8-5-2008
During the first three decades of the 1900s their was an intense ecological movement in Germany. It was a movement of youth that promoted a return to the land and opposed industrialization's damage to the earth. They were called Wandervögel or in English "wandering free spirits". They practiced and idealized a lot of the same things as modern day environmentalists. But what ultimately became of this movement would horrify most of today's environmental activists.
Most of these nature-loving youngsters became Nazis. Yes, Nazis. The Nazi Party successfully recruited them by exploiting their message of benign 'Earth purity' into that of a murderous 'human purification'. Thus the 'Green Wing' of the Nazi Party was born and became one of the driving influences to the holocaust.
What does this mean for today's ecological movement? Does this mean that ecology and fascism go hand-in-hand? Definitely not, but it does means that we are vulnerable.
How do we make sure that people seeking social and ecological change are never exploited again?
One way is to recognize that healthy, earth-sustaining activities are a privilege and ensure that whatever cause we as individuals choose to support, whether it be animal rights, organic farming or nature preservation, we always keep the well-being of our fellow humans central to our work.
Signs that your environmental interests are being hijacked by a fascist:
1. You're encouraged by your local PETA supporter to be more concerned for the welfare of farm animals than that of the poor people who care for them.
2. Someone you know repeatedly implies that immigrants are bad for the environment.
3. Your neighbor annoyingly monitors everything you put in the recycling bin, but evades conversations on corporate waste.
4. You find yourself sympathizing with Hollywood celebrities (especially young, blond ones) who confront poor villagers over their life-sustaining hunting practices and then fly back to L.A. in gas guzzling private jets.
What to do:
1. Step away from the haters!
2. Remember that immigrants plant, pick and slaughter most of the food in this country. The better they are treated, the better they will treat your food.
3. Celebrities may be pretty, but they usually aren't so bright. Don't trust them to give you sound advice on urgent environmental issues.
4. Whole Foods may talk a good game, but it's still a corporation and only accessible by the super-rich. If you support local growers that make themselves available to everyday people, then you increase the chance that everyday people will have access to organic food.
Ecoploitation?
On Neighbors and Immigration
Guest Blogger: Doug West - click on title to find original post
DWest@us.ci.org
7-28-2008
I was an eyewitness this week to some of the worst aspects of humanity: fear, distrust, defensiveness. It was a single incident that happened behind my neighbor’s house. Running behind the houses on my street is a walking trail that weaves through some woods and along a creek and a small lake. Several children, including my 3 sons, were playing at the edge of those woods, checking out the creek, throwing rocks in the water – typical kid stuff. I was in the backyard when I heard my neighbor, let’s call her ‘Liz’, talking to someone, in a tone of voice that clearly suggested she was annoyed or angry:
“Hey you – can I help you?…………Hello? What are you doing?......Leave………excuse me...GO!”
As she was saying this I looked up to see who she was talking to and saw a landscape worker, dirty, sweaty, his weed-whacker resting over his shoulder, standing just on the other side of her fence. He was standing there looking at the children, just watching what they were doing. I could see he was Hispanic and he turned his head to acknowledge her but then just smiled and turned his head away, not moving on like she wanted. I think this clearly upset her all the more as she got louder with each new question or command she issued, thinking he was purposefully ignoring or disregarding her.
With a glance at the scene outside her fence, she had immediately turned to fear, distrust and defensiveness. Her words, tone and body language were conveying “You aren’t welcome here, I don’t trust you, what the heck do you think you are doing just standing there looking at the children?, and you better get out now.” Without a single word of dialog, the man was assumed to be, at best, an uninvited, unwanted person in the community and at worst, a dangerous threat. Because he was an immigrant, a laborer, he was most likely a criminal with ill intent. If he had been a white man dressed like an executive in a pressed business suit, I am certain he wouldn’t have received the same response – at the very least not in the same dismissive tone.
I can’t tell you how glad I am that I am somewhat conversational in Spanish. I could clearly see that he didn’t understand her so I walked over to help out. José Antonio Rio is part of the landscape crew that cuts the grass and does all the landscape work on the common areas in the neighborhood. He was easily 50-60 years old, had a warm, gentle smile and had been working a full day already, with dirt and bits of grass plastered to the front of his jeans. He’s from El Salvador and told me about how bad it had been there during the war, when so many women and children were slaughtered. He is a grandfather and was quick to point out that the grass around the rocks in the drain water ditch was getting too high and was dangerous for the little children who would trip if they couldn’t see where to step. He had been busting his tail keeping our community looking nice and was just taking a break before finishing his work (cutting the grass around those rocks) and meeting up with the rest of the crew. What a thank you.
To end the story, the three of us ended up having great conversation. When Liz found out he had a reason for being there and stopped assuming he was a threat to her property, herself or her child, you could tell she felt horrible at the way she had been talking to him. She even went up to the house and got José a cold cup of water and offered to do the same every time he came through.
Now, to her defense, Liz is a widowed single mom, new to the neighborhood, with a 9-year-old son. I am sure her life experiences and circumstances have encouraged or taught her to be protective. I’m not trying to condemn her at all. I’ve seen prejudice in different forms in my own heart at times, as much as I hate to admit it. It just showed me a glimpse of how hateful or distrustful we can be toward others – particularly whole groups of people who are ‘different’ than us, whether in culture or class.
Motorcycle Zen
By Nicole Hallengrogg
7-27-2008
Last weekend I joined with thousands of bikers to ride through Montana and Wyoming's Beartooth Pass Highway. Now if you would have asked me a year ago if I saw myself riding switchback after switchback in leather boots and jacket on the back of a Harley, I would have taken a moment to contemplate, laughed and said "anything is possible, I guess". Now what amazes me the most about this whole experience is why I hadn't done it before.
There's nothing like it.
There's nothing like the wind in my hair, the cool breeze and hot patches of sun warmed road, the balmy segments of valley that feel like hot, moist, summer days back East. The endless snaking road stretched out before me like some great slumbering serpent. The great hillsides giving birth to segmented crimson and golden rock formations shaded into jagged sculptures of earth by sun. The treelines opening like unearthly gates to mountains that jet up to the sky, pointing sharply at the heavens, the snowcapped peaks, river valleys, and high alpine lakes that mirror wildflowers and sky.
There is nothing like the meditative hummm; a loud silence giving room for only breath and sight. It is here that I have let Zen come over me. Holding on to forward, leaving backwards in my past. It is here that I look out upon our world and see the sunset behind white and lavender mountains.
They say that that close to ten thousand bikers showed up for the Red Lodge Rally. Like some huge gathering of leathered monks, we shared these views together and alone; a rumbling sacred silence, a meditation on freedom and beauty.
And yet most people imagine a gathering of this sort to be littered with loud parties, street fights, broken bottles and women dressed in red paten leather platforms and black leather skirts- and no doubt, there was some of that. But there is something more. That gathering, that 180 miles of mountain road, those bikes riding simultaneously staggered along a winding stretch of the most beautiful highway I have ever witnessed is something pretty incredible. There is something about the ride and the rider that lends itself to our desire for freedom and beauty and how we must take it wherever it is or ride to meet it if we must. How every man and women wants to let go of the stuff behind them and move only forward, and look out onto this world with love and appreciation for its magnificence. Our tribute to its beauty is to appreciate it, however we can, and if it takes ten thousand humming motorcycle monks to do it, then so be it.
What I Learned from Jefferson's Mountain
7-26-2008
A few weeks ago President Bush welcomed 72 new Americans as they took their oath of citizenship at Thomas Jefferson's famous estate, Monticello, near Charlottesville, Virginia. 72 new citizens got a healthy taste of free speech as Bush was continually heckled from the crowd.
