Thursday, April 21, 2011

A Night On The Town in San Francisco



April 20th, 2011
San Francisco, California

In a swirling, misty wet wind, courtesy of the Pacific ocean, we stood across the street from the Masonic Auditorium atop Nob Hill in San Francisco. There were only a few hundred of us huddled up against, Grace Cathedral bundled up and shivering, but we were there nonetheless. With us was the growing gulf between "Haves" and "Have-nots" that has gone unchecked by this administration which began with such hope. Present were the torn and bleeding bodies of civilian casualties of drone attacks. With us were the thousands of military veterans in VA hospitals all over the country trying to put their shattered lives on a footing that is at least functional let alone "normal", (whatever that is). Standing with us in that frigid drizzle was the spiritual trauma of never ending war, environmental degradation and criminal neglect of the poor that the Democrat Party seems to be real unhappy about but have shown no inclination to mitigate.

I remember the night President Obama was elected. I was watching the returns in a deli standing next to an African American women in a wheelchair. She was beaming. I could see in her eyes that she felt that she was at the end of a very long road. She seemed to be feeling a huge joy in that she lived to see a black man elected president of the United States. I have to admit that I shared much of that joy and a part of me was very hopeful. However, I'm also pretty jaded after a half century of watching the political process in our nation. There was a voice inside that kept reminding me that no matter how good a person Barak Obama is, or how good his intentions were, he is just one man. He would be a single person in a morass of corporate dollar bought influence, greed based power and policy making for the elite. I knew, but did not want to acknowledge, that the election of Barak Obama would change very little beyond rhetoric, because that is all the Democrats seem to be able to offer. They were, and still are, very long on rhetoric and short on spine. Two years into this administration we have seen a lot of lip service but little action. In fact, we have gone backwards in many ways.

Standing out there in the wind and wet, I reflected on what was going on across the street. The great liberal elite of San Francisco was gathering to pay $38000 a plate for a meal and an audience with the president. These are what has been called the limousine liberals. The people with the wealth and influence to get a private concert with Stevie Wonder, eat free range chicken and organic wild rice (I don't know what was actually on the menu but you get my point)and be protected from the realities of urban life by legions of police officers surrounding the building. It was the great Northern California ATM machine. "Liberal" Democrats return to this well over and over again then pretend that we don't exist until they need a refill. The range fed rubber chickens were consumed literally within sight of a neighborhood where shopping means buying over priced milk at the corner liquor store (along with booze, porn and condoms) and the real possibility of getting shot by gangbangers or jacked up by the police on the way for no other reason then they happen to be there. There is no "Whole Foods" or "Trader Joe's" in Hunters Point. Capitalism has decided that neighborhoods like that are too much trouble.

A sort of chilled depression came over me when the President actually arrived. It started with a phalanx of police motorcycles, red and blue lights blazing, twenty of them at least. Then a long processions of vans and SUVs full of well dressed young men and women with ear pieces and bulges under there coats. There was an ambulance in the company and a mysterious black truck, driven by a couple of suited Secret Service types. God only knows what that truck was for. I reflected on how distant the President is and how many resources are used to keep it that way. While I certainly appreciate the need for presidential security, it was saddening nonetheless to see the disconnect.

I spoke to a number of people and listened to several speakers from organizations like the Gray Panthers, Code Pink, The World Can't Wait and, of course ANSWER who organized the rally. (all these organizations have websites and I would strongly encourage everybody to visit and at least hear what they have to say). The mood of these activists was one of betrayal and dismay. There was a real sense of the futility of continuing the meaningless process of moving political power from one wing of the same party to the other, all the while real control still resting with the same political elite, who squabble with each other from time to time, but always agree that real political power should be kept well away from working people. It is in their interested to keep us in continual, and profitable, war. It is in their interests that they duck their responsibilities for maintaining civil society by refusing to pay their fare share of the taxes. It is in their interests that the services that are essential for working class prosperity be obliterated to save them from these taxes. It is in their interests that the working class remain outside in the rain while they grove to Stevie Wonder at $38000 a pop.

After the rally, I had to make the trek back down Nob Hill to the BART station. The cops had blocked California Street so I had to go one block over to Sacramento and walk down there. This is China Town, but it's not the China Town one sees on postcards. This is the servant's quarters. It's a neighborhood where people work long hours at menial jobs for short money. It is a neighborhood where people live in tiny rooms and lie awake nights worrying about how they will care for their elderly parents. This is a place where, for many, public clinics are the only option they have for health care, and public programs are one of the only options to care for their kids when they work. Every bomb that is dropped on Libya also explodes in neighborhoods like this. It is an inescapable fact that the bombers fly at the expense of the poor. The "Government Waste" that the Tea Party vilifies is the only thing that keeps many in this area alive. These are the true Americans, working people who want nothing more then to take care of their families and have a grain of dignity in their lives.

