor.” Only human beings – through their self-awareness, through their naming of the world – only human beings labor and thus transform the world.

Harry Boyte has written extensively about “public work,” an approach which seeks to move civic activity beyond the voluntary sector, to bring work and workplaces into an understanding of active citizenship.

This approach powerfully considers the ability of people to physically and creatively transform their world – not only through their thoughts and ideas, but through their work: through their work imagining, building, and creating something together. This public work, Boyte argues, is the true heart of civic efforts, the core of what it means to live and co-create together.

Freire’s understanding seems importantly related, yet subtly different.

Freire argues that “human activity is theory and practice; it is reflection and action. It cannot…be reduced to either verbalism or activism.”

in many ways, that argument seems near the core to an understanding of public work. To be is not simply to be, to think does not simply imply I am. To be, to think, to exist as a free and conscious agent – this is synonymous with action.

I think. I am. I do.

For the “fully human,” as Freire would say, for the liberated person, these things are synonymous. They cannot be separated.

For Freire, the power of “public work” comes from the connection of thinking and doing:

…the revolutionary effort to transform these structures radically cannot designate its leaders as its thinkers and the oppressed as mere doers….true commitment to the people…cannot fail to assign the people a fundamental role in the transformation process. The leaders cannot treat the oppressed as mere activists to be denied the opportunity of reflection and allowed merely the illusion of acting.

While Freire never uses the phrase “public work,” all this seems very much in line with the views of Boyte and other proponents of the approach.

But Freire adds another piece to the puzzle. For Freire, communication is a critical piece of understanding, it is a critical piece of liberation. In his view, human beings first express their freedom as they name their world. As beings of consciousness, humans recognize the world around them. By naming, they identify themselves as as free beings of agency, with power to shape the world around them.

This power of communication has important implications for the value of deliberative dialogue as a tool to transform, as a tool of liberation, as a tool of action.

Dialogue with the people is radically necessary to every authentic revolution, Freire writes.

Sooner or later, a true revolution must initiate a courageous dialogue with the people. Its very legitimacy lies in that dialogue. It cannot fear the people, their expression, their effective participation in power. It must be accountable to them, must speak frankly to them of its achievements, its mistakes, its miscalculations and its difficulties.

And make no mistake, this dialogue isn’t “just talk.” For Freire, this dialogue is the embodiment of action:

Let me emphasize that my defense of the praxis implies no dichotomy by which this praxis could be divided into a prior stage of reflection and a subsequent stage of of action. Action and reflection occur simultaneously…Critical reflection is also action.

The revolution is made neither by the leaders for the people no by the people for the leaders, but by both acting together in unshakeable solidarity. This solidarity is born only when the leaders witness to it by their humble, loving, and courageous encounter with the people. Not all men and women have sufficient courage for this encounter – but when they avoid encounter they become inflexible and treat others as mere objects; instead of nurturing life, the kill life; instead of searching for life, they flee from it. And these are oppressor characteristics.

Some may think that to affirm dialogue – the encounter of women and men in the the world in order to transform the world – is naively and subjectively idealistic. There is nothing, however, more real or concrete than people in the world and with the world, than humans with other humans – and some people against others, as oppressing and oppressed classes.

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Nice

I’m not a big fan of the word nice.

Well, I suppose, not the word itself but rather the connotation it implies. Nice is so fake, so superficial, so lacking in real substance.

Don’t get me wrong, I am generally in favor of being polite, considerate, friendly, thoughtful, or empathic. Those all sound like good things to be. But nice…never quite sounded so appealing.

I don’t think I want to be nice.

I’d rather be honest. I’d rather be genuine. I’d rather say things that are difficult to say and have conversations which are uncomfortable to have.

Nice is too clean, too sterile. It blithely glosses over the messiness, the grittiness of life.

I like that mess.

I want that mess.

Perhaps its okay to do nice things in the moment. Perhaps its okay to occasionally play nice. But as a general philosophy -

Well, I should be disappointed if nice was what I accomplished in life.

Being nice can be challenging, but there’s also some troublingly easy about being nice. As if the best thing to do is avoid confrontation, to avoid difficult decisions, to make sure everything is clean and pristine at all times.

The real challenge, I think, is to recognize when you genuinely differ with someone. To embrace that confrontation, to discuss, debate, and critique. To have those impassioned conversations, to raise those difficult issues, to disagree vehemently -

- and to emerge as friends.

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Millions March Boston

On Saturday, I went into Boston. A rare occurrence for someone who rarely leaves the four square miles of my home city.

But I went into Boston for Millions March Boston.

A day of anger and sadness. A day of action. A day of reflection.

I went into Boston because black lives matter.

Media reports say one thousand people were there.  Twenty three people got arrested. But it was hard for me to tell. I was lost in the throng of the crowd.

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There were more police officers than I knew what to do with.

I have been to many protests. I have been to many rallies. I’ve seen men with assault rifles guard the streets during the Boston DNC. I have never seen so many police officers.

I was surprised.

I didn’t feel that threatening.

The officers were dressed to make a statement. They were dressed for battle. In full riot gear with long, threatening batons and bright green vests. They stood still. Unmoving. Some revolutionary version of the British Royal Guard.

I know people who are police officers, but these police officers didn’t feel like people.

I wondered what they were like in real life.

We marched to the Nashua Street County Jail. A jail which houses 700 pretrial detainees.

We stood chanting in the street while inmates beat on the windows.

I wondered who was in there. I wondered what they were accused of. I wondered if they’d ever seen something like this.

And I wondered what they were like in real life.IMG_6590

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