I happened to be in Virginia too, visiting relatives, and as I watched Bush give his speech on TV, I wondered what it must feel like to become a citizen on such hallowed ground. I had an urge to visit Monticello and so a few days later there I was- standing atop Jefferson's mountain, guidebook in hand.
Many considered Jefferson a man of great genius. Born into one of the nation's wealthiest families he began as a lawyer them moved into politics serving as Governor, Secretary of State, Vice-President and President. Interestingly enough he did not enjoy public service saying, "I have no ambition to govern men; it is a painful and thankless office."
He had a few hobbies to distract him from his dreaded day job. He was a respected horticulturist, architect, archaeologist, paleontologist, inventor, collector, and author.
He was a radical. He spoke out against religious tyranny, persuasively argued for the separation of church and state and access to public education. He also opposed slavery, notably in the Declaration of Independence, however that section was removed by Congress before the document was approved on July 4, 1776. He once said, "I have no fear that the result of our experiment will be that men may be trusted to govern themselves without a master."
Yet Jefferson inherited 200 slaves and "owned" approximately 200 slaves at all times throughout his life. It's believed that he fathered several children with a slave named Sally Hemmings, herself the daughter of an enslaved black mother and white slaveholder.
This was on my mind when I arrived at Monticello; when I saw the one room dwellings that an entire slave family would have shared situated next to the pillared perfection of Jefferson's mansion, and when I learned that Jefferson freed only seven slaves during his life, most of them Sally's (and his) children. As I glimpsed the life of an iconic man, the words of another American icon, Langston Hughes, came to mind:
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)*
I believe that Jefferson would have had a deep understanding of these words. He was an oppressor who was keenly aware of the dehumanizing affects of his oppression.
In the 1780s Jefferson brought Sally's brother, James, to France with him to learn the culinary arts, and James returned to Monticello to train other slaves to be gourmet chefs. Guests at Monticello were served macaroni, waffles, and ice cream, considered novelties at the time. Some of his favored slaves became skilled craftsmen, creating equipment, furniture, and mechanical devices out of raw materials according to Jefferson's specifications, many of which contributed to modern inventions.
He imported squash and broccoli from Italy, beans from the Lewis and Clark expedition, French figs, and Mexican peppers, planting them in his abundant fields, groves and gardens, all of which were tended to by slave hands. Many of the items grown on his land weren't seen anywhere else in the country and today are staples of American diets. Who should we thank for these influences? The man who fancied foreign commodities or those who ploughed, planted, and nurtured the land to produce those commodities and lay them at his table?
"I would rather be exposed to the inconveniences attending too much liberty than to those attending too small a degree of it." Jefferson wrote, and yet he could not forgo his conveniences in order to grant liberty to those who spent their lives in his service. He spoke of releasing his slaves once he had paid his debts, but that day never came. Jefferson continued to collect, import, and spend until his death, and his slaves, some of whom would have been his grandchildren, were auctioned off on Monticello's sweeping lawn.
He wrote of his hypocrisy, "We have the wolf by the ears; and we can neither hold him, nor safely let him go. Justice is in one scale, and self-preservation in the other."
Thomas Jefferson likely was condemned by no one but himself. What is it that we, today, do not condemn each other for? What injustices committed for today's conveniences will bring tomorrow's scorn?
I believe those who stand on emblematic mountains each day and take oaths to this country will help us as we struggle with these questions. In the meantime, I'm going to continue reading words that inspire me to go rightly into the future while never forgetting the past.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!*
*Selected excerpts taken from Langston Hughes' poem Let America Be America Again.
Dominating the world one Gold medal at a time
By Joel Ebert
7-25-2008
The obsession that some people have over the Olympics confuses me. I am not anti-American, but sometimes I wonder if people are rooting for the American team for the right reasons.
Allow me to digress.
Occasionally I run into people that I enjoy talking sports with. Seeing as how I live in Chicago, I mostly run into people that want to talk about whatever sport is in season. There are so many Cubs fans right now that you wouldn’t even believe it.
On occasion though, I run into Chicago Bulls fans. We reminisce about the 90s and Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen (sometimes Dennis Rodman) and their dominance over the NBA for six years. The thing that strikes me odd about this is not that people stopped liking the Bulls when Michael Jordan left, but that people seemed to stop liking them when their dominance was over, although this coincided with Jordan’s exit.
I don’t exclude myself from this observation. I especially lost interest once Jordan and Co. dismantled; leaving a team of mediocrity that was in place for the same amount of time as the one that was dominant - six years. The seasons between 1998/99 and 2003/04 were among the worst seasons (record wise) the Bulls have played in their entire franchise.
And then suddenly the 2004-2005 season catapulted them back into the playoffs and coincidentally, popularity. For the past three seasons now there has been a level of excitement surrounding the Bulls that have not been seen since the Jordan era. Once again, I am not immune to this. At some point in the 2007 season I found myself at a local bar watching one or two playoff games that the Bulls were in. This is especially odd because I probably didn’t watch more than five minutes worth of basketball since that wonderful 1997/98 season when the Bulls won their sixth title.
This all occurred to me as I began doing some research on the 2008 US Olympic Basketball team. With a team featuring a host of NBA superstars including LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, and Dwayne Wade, there has been much excitement surrounding it. Some people have even called this the Redeem Team (an obvious take on the 1992 Dream Team which featured M.J., Larry Byrd, Charles Barkley and Magic Johnson) because of the failings of the US Olympic basketball team in three previous Olympic competitions. And by failings I mean their inability to win the Gold medal.
So now all of the sudden, perhaps because of the Olympic team, we may see a surge in basketball fans. But I am pretty sure that this will only happen if they win the Gold. If they fall anywhere short, it will be seen as a disappointment.
Now I’m wondering if this is such a good idea – to break things down into such extremities. Why is it that we feel disappointed when our team does not succeed in the fullest capacity possible?
I will come back to this question later.
It seems to me that there are two types of sports fans:
1) The type of fan that enjoys the actual sport and who may or may not like a particular team for one reason. Reason may include physical location or personal upbringing.
2) The type of fan that claims to enjoy a particular team but whom only passively enjoys the actual sport.
The major difference between these types of fans is where their allegiance lies – in the team or in the sport. You can determine whether you or someone you know fall into which category by asking yourself a simple question: If the I watch most often was the worst team in the league/division/conference/etc for several years, would I continue to watch/follow/like them?
You should be able to figure out what type of fan you are by answering this question.
Now let us go back to the question I asked above. Why is it that we feel disappointed when our team does not succeed in the fullest capacity possible?
Perhaps one of the reasons (and most likely not the definitive reason) is because when the team that you support fails, you in essence fail along with them. And when the team succeeds, we succeed with them. This is exactly why I think so many people are excited about the 2008 Olympic basketball team and to a larger extent why so many Americans enjoy watching the Olympics.
We inherently desire our team to succeed because it ultimately reflects on our nation. Winning a gold medal says not only that we have dominated in one sport over the rest of the world; it also gives us that feeling of dominance over the rest of the world that we felt for so many years.
Looking at the sluggish economy, the weakening US dollar, highly disputed foreign policies, and a much despised President, the United States is viewed today as less dominant in the world than it used to be. So we look for successes and dominance in any form we can get them. This may secretly be the reason why so many Americans will glue their heads and hearts to the US Olympic team this summer. Not because they love the sport that they are watching, but because they are yearning for American dominance in one form or another.
