land of the free, home of the alone.

Misperception #1: Brothers are brothers, no?

There was an Amish guy who had had enough of the tensions and hardships of Amish life. So he and his family left the Amish church. He bought a car. He bought a suit and tie. And he and his family started to go to the Baptist church in the local town. Some years went by as he adjusted to his new life. He stayed in touch with the Amish from his former church even though he had been excommunicated for leaving. Yet he encountered a dilemma when his ailing Amish mother could no longer care for herself. Amongst his Amish relatives it was eventually decided that he and his family would be most equipped to care for her given her special needs and that they had electricity. After a few years the mother died and the relatives again gathered to decide where to conduct the services. It was decided that it was acceptable to conduct the services at the Baptist church which the former Amish man and his family were currently attending, since the funeral was expected to be well attended. On the day of the funeral, the parking lot was filled with the buggies of relatives and friends from the Amish community everywhere. Many of the Amish were curious to see where this former Amish went to church and with whom he fellowshipped. Yet their curiosity was met with an even greater curiosity, when one Amish could contain himself no longer and asked, “Where are all the Baptists?” All the former Amish could manage, by way of response, was a motion at his suit and tie pastor who was sitting in the church office.

the fatal flaw

If you ask dominant culture America, “How are you today?”
The correct response is, “Fine.”
If you ask a Latino “Como estas hoy?”
The response is, “Allí en la lucha.”*
(I even had a co-worker correct me this morning as I was writing this—I didn’t think I could in honest conscience respond according to rote regulation as I was writing a commentary against it.)

Dominant culture possesses a fatal trait—one that ensures its own demise.

The baton is in her hand
Yet the day is coming when it will be torn out of her hand.
She does not know why she has it, nor to where she is going with it.
It only seems right, that it is in her hand.

Yet it will be ripped from her hand.
Perhaps her hand will be taken as well--still yet cluching
There will be blood.
There will be anguish.

The taste of horrendous defeat will be on her lips.
She will not have chosen this battle.
Life was only good and fair, when it was in her hand.
For with it she could simply say, “I AM.”

She will be incensed at the injustice of having it taken away.
She will demand a reason but none will be given.
Her struggle for her "I am" will begin the day it’s taken away.
On that day, she will begin to drink her daily milk from the cup of la lucha.*

On that day, all will remember--there is only one "I AM"

*la lucha--the fight, the struggle

land of the free, home of the brave

Recently, I’ve been really depressed—more than usual. There are quite a number of reasons for this. For one, it is becoming increasingly obvious that I am loosing my connections with the culture of my birth. Friends that I have had for the past 5 years aren’t friends anymore, nor have they proven to be loyal in my understanding of loyalty. I’m still processing what went wrong in an organized initiative that I helped create but then shut down after 5 years due to some unexpected, fatal issues. My family is struggling between either embracing the culture of their birth or the culture of the masses, causing great internal anxiety as some choose one or the other. Last night I watched a film on the cultural adjustment of a group of Africans who emigrated to the U.S. with dreams expectations of helping friends and family back home. I’ve entertained other provocative media that deals with inclusion and exclusion issues either theoretically or via descriptive conflict. I’ve been taking a course on Hispanic Theology which was developed in a hostile environment, continually raging against “the conquistador” and “the great westernizing machine.” Personally, I fully identify with the categories as I begin to articulate my pathetic human existence in similar terms. In fact, all of the negative things that have recently occurred are a result of my particular socio-cultural values, plans and expectations being mauled by the great westernizing machine and its freedom and progress agenda. I know a million and one people have already sung this song and dance against America. However, for me America isn’t my particular enemy. The systems of inclusion and exclusion have existed since the dawn of time. The U.S.S.R. had its privileged classes. The middle ages had its surfs and landholders. The Amish have their privileged family of leadership and their scapegoats. No matter what system exists, it will always be oppressive to some more than to others. The thing that is so depressing is that it will always be this way as long as I live. I will either create an unjust system and be fighting against the rebelling masses OR I will be one of the rebellious masses OR I could opt to be a piece of the silent masses, accepting, acquiescing recipient of whatever crumbs the systemic elite choose to toss at me. Somehow, whatever the system, I would be dependant on it for shelter and sustenance and thus, also participate in building my own systemic prison by my very existence in it. Thus, regardless of your post in life, dominant or marginalized, we have to live in the same world. I wouldn't be happy about being dominant nor am I about being marginally marginalized. Perhaps someone is willing to talk about how we are supposed to exist together.

I will continue this miserable discourse point by gruelling point in upcoming posts, using my experiences as a foil. Perhaps, as I examine the individual points of defeat something will come to me. Perhaps, the fog will break and something meaningful will emerge. I invite anyone who is reading to please put in their two cents because those to whom this monologue is available are the only one’s who understand, better than I, the values and unwritten, excessive array of idiosyncratic rules of the dominant culture. Or perhaps I have not yet mastered well enough the language and presentation of the dominant—thus, I am banished to a continuous spitting in the wind.

All in a day's work.

when everything’s made to be broken…

There is a well-known family that used to live in our neighborhood, who attracted all the attention of our “do gooder” neighbors. There was one thing that they are notorious for and that is the destruction, the loss and theft of many things. Some of us have felt sorry for them and attempted to teach (the kids) the cause and effect principles regarding how and why things get broken. One of my roommates even kept their library cards in a cubby in our house for the kids who didn’t want to have their cards subjected to their own house’s warzone. Just recently one kid got a birthday cake for his birthday. His immediate action after the candles were blown out was to destroy the cake in front of everyone’s eyes. Now that might seem strange to some but it makes perfect sense to others.

I'm sure the child learned at a very young age that everything is made to be broken. Therefore it matters only who breaks a thing first. Someone gets something new and shiny and coveted. He/she admires it and loves it and tries to keep it in a safe place where no-one will touch it. But everyone sees that and finds the hiding place, destroys the sacred object of affection and also destroys a little boy or little girl’s heart. Now after its gone that way for a few precious things that one could get attached to--the little boy or girl gets smart--everything will eventually get broken or lost around here. So if I want to survive I can't let my heart get attached to it. Instead, when I get a present, I will "enjoy it fully" so that no one else can. i.e. I will destroy it in front of everyone else's eyes before anyone can destroy it for me. That solidifies and assures my claim to the sacred object.