And honestly, I can’t say I blame anyone that may feel this way. I’m not saying we need to dominate the world, but it would be nice to be a leader in the world again, and perhaps an Olympic Gold medal will push us in the right direction.
Chicago's Hometown Heroes
7-23-2008
I was born and raised in the Chicago-area. I grew up going to Cubs games with my dad, and playing catch in the backyard. I spent most of my childhood in a suburb where one enjoyed the best of the city and ignored the worst.
The worst was the segregation, poverty, and police brutality. I heard about it, but I never saw it. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I learned about the deep divisions of my city. In some Chicago neighborhoods one can feel as if every step is scrutinized. Although I loved it here, I began to be uncomfortable in my city; uncomfortable with what my moving into the neighborhood meant for my neighbors (who were mostly African-American and Latino).
Any Cubs fan who moves away will probably tell you that the thing they miss most about Chicago are games at Wrigley Field, and that’s exactly what I was craving.
The funny thing is I don't even like baseball all that much. It can get kind of boring. And let's face it, if you're looking for superb athleticism you might want to try another sport. I was missing what happens once you walk into the stadium. The love of Cubs fans for their players is hard to explain, and I'm not sure most would want to understand it even if they could. There is one universal fact though, baseball fans love a good player no matter where they come from.
When I sat down at my first game of the season this year my heart swelled when I heard the crowd chanting Kosuke Fukodome's name (our star left-hander from Japan). Imagine arriving in a strange country with no friends and have 40,000 people rise to their feet to welcome you - every day. Kosuke may not have realized it, but in the hearts of Chicagoans he was one of us.
The same with Carlos Zambrano, who embodies the dreams of all the big farm boys pitching away in small towns across America. Then there's the story of Jim Edmonds...oh wait, he was actually born in America - well he used to be a Cardinal, so he’s actually the most foreign of all. And even though we needed some time to warm up to him, he's now loved like he's been a Chicagoan all along.
Most people who watch baseball understand that it's no longer a national pastime - it's an international pastime. It wouldn't be any fun without immigrants. Imagine turning on the game and not seeing Aramis Ramirez, Alfonso Soriano or Carlos Marmol step onto the field. What if all the immigrants disappeared from baseball? Would we even bother watching anymore? Now think about how we would feel if all the immigrants disappeared from our city and then our country.
We don't often like to admit it, but immigrants make this city and this country more vibrant. How would our lives change if we could transfer our loving embrace as baseball fans into other areas of our lives? What if we could take this love and bring it home or to our jobs or on our morning commute? What if we could look past an accent and block out the noise on Fox News and just see people for who they are? I think it would make this good city even better, maybe even as great as a summer day at Wrigley Field.
(Images gratefully borrowed from Wallyg's photostream (statue of liberty) and Chicago photogirl's photostream (Chicago skyline) at flicker.com/creativecommons)
Do We Really Want Change?
By Sarah Viets
7-21-2008
Have you ever broken up with someone because they rarely stood on their own? Or because they stimulated you, but the tone of their words muted the sound of your voice - their words and thoughts towered over your every word.
I have. Then I promised myself I’d never date a replica of my past. I made a vow to meet someone who would challenge me and get me to see the world and myself through a different prism. I was so tired of making all the decisions, no matter how serious or trivial they were. Tired, tired tired…
But then life goes on and my previous experiences are remembered as a small and insignificant part of my past. I meet someone new and his/her personality appears to contrast a familiar face. But then I notice something. I’ve ended up exactly where I once was. Ugg! Who put a magic mirror above my bathroom sink?! Why do I continue to not see situations as they are; is my mirror permanently distorted?
Worse yet, I desire that familiar voice of the one who is responsible for my solace and despair.
I say I want change and want to try something new. I want to break away from the only experiences I’m most comfortable in. But when it comes down to it, my actions contrast my ideals. Instead, of choosing what I desire, I merely choose a different shade of a previous color.
I live in an age of change - an era that thrives to see and experience unfamiliar paths. The internet connects us to new ideas and people across the globe, allowing me to sit in my living room and download new movies and foreign rhythms and beats.
While the present moment rings of opportunity, the opportunities we choose are not optimistic.
People may claim they’re adaptable and “open-minded,” but the only people and ideas we believe are merely echoes our own. People really don’t seek anything different, just a larger exposition of what they already proclaim to know. And if somebody challenges a point of view, people don’t question the roots of a personal position. We respond in defense by clinging to our ideals while not knowing what the opposing side actually represents. We become loyal and rigid, keeping our feet locked in place. We don’t second-guess our original stance. Re-thinking previously stated opinions are defined as wavering weak assessments and not evolving conclusions.
At the same time, we present ingrained opinions; we don’t hesitate to say why someone is wrong. Individual interpretations based on personal experiences possibly explain unfamiliar patterns.
While I obsessively shuffle through a friend’s friend-list on facebook, search on-line for that Icelandic band I heard at a friend’s house, or play chess with cyber friends from who knows where, am I really taste-testing unaccustomed flavors?
With that said, do people prefer subconsciously pre-determined opinions? And if so, is the inability to feel grounded in undetermined conclusions an individual problem or a social phenomenon?
Looking at current events, debates about immigration reform usually present solutions that aren’t any different from the past. Proposed state-wind ballot initiatives and city council ordinances that try to address problems with immigration are masked as new and innovative approaches, but they’re not.
Kind of like old policies that either banned slavery, implemented “gradual” emancipation, or held tight to their slave auctions and enacted the Fugitive Slave Act. In fact, for more than 100 years, colonies and states couldn’t decide what to do. So they began to use their borders (like states and city ordinances) as a way to advance pro-slavery positions. Even more, there were over 20 different local and state wide policies that limited where black people could work, live, and who black folks could marry.
But states could never really decide what to do to. One minute they might pass some law to protect husbands, wives, daughters and sons running away from the south, and then the next minute they might protect segregation.
It was a HUGE mess. So much that the south declared itself independent from the north (the Southern Confederacy) so they could assert their strong support for buying and selling moms and dads like a piece of cattle.
Now, I know bringing up history is like bringing up a bad relationship that you’re trying to forget. But how can anyone learn from his or her mistakes unless they draw lessons from old mistakes?
I know it’s easy to say slavery was bad, that our old relatives were off their rockers, but at one moment and time, they weren’t. It was socially acceptable to protect slavery and hunt for runaway slaves, kind of how the Minutemen (a modern anti-immigrant group on the border) hunts for immigrants on the border.
(and here's a picture)
We desperately need new ideas - we need change. But new non-traditional ideas should be examined with caution, unfamiliar views should at least be considered before firmly rejected. That’s what makes our country beautiful: the ability to challenge and adapt our American constitution.
Maybe its time to re-define what it means to be a Citizen. Maybe its time to re-think what it means to be American.
(picture gratefully used from www.dneiwert.blogspot.com)
My Daughter's Childcare Prison
7-20-2008
(Image is gratefully borrowed from Allan Ferguson on flicker.com/creativecommons and IS NOT a picture of my child's daycare)
My three year-old daughter, Samantha, has this strange habit of hiding pieces of the playground in her pockets during outside time at school. I have the pleasure of finding these little treasures at about 12:00 am when I’m lying awake wondering what the hell I put in the dryer and why its making odd scratching sounds at each revolution. I get up to find sand and wood-chips scattered evenly on every piece of Hello Kitty underwear and Dora tee shirt. It happens way to frequently, since I, being the busy, absent-minded single mom that I am, I never remember to check her pockets before a wash.
This little quark of hers reminds me of a book I once read about a man who dug a hole inside his prison cell. Being the careful minded person that he was, he took the time to remove the debris, hiding it in his pockets, and dumping it in the yard when they were allowed to go outside. I imagine Samantha, hands dug deep in her pockets, finding an inconspicuous corner of the playground to unload her labors of the day. Looking around to make sure none of the teachers have caught her, she finds a place in the sandbox and settles in for play.
I would like to say that my childcare facility does not remind me of a prison, but in fact, there are some pretty close similarities.
Do I drop her off unwillingly? Yes. Does she beg and plead for me not to go? Yes. Do other children want to be there? Not Really. Must the children fall into line in order for the facility to run properly? Yes. Is it heavily gated and are there strict security policies? Yes. Well, you get the point. One major difference being that I pay for childcare out of pocket instead it coming out of my taxes.
Yet, I drop her off everyday. Tearing myself out of her tiny grasp and turning to complete my day at work…to pay for her being there, so I can support her, so we can survive. I work just down the steps in a two year-old room where my other daughter attends class. The truth is I can’t afford to work anywhere else. If I were to get paid eight dollars an hour (with a collage degree) at another job I would be paying the childcare facility five more dollars a day then my earned wages. The childcare facility gives me a break on my childcare monthly bill for working there - it’s the only reason I can afford it. This makes me think that correctional officers have it pretty good. They get salary, paid vacations, and benefits. I get the comfort of knowing I can probably swing my rent and electricity this month.
As it is, Samantha will continue to dig tunnels in the playground looking for some secret route to freedom. I will eventually have to buy a new dryer. And I hope to God that someday I won’t be smuggling a nail file to her in a birthday cake.
Batman: Hoping for a Dark Knight
7-19-2008
You will undoubtedly read and/or hear about the latest Batman film, The Dark Knight, in some form or another sometime in the next few weeks. Critics will rave about it, fans will recommend it, and kids will demand that parents take them to it. These are the ways things work in the film industry.
According to an article in the International Herald Tribune, The Dark Knight, which was released just yesterday, set a box office record for its midnight debut. Box office totals from the 3,040 theaters that showed the film are said to be at $18.5 million. This figure does not even include the ticket sales from 3:00 am and 6:00 am viewings.
What’s more is that the film hasn’t even seen its full release yet. The Dark Knight, yet to be released in some countries, is officially scheduled to show in 4,366 theaters – the largest number of theaters ever to show a film.
What is really interesting about the Batman series is that each film has made more money in the United States than around the rest of the world. This isn’t typical for most films Hollywood has made, or otherwise. Most films (with a few notable exceptions) make most of their money from global distribution.
So the fact that the latest Batman film, The Dark Knight, is selling in droves in the United States didn’t surprise me. But what did surprise me are the numerous reasons why people are attending the film. While there are several different reasons why people are flocking to the film in record numbers, I would like to concentrate on one factor that you most certainly will not read in a critic’s review. That factor is a collective desire for hope in America today.
In the beginning of the film, the citizens of Gotham City (the fictional, yet reminiscent of reality, city in the Batman series) are in distress. They do not know whether they are safe from Batman, the mob or alternative villains. When District Attorney Harvey Dent comes around, the citizens project their hopes and desires for Gotham onto the man, even referring to him as the White Knight. But what they don’t know is that Batman is really making things happen. He is the Dark Knight that is making Gotham a safer city. The hope that Gotham’s citizens express for Harvey Dent is not unlike the hope many American citizens have felt, and continue to feel, about the current race for presidency.
Hope was the key word for a while in the presidential primary race and will most likely continue to be big in the race for the presidency. Hope has been used by Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and John McCain to entice and invigorate Americans to have faith in the future of America once again.
We, Americans, want to believe that we can get behind one person who will lead us to a better, less fear driven world. And this is exactly what the citizens of Gotham City want Batman to do for them. But they are skeptical. They think that Batman could be doing more harm than good, seeing as how innocent people are still dying while Batman is trying to save the day.
This is because Batman isn’t superhuman. He can never fulfill all of the hopes and desires that Gotham’s citizens have for him. But this does not mean he isn’t working for a better day when Gotham’s citizens can feel safe and trust their city is going in the right direction again.
But this desire for hope may not be the number one reason why people are flocking to The Dark Knight this summer. But I think that the welcoming reception that the film has received has something to do with our hope for an ordinary citizen who can lead us to better understand ourselves and the world around us.
Birthday’s don’t Pay Like They Used To
7-15-2008
I don’t know about you, but I’m a grandmaster of birthdays, well at least my birthday. If you happen to be one of those people who know me personally you probably know about my birthday. I celebrate my birthday for fifteen days straight. That’s seven days before and seven days after, just in case you’re doing the math. In light of all the recent studies showing a stark decline in leisure time, I want to make sure I give each of my friends the opportunity they need to free their time and juggle finances to celebrate me!
My birthday has always been special to me. It’s during that time that I like to take stock of my life and accomplishments. It’s when I like to stare into the mirror and give myself the “stern talking to,” “the pep talk,” or what I like to call the “look of satisfaction.” It’s during those quiet times - in-between opening the many wonderful presents, devouring the amazing cakes, or answering the hilarious phone calls from friends - that I think it’s important to assess my past, present and future.
I can remember most of my birthdays clearly. I can even tell you what I was doing on those days. When I was younger, my birthday parties were an excuse for the whole family to get together. Although the focus on me quickly shifted to family gossip, I also got birthday cards filled with hard cold cash. Like any American kid, I was ecstatic to see those green bills. I would negotiate with my mother over how much I had to put into my savings account (the Play-Dough container on my shelf), and over how much money I could spend on comic books, toys and candy.
I like to say I was good at saving, but I would eventually spend the money in my special container. I am sure many of you can relate to the disappointment upon picking up a piggy bank that is too light to contain much cash. (How does it go so fast? I still wonder that every pay check.) In many ways my birthdays served as my earliest lesson in the importance of taking personal responsibility for my finances.
Now that I’m an adult, it’s rare to find cash in my birthday cards. But I haven’t forgotten the financial schooling those birthdays provided me. I may not be the smartest with my money, but I still try to tuck a little away for a rainy day. And taking personal responsibility doesn’t just mean staring at my wallet, it also means looking at the wallet of the country. I mean it’s my tax dollars at work, isn’t it?
Well I’m looking at our nation’s wallet today and I don’t like what I see. A day before my birthday, IndyMac Federal Bank closed its doors and was taken over by the F.D.I.C. Two days after my birthday, Washington Mutual stock fell by 50%. Experts say these are simply the first partygoers who had a little too much to drink and that others will shortly leave the festivities as well. And there are far too many Americans for whom the gluttonous celebration has always been off limits. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine both large and small piggy banks across the country coming up empty.
While I listen to anxiety inducing news reports as I celebrate my birthday this year, I can’t help but wonder what my role has been. I mean, how did I help create a situation that allowed banks to close their doors? It's as if I've been teleported back in time to The Great Depression?
As I stare into the mirror for an answer, it’s clear that I just don’t know enough about how the economy operates to answer. That shows a lack of personal responsibility on my part, and that just won’t do.
Well, I’ve given myself a stern talking too and I’m about to do something about it. From July 27 – August 2, 2008 the Center for Popular Economics is coming to Chicago. They will teach me how economics impacts my life, my community and my work. The summer institute is designed for folks like me who slept through high school economics and don’t know the difference between the “mean” and “median.” This is my present to my country and me this year.
When you see me walking down the halls at the Summer Institute be sure to wish me Happy Birthday!
(Image gratefully borrowed from jenn_jenn's photostream on flicker.com/creativecommons)
Personal Responsibility
By Sarah Viets
7-14-2008
Whether you’re fighting for immigrants’ rights, against the Iraq war, the death penalty, or someone holding a sign of a fetus outside a woman’s health clinic or against same-sex marriage, each political group works relentlessly for their ‘cause.’ Each group spends hours calling elected politicians, writing letters to newspapers (so people read their opinions), restless nights on the internet reading the latest blog or the new non-fiction political book.
There’s no doubt conservative (the red team) and progressive (the blue team) activists are focused and dedicated. Each group works hard and strives for success. To put it another way, members of each political flavor are a bunch of serious folks who support the idea of personal responsibility. Now, if you’re a member of the blue team, you’re probably frowning your eyebrows and saying, “I don’t support personal responsibility! This idea ignores why some school districts have more money than others, and how personal success is determined by the school you attend.”
But if you’re a die-hard activist, you sacrifice yourself for the ‘cause.’ You replace your personal needs with political ambitions. If you don’t, someone may point you out like a sore thumb and say you’re not serious enough and you don’t understand what’s at stake. And if this sounds familiar, tell me again how you don’t support the idea of personal responsibility?
A friend of mine is visiting from Kansas City (I live in Chicago). No wait; her entire family is visiting - all five kids, her husband and her dad. The oldest will be 10 at the end of the month and the youngest is four, and they all have a mind of their own (thankfully), which means they LOVE to run away from the pack to find some hidden treasure they’ve spotted far away. She, her husband, and two of the young ones also stayed with me for one night in my studio apartment. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. It’s hard living so far away, and being there for each other over the phone gets old.
I’m also a blog editor, which means I never stop working! I have to read a bunch of articles, books, different blog entries, I have to record who’s referring IMAGINE 2050, and the list goes on and on. I also have an interview tomorrow (Tuesday) and I leave on Wednesday for a conference in Austin, TX.
So I have a choice: I can either spend the entire day with her family and go swimming with her kids and walk through the zoo and hear five kids fighting over who gets to hold my hand, or I can spend the first half of the day working and the afternoon with the pack. (I still can’t decide).
OR, I can talk about a different type of personal responsibility (not the one that likes to point the finger at the individual without taking any social responsibility) and remember how I wouldn’t be who I am today without her. I can think of all the times she’s helped me through those times we hate to share. I can think of how many times she says how much I mean to her and how much I’ve influenced her life. I can think of how I’ve helped her through those trying months when she didn’t know where to turn. I can think of how many times we probably wanted to yell at each other (but never did) and say, “Will you get over it already, I can’t listen to the same situation over and over again.”
I can remember how my responsibility as a friend, my social - my personal responsibility - is what makes her and I strong. It’s what makes me happy to be alive.
(I think I’ll go to the zoo….)
SPORTS: He Loves You, He Loves You Not
By Joel Ebert
7-11-2008
Here in America we just can’t seem to resist guilty pleasures. We do things we know we shouldn’t. American sports fans seem to enjoy the lingering relationship between themselves and a superstar. This type of relationship is much akin to exclusively dating someone and sooner or later breaking up with them. Both are a type of love-hate relationship that continue until one party either finds someone else, more money, or a sense of clarity. Feelings linger, emotions peak, and rationality is thrown completely out the window when we are invested in these types of relationships.
Usually the scenario goes like so: Person A says to Person B “Look, it has been a wonderful run, but I really must go now. I appreciate all you have done for me and I wish you the very best in the future. Don’t worry about me, I think I’ll be fine.” Person B then overanalyzes Person A’s speech and thinks about what it means. Person B thinks, “Can he/she really be gone? This can’t be it; can it?”
Then one day Person A calls up Person B and expresses a hint of regret and suggests that maybe, just maybe, they can get back together. This type of relationship comes around every so often in the world of sports, specifically when an athlete is considering retirement.
Recently, Brett Favre (the former Hall of Fame bound starting quarterback) has played the role of Person A and the Green Bay Packers have played Person B. Favre officially retired from the game of professional football in March 2008 saying “I know I can play, but I don’t think I want to.” This sort of pseudo answer is exactly the sort of fuel that kick started the suddenly turned forest fire that has become Favre Watch 2008.
In order to understand the intensity of the relationship between Favre and Packer Nation, you have to understand how much he meant to the organization. He played for the Packers for 16 consecutive seasons. That is extremely rare in professional sports nowadays. He won a Super Bowl title with the Pack in 1997 and also holds a host of records. The man was basically the face of the organization for nearly two decades.
So when Favre officially retired, hearts were tested. This happens with sports figures. They build a good rapport with a city’s fans, media, etc, and then one day it all must come to an end. Michael Jordan did it in Chicago, Magic Johnson did it in L.A., Barry Bonds (sort of) did it in San Francisco, and Roger (the Big Easy) Clemens does it over and over again wherever he can (Houston, New York, Boston).
But frankly, I am getting kind of tired of these games. I’ve learned to not be emotionally invested in athletes anymore (after the great downfall of one of the people I used to hold dearly went down in severe flames).
Sometimes its fun, as in the case of Manny (the Spazzy) Ramirez, who will do whatever and say whatever to get a rise out of fans (this year he even caught a ball in the outfield, high fived a fan in nearby seats, and threw the ball back into the infield to complete a double play). During the offseason, fans hear Manny constantly talking about being traded, retiring, or just not showing up.
But when fans grow up idolizing a figure, such as Brett Favre or Michael Jordan, they deserve better than to be toyed around with like a dog chasing a luscious bone. Jordan and Favre, while both unbelievable and irreplaceable athletes, need to learn when enough is enough. Although at 45 years old, I sincerely doubt Jordan could toy with our hearts anymore by attempting a comeback, it would not surprise me in the least if he did. And if Favre continues his coded innuendos about coming back to the Packers for another season, I would also not be surprised either.
But one thing is for sure, if it were any other profession (aside from a musician or movie star) we, the fans, would not tolerate this type of abusive relationship. If a politician, for example George Bush Sr., threatened to run again for President, I don’t think our hearts would throb as much as they do when Brett Favre opens his purse of tricks. So I warn you fans with aching hearts, let those athletes back in slowly. We can forgive, but we must never forget.
Fried Chicken, Fireworks, & the Fourth of July
By Jill
7-4-2008
I'm a bad American. There's a lot of reasons, but I'll just mention a few of the obvious ones. I don't like meat - hot dogs, baloney, cold cuts, big macs, meat loaf, cheese steak - hate 'em all. In fact, I'm a vegetarian. The sizing system at Starbucks? Still haven't figured it out (I know, pretty pathetic). I haven't owned a TV in five years - haven't seen one episode of the Sopranos or Lost...in my entire life. Birthday cake grosses me out, mostly the frosting part. I don't have a car, an ipod or a myspace page. I can't even remember the words to the Pledge of Allegiance! So, yeah, I'm a crappy American.
Here it is though, I have a confession. My favorite holiday is the fourth of July. And the reason it's my favorite is because of fried chicken. Sounds strange I know, but let me explain. My family used to have a fried chicken picnic every July 4th; always the same spot on a grassy hill overlooking the harbor near our house. But wait, it gets better.
Earlier in the day we would attend, or sometimes host our neighborhood's famous backyard pancake breakfast. The hosts made the pancakes, and everyone brought another dish, usually bacon (I swear you've never seen so many plates of bacon!). Afterwards we would go to the town fair - jump in the moonwalk until we were sick, have our faces painted, get soaked in the water balloon toss, and maybe take a whirl on the miniature ponies. Depending on the leniency of my mom that particular year my brother and I may have even split a funnel cake or a root beer float. Regardless, by late afternoon, our minds inevitably turned to fried chicken. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, coleslaw and from-the-box brownies to be exact.
The whole neighborhood would bring their picnics down to the harbor and after eating we'd all cram onto sailboats to watch the fireworks. The dinghies would buzz back and forth, frantically trying to get everyone out in time. One year, too many people jumped onto a dinghy and it capsized. Everyone was still talking about it the following year (it was a big to-do) and from then on the dinghy drivers were allowed to yell at people who got out of hand.
The best spot on a boat was the front deck where you could stretch out on your back and look straight up to the sky. It felt like those colorful flames were going to rain right down on top of you. I still remember all the names my brother and I made up for the fireworks - the weeping willows, the crackleys and whistlers - and that thrill when one of them shot up so high it seemed to disappear and then BOOM! It was suddenly a hundred shooting stars.
After the show we'd head back to shore, and with the smoldering coals of the BBQ pits we'd roast marshmallows until they were gooey and burnt. Then we'd light our sparklers and run all the way home, slaying stormtroopers with our light sabers...er, sparklers, all the way. Every year I'd get the same sad feeling as soon as I arrived at our back gate. I'd see the dark empty house, the fireflies silently flickering in the yard and I'd realize that Fourth of July was over. I'd have to wait an eternity (364 days) to do it again.
I still get that feeling now, no matter what I do or who I'm with, I get a little sad when it's all over. It's goes against all my sensibilities to love the 4th of July. Funny enough I love it not in spite of the grossly American activities (junk food, consumerism & pyrotechnics), but specifically because of all those things. I truly love it because its a sticky, excessive, loud, flag-waving, fat mess! Oh and all that freedom stuff? That's part of it too.
Our National Pastime
By Joel Ebert
This weekend the citizens of this fair land will see three large events simultaneously occur. Of course the most obvious is the opening weekend of a new Will Smith motion picture (Hancock) – an event which coincidentally coincides with the celebration of Independence Day (and not the 1996 film also starring Mr. Smith). While big Willie has shown dominance on the American holiday (in terms of the film industry) for the past six years, an even greater dominance on the holiday has been seen by an organized sport called baseball.
With its roots tracing back to the late 1800s, baseball has often been referred to as a national pastime. While baseball may not be as old as our great nation, it certainly has held its own throughout the years. Baseball on July 4 has provided us with some of the most memorable moments in major league baseball history.
In 1881, there were two complete games (9 full innings) thrown by one pitcher. In 1900, roughly 1,000 fans celebrated their Independence by firing pistols into the air at a game in Chicago. On July 4, 1939, Lou Gehrig, “the luckiest man on the face of the earth” made his farewell speech. In 1980, Nolan Ryan became the 4th pitcher in baseball history to record 3,000 strike-outs (today there are still only 16 pitchers who have done so). And in 1985, after a 6 hour and 10 minute game between the New York Mets and Atlanta Braves (which lasted until 4 a.m.), the 1,000 fans that remained were treated to a pre-dawn fireworks display that frightened local neighbors.
This year, I am especially looking forward to the long weekend because of a historical match up between two epic rivals: the Chicago Cubs and the St. Louis Cardinals. There seems to be a perfect brew for this to be a great series: the Cubs and the Cardinals have the two best records in the National League; an ace returning from his recent stint on the disabled list (Carlos Zambrano); and a pretty even match up (what with the Cardinals’ less than dominating home record along with the Cubs’ below par road record).
If you are unfamiliar with this rivalry, I can’t think of a better time to start watching. There are many things that Americans will do this weekend to celebrate Independence Day, but I urge you to make time to fit in an inning, a game, or the entire series. And if these teams are not for you at least check out a different form of a game of baseball (whether its professional or not). It’s as American as fireworks, barbeques and Will Smith.
Pop-Culture: The Monsters are Coming!
By Sarah Viets
Don’t forget, it’s a conspiracy! While our national leaders repeatedly speak of red and orange terrorist alerts, while they warn us of “illegal” invaders, our American leaders inspire fear.
Or do they?
Why am I so jittery? Do I subconsciously mistrust what’s unknowingly familiar? And if so, what am I so uncertain about?
Do we crave fear, or do politicians campaign on behalf of trepidation?
Science fiction and horror movie reels are no longer a past-time fave. They’re here and each show is filled with wide-eyed anxious moviegoers: But why?
Recently a friend of mine urged me to see what the fuss was all about.
My nerves were loose and as we waited for the film to begin, I filled the empty silence with my latest personal dramatic episode. It was my night off. It was time well deserved to escape the inevitable realities of my everyday life. And the evening’s selection was Cloverfield.
The beginning of the film starts off with a bang. Cloverfield intensifies my emotions by shooting the film documentary style for ninety minutes, the entire length of the film. The lens shakes. It quickly jolts back and forth without any precise course. I struggle to follow each scene. It’s as if I’m chasing the lens without any clear direction. (In fact, if you get car sick, I highly recommend waiting for the DVD. I was nauseas the entire time and some people left about thirty minutes into the film. With that said, I’m not completely confident why.)
As the film progresses shots switch from previous footage to present day events. The home video records over a perfect memorable day between two young sweethearts in exchange for an evening covered in death, stress, and terror.
But in the mix of mayhem, tranquil footage flashes between unpredictable events. Family members are lost, smoke, rubble, and fresh blood fill the streets, military tanks explode, and no matter where the lens turns human life clings on the edge of extinction. An unstable chaotic state transpires from the screen. Uncontrollable events morph anxiety with fear. There’s nowhere to turn. The city is under siege and no one is safe.
The enemy is unknown. Or as one of the main actors terrifyingly says, “I don’t know. It’s something awful. It’s a terrible, terrible thing.”
An hour and a half later, my nerves tightened. I felt anxious, intense, a little distorted but clear and purposeful at the same time. But what was my direction? (I looked over at my friend anxiously confused, while he sat and looked at me with his, “I told ya so” gaze.)
I was unsure, but I was confident of a few things: the only people I trusted were my blood and inner circle of friends. I examined anything outside of what was familiar with doubt and uncertainty. Unfamiliar faiths, distant lands, and different shades of skin were subconsciously categorized as unidentifiable cultures, the “unknown,” a perceived difference.
I know there’s an enemy, but who is it? I can feel it in my gut. Something isn’t right. But what is it?
I have two choices:
If I choose to live in fear, if I prefer isolation, I shout, “Shut down the borders! Build a 2000 mile fence. Rip children from their mothers and fathers. Invade Iran, Pakistan, and every other Muslim country for that matter. Cut all ties with “foreign” countries labeled “good and evil.” Liberate myself through hibernation. And take a firm stance against crime.
Or, I choose something different. I choose the “unknown.” Instead of allowing fear to control me, I choose to challenge how I feel and think of something new.
Just because I can’t see a viable solution doesn’t mean a visible alternative doesn’t exist.
Why? Because maybe my gut is wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe my anxiety and fear isn’t really here. Or maybe it is, but mistakenly directed.
So who is it? Is it the chicken or the egg? Do national leaders perpetuate fear or is fear enmeshed within our American culture?
Our culture creates our American leaders. At the same, the books we read (or don’t), the films we watch, the sub-cultures we attach ourselves to like hip-hop, punk rock, the indie-rock and country scene, or any other subculture I’ve mistakenly forgotten, and our personal experiences informs and defines who we are. Moreover, they influence how we see the world.
Politicians may come and go, but the ideas that create them seem to stay intact.
In Support of Mother Nature
By Jill
A study released on June 16, 2008 in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences lends further evidence to the biological origins of homosexuality. It has become generally accepted that homosexuality is a predisposed orientation that cannot be rejected at will; although genetics is increasing being ruled out as a factor in that predisposition. In other words there probably isn't a "gay gene". This new study finds that the areas of the brain that develop according to the levels of hormones a fetus is exposed to during gestation may be the same areas that distinguish sexuality. Basically if a female is exposed to too much testosterone in the womb certain areas of her brain may develop more like a male brain and therefore she will eventually prefer women over men sexually.
The upside of this finding is that mother nature may be the ultimate decider in sexuality, and we no longer have to hear scientists densely debate why the homosexual genetic "mutation" hasn't been corrected by evolution. This also offers the sweetest retort thus far to homophobes who enjoy condemning homosexuality as an unnatural sin; it is in fact quite natural to be gay and mother nature rarely does anything without a good reason.
Here is the downside; we may not be able unlock all of nature's intentions, but we're not above manipulating them. Already scientists are testing other species to see if they can influence sexual preference by controlling hormonal exposure during pregnancy.
It doesn't take a genius to see where this is going. There may come a day when we have the option to control reproduction enough to effectively eradicate gayness. I'm sure many people will choose to exercise this given the choice, having convinced themselves that they are simply sparing their children social rejection. Perhaps all we can ask is that they consider our society's rejection of homosexuality insignificant when compared to nature's timeless acceptance.
Decisions make up each one of us, whether they be biological, parental or cultural, they’re decisions nonetheless that define us, and most of them are out of our control. When I think about the millions of uncontrollable factors that have made me who I am, I wouldn't change one of them, and I hope my friends who are gay wouldn't change their decisions either. I like them just the way they are.
SPORTS: Unstoppable Forces of Nature
By Joel Ebert
Here in the United States, many of us idolize the unstoppable athlete. We love our most valuable players, Olympic Gold Medal winners, and first place finishers. But if there is something we love more it is the injured or flawed athlete succeeding while fighting an internal or near impossible battle.
Example 1: Paul Pierce injured his knee (some say it was sprained) in Game 1 of the 2008 NBA Finals, only to come back less than 2 minutes later and rain on the Lakers parade. Pierce got into the locker room with trainer Brian McKeon and after they discovered he could put wait on both legs, they sent him back out on the court. Pierce later said "I had to get back out there to help my ballclub, That was all that was going through my mind, just being a part of it. I just wanted to get back out there."
Example 2: Tiger Woods won this year’s U.S. Open after playing with a torn ligament in his left knee for nearly 10 months and suffering a “double stress fracture” in the same leg two weeks before the tournament. Woods won the tournament in a playoff with Rocco Mediate only to turn around that same week and announce that he needed surgery to repair his knee that would prevent him from playing for the rest of the current season.
Example 3: In Game 4 of the American League Championship Series, Red Sox pitcher Curt Schilling pitched 7 effective innings and gave up only one run on four hits. Controversy swarmed around Schilling because of what was known as the bloody sock. Throughout the game Schilling’s right sock was focused on, revealing that there was blood on his ankle, where Schilling had sutures.
Now some people believe these athletes were exaggerating or faking their injuries.
Laker fans complained that Pierce was faking it, citing his instant turnaround by simply going to the locker room. L.A. coach Phil Jackson even said "Paul got carried off and was back on his feet in a minute. I don't know if the angels visited him in that time-out period or what, but he didn't even limp when he came back out on the floor.”
Fellow golfer Retief Goosen said that he believed Woods was exaggerating his injury as well. Goosen went as far as to say “It just seemed that when he hit a bad shot his knee was in pain and on his good shots he wasn’t in pain. You see when he made the putts and he went down on his knees and was shouting, ‘Yeah’, his knee wasn’t sore.”
And since 2004, when Schilling had two bloody sock games (the aforementioned one, and once during the World Series) there have been a host of critics calling the bloody sock a public relations move. Broadcaster Gary Thorne said that he believed the sock was painted, citing a conversation that never seemed to have taken place with Red Sox catcher Doug Mirabelli, who later denied Thorne’s claim.
I am not going to weigh in on those arguments, however. What I am going to weigh in on is the fact that these American athletes and a host of others (Michael Jordan and the famous Flu Game, Eight Belles, the horse that broke it’s legs at the Kentucky Derby, etc) feel the need to play when they are not 100% healthy.
It seems to me that the reason behind them doing this is because they feel the need to either a) prove that they are capable of doing miraculous things despite an injury b) they love the game/sport so much that nothing can stop them from playing or c) their team desperately needs them for support.
Once the task is completed, we (the audience) glorify these people. Maybe this is because we see ourselves in these athletes, at least in small doses. There are numerous occasions when we don’t feel like going to work or school but must tough it out because we don’t have a sick day left or our job is too important to miss.
I am worried that this idolization of the imperfect, yet unstoppable athlete may be part of a bigger problem within our society. What that problem may be I have not yet solved.
Maybe this is reflective in the rampant use of steroids in professional sports today. I am not suggesting that professionals such as Paul Pierce, Curt Schilling, or Tiger Woods are using steroids. But perhaps the fact steroids usage is so prevalent in American sports today is because American athletes want to be that big, bad, unstoppable force of nature (ie the aforementioned athletes) that we all idolize. I get the sense that this is a growing epidemic in American sports - do you?
St. Louis, MO: Ain’t She a Beauty!
By Eric K. Ward
Can I ask you a question? Have you ever had one of those “just incredible weekends”? You know what I mean. The kind of weekend that makes you wish you had a three-day weekend. The type that makes you want to retire at forty, the sort of weekend you thank American organized labor for winning on our behalf.
I just had one of those weekends, and I’m still giddy about it so I feel the need to share. (Thanks in advance for being such a good listener, err I mean reader.)
I’m deeply in love and have been for nearly three years. Mia (that’s what I call her) likes to travel. And it works well for us because I have to travel extensively for my job.
Last weekend found us in St. Louis, also known as “The Gateway City.” St. Louis jazz is internationally famous and everyone knows if you haven’t had St. Louis Barbeque, you never had real BBQ. The world famous St. Louis Arch also stands aside the mighty Mississippi river, symbolizing the geographic gateway between the eastern and western halves of the United States.
As Mia and I strolled along the cobbled streets by the waterfront, it occurred to me that St. Louis represents one of the best definitions of American identity. I mean what better examples than the symbolism of jazz and Barbeque to prove the potential power of E Pluribus Unum? And what better icing on the cake of what our country will be than an interracial couple strutting their stuff along the avenue to seal the deal.
It’s times like these, when I’m feeling full of life that I like to remember the Americans who paved the way before me. There was such a couple who did that paving a little less than one hundred and fifty years earlier and I couldn’t help but notice that, just a few blocks away at the old courthouse, they made their presence known.
Dred and Harriet Scott were Americans who were considered slaves because their ancestors came from Africa. The people who treated them like property made the great mistake of moving Dred and Harriet Scott to Missouri, a state that outlawed slavery. Eventually, the Scotts sued for their freedom. At first they lost, then won, and then lost again.
The case finally reached the U.S. Supreme Court in 1857. The Court ruled against the Scott’s and issued one of its most embarrassing rulings. The court argued, “that the black man has no rights that are bound to be respected by the white man.” Eventually, Dred and Harriet Scott found their freedom, and on this incredible weekend the Scott’s trial reminds me of how far we have come and how far we still have to go.
As me, a black man walking down the street deeply in love and hand in hand with my Lebanese and Jewish partner, I knew in my heart that St. Louis should be seen as more than just a geographic gateway. St. Louis should be celebrated as the city that represents the gateway between our American identity of yesterday and of today.
I think that would make Dred and Harriet Scott happy. And after 150 years, I’d like to think they’ve earned that right. In fact, I think that we all have.
Divorce: Social Ill or Social Progression?
By Jill
Growing up in the '80s (I was born in 1979), divorce among my friends' parents was common; as were blended families and single parent households. Despite its prevalence, divorce was still a scandalous affair to my parents; they had children later than most (between 30 and 40) and both came from conservative backgrounds where divorce simply wasn't an option. When my parents married in 1967, the divorce wave had yet to engulf them, but for most couples raising kids in the ‘80s and ‘90s divorce was already a routine fact of life.
One morning, around the age of seven or so, sprawled across my mom's side of the bed while my parents dressed for work, I recall asking if they were going to get divorced. After a few moments of reflection, my mom turned and asked "Don't you think if we were going to get divorced, we would have already?"
In my young mind they were two people who would never change and had been married forever already, but for me to have such a solid memory of that morning, something about it must have rung false. Over the years I've continually gone back to that moment; more and more I understand why my mom didn't have a reassuring answer. For the record my parents are not divorced, but they have had a quietly tense marriage for the last 40 years. In my extended family, marital problems were never acknowledged. On the rare occasions that my mom broke her silence on their married life, it felt like a dam was breaking, one of loneliness and despair. It has provided my siblings and I mere glimpses of a relationship wrought with anxiety and festering emotional wounds.
It doesn't sound very uncommon does it? Yet their strained relationship was emotionally draining for the whole family, and contributed to some very restless adolescent years for me. Don't get me wrong, I don't hold my parents accountable for my issues (they were all-around wonderful parents), but it did lead me to view divorce or I should say the freedom to divorce as a positive aspect of our lives as modern Americans.
In a recent Newsweek cover story entitled The Divorce Generation Grows Up, David J. Jefferson describes the statistics surrounding divorce:
Researchers have churned out all sorts of depressing statistics about the impact of divorce. Each year, about 1 million children watch their parents split, triple the number in the '50s. These children are twice as likely as their peers to get divorced themselves and more likely to have mental-health problems, studies show. While divorce rates have been dropping—off from their 1981 peak to just 3.6 per 1,000 people in 2006—marriage has also declined sharply, falling to 7.3 per 1,000 people in 2006 from 10.6 in 1970. Sociologists decry a growing "marriage gap" in which the well educated and better paid are staying married, while the poor are still getting divorced (people with college degrees are half as likely to be divorced or separated as their less-educated peers). And the younger you marry, the more likely you are to get divorced.
While the “marriage gap” between rich and poor is certainly troubling, there is one equally telling statistic that he leaves out: Even though women suffer the most financially from separation and in many cases shoulder the primary parenting responsibilities, 2/3 of individuals (on average) who seek divorce are women who largely report being happier post-divorce.
In regards to statistics about children from divorced families being twice as likely to divorce themselves and having a greater instance of mental-health problems; I believe these children, having already faced social disfavor in childhood through their parents' experiences, are more likely to give themselves permission to leave unhealthy relationships and probably feel more comfortable seeking help for mental-health issues, inevitably increasing the number of reports.
I'm not a psychologist, however I know that my cautiousness about marriage relates to my belief that if my mom felt she could divorce, she may have led a happier life, whether through the act itself or merely leveraging the option. I have spent a good part of my adult life ensuring that I’m independent enough to leave a dysfunctional relationship, and I’ve apologetically asserted my right to a happy, equal partnership. If I do marry one day, I’ll also protect my right to a divorce, even if I hope to never exercise that right.
Not to negate the serious affects from divorce, but a bad marriage is a bad marriage - whether you stay together or not. Perhaps the best way to strengthen American families is not to cast divorce in a negative light, but to concentrate on accepting the diverse journeys we all make in pursuit of individual happiness. Maybe American latch-key kids and broken-home survivors are a necessary growing pain on our path to a society where all people, young, old, rich, poor, hetero- and homosexual are able to discover loving partnerships free from social stigma.
My Brain, My Body, Our World
By Nicole Hallengrogg
Does the old saying, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks" really apply to me? Can I ever manage to truly change things about myself at will?
Now that I’m a single mother of two absorbent human beings, I’ve come to realize the importance of the way I live my life. I’ve realized that the choices and patterns in my own life aren’t just affecting me, but also the lives of my daughters. As I move through this life my children are watching my every move. With that realization I’ve began to seek to change those patterns in my life that I do not wish to overflow into the lives of my children.
As I’ve begun this process of change, I’ve learned about how our brains work- how they process experience - and how we’re capable of re-routing our very way of perceiving, reacting, and interpreting experiences in life. And through these (new to me) concepts, I’ve begun to see them on a greater scale. Its not just how I interpret and change my life. It’s also how we, as a society, interpret and change the world around us. I’ve learned that by example we not only change on a personal level, but on a social level; one person influences another and those influences, through time, can slowly change the way in which the world views and reacts to certain circumstances.
So I have to ask; are we, as a society, stuck in perpetual cycles of destruction? Are politicians doomed to repeat the behaviors of their predecessors because it’s the way of our American democracy?
I know American society has slowly progressed and sometimes digressed, but are these only momentary changes? And is history doomed to repeat itself?
These questions haunt movements of change, and they haunt me in my personal life as I struggle with various destructive patterns. They make me question whether or not true change can ever reside and whether I must simply learn to live with my baggage instead of throwing it completely overboard.
As I said before, I’ve learned some promising information about the brain and how it understands change. Scientists used to think that the human brain's neurological pathways were unchangeable once it reached adulthood. But now they’re able to see how the brain functions through a Magnetic Resonance (MR) machine, and other devices, and researchers are discovering that the brain's pathways are able to change over time. But this change takes work. It isn’t a single decision that stops a person from doing a specific task a certain way in order to begin another. It’s a process of consistent decisions.
These patterns are what make us tick; the behaviors we’ve learned throughout our lives are actual physical connections between neurons. Those pathways are carved throughout our lives in accordance to the things we’ve experienced. "The specified functional roles of the neurons and their interconnections with other neutrons depend critically on experience" *. So in order to change these pathways we must be consciously aware of the changes we make, knowing that through awareness and dedication we can eventually make new cognitive pathways; changing our behaviors and responses.
Imagine a forest trail that you walk along everyday (this trail would be the pathways between neurons). The path is well trod and void of most branches and roots that may hinder you along the way. Imagine now that you decide to create a new trail. It’s difficult to clear the path of brush, weeds and branches, but you continue anyway. When you’re at a critical and difficult time along the way, it’s easy to go back to the old beaten path. But if you continue to work on the new trail, and use it more often, the old trail becomes less used because you take it less frequently.
This is how our brain works - you make a conscious decision to change, and yet many times along the way you return to that old way of doing things. It’s only with frequent and consistent effort that we’re able to change our old ways of thinking.
If you look at society as a single organism with trillions of cells, sometimes working together, sometimes apart, sometimes against itself, it’s not that different from our own personal bodies and how they function. Change can’t happen all at once. Sometimes it’s discouraging to see the changes we thought occurred become more of the same.
Change is something that happens through slow consistent effort. And this seems promising to me. For example, knowing that change is a process and not a leap means that it’s possible for this country to move in the direction of compassion, humility, and empathy: First through awareness and then through perseverance.
So as I step into this new life, one of change and hope, I find solace in knowing I’m not alone, and that maybe my choice to change is not just helping me in my personal life, but the lives around me.
*From Research in the CNBC "Exploring the Emergence of the Mind from Brains"