I am starting to realize that we have a lot more in common with the people cowering in basements in the Gaza Strip hiding from Isreali shells or dodging Hellfire Missile (drones) in Pakistan or being neglected and brutalized on the streets of many US neighborhoods, then we have with the well heeled set that was just a few short blocks away at the Masonic Auditorium.

Last night, it was just a few hundred, but I long for the Day that we fill the streets. I dream of the day when working people all over join hands and with peace and love in our hearts refuse to participate in a system that is so opposed to our own interests. I long for a mass movement of non violent resistance dedicated to healthy communities, a healthy planet and an economic system based on the needs of creation, not the wants of materialism. These are the people and ideals that put President Obama in office and he seems to have forgotten. I don't mind standing in the rain for these ideals, I will to continue to do so as well as anything else I can think of.

Some links to check out:

www.worldcantwait
www.PSL.org
www.ANSWERsf.org
www.strikemay2011.org

You may agree with some and disagree with others but everybody should listen to the tune before they decide if they are into the music.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Lead On

Lead On

Shine light into places dark
On stormy seas of change embark
On all the light of justice shed
All become knowing to tyrants dread

People rise, peaceful might unleashed
From wars bondage we are released
The pain of war is eased
A world to bask in joyous peace

For the sake of our bloodied young
Peaceful hymns together sung
Rifle and cannon put away
War clouds part for the warm light of day

It’s only a dream lest we toil
Seeds of peace nurtured in human soil
The harvest of peace we shall not reap
Lest we commit and commitment keep

Lead On.

For Mercy's Sake

For mercy's sake
What do I have to do
To make you human
To make you feel
Does it please you
To cut and hack
The love that comes your way
Is the heart so vile
That you must lacerate, incinerate
And rip it asunder
What do I have to do
To make you see
To have a little empathy
A little sympathy
If you want to leave
Then leave
Just don’t cut me on the way out
And let me bleed
To die
With the sound of your laughter in my ears

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Spiritual Practice


What a blessed day. I'm chillin listening to music (Jim Bianco-"Loudmouth". I am periodically jumping out of my chair and dancing around the house. (I'm the only one here and the pets are into it). Everybody should take the occasional "rock-out" break. Music and movement work wonders for the chakras.

The world still turns. Japan is melting down like the ice caps. People are still living on the streets, God loves them and so do I. The struggle for nonviolent revolution marches on. There are many challenges to meet and words to spread and I am dedicated to that. In a couple of hours I will rejoin the loving rebellion but right now it's R&R. This morning I'm dancing around the house in raggedy sweats and bedroom slippers. My soul soars with the music and everything is right with the world. God loves the poor, God loves the oppressed and once in a while, God loves a party. It's Wednesday, thank God for that.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Art and Revolution

"Oakland is Baby Baghdad and Richmond is little Falujah"-Poet Dre

Last night, I attended my first "Poetry Slam". It was held in a little restaurant in Downtown Oakland called "The Oasis". I was there to hear the featured poet, Drew Dellinger who I have grown to admire after attending a couple of his lectures at the Sophia Center, but I discovered a really cool side effect of going to Drew's gigs: Exposure to other poets.

One of the contestants at last nights slam was a guy named Dre. I don't know anything else about him, not even his last name, only that he is a hell of a poet. I found myself deeply moved by his words. They were a potent mixture of rage and grief that struck deep into the seminal places of my consciousness, that is to say the very heart of right and wrong, of good and evil, of just and unjust.

"We end each conversation with 'Be safe' and 'I love you' because we know where we're at" was a line that hit like a devastating blow. I could think of nothing else as I rode the BART home. It kept racing through my mind like a runner in a never ending 440 dash. I reflected on youth that should have their whole lives in front of them but they are not sure they will live to see another sunset for no other reason then the neighborhood they live in.

Now, I freely admit that I am a child of privilege. I'm white, middle class and educated. The system works for me and it has treated me well, but nothing bitters the sweet taste of prosperity like a look at the price tag. "Be safe and "I love you" is sticker shock of the first magnitude.

I cannot truthfully claim any great insight into the life of American, urban youth of color, at least not from personal experience anyway, but I have lived my whole life in the East Bay, most of that in Richmond and I have eyes. I see these kids everyday. I see them in the market and on the bus and on BART. I see them hanging out and walking to school. I've seen crowds of them filing out of funeral parlors as they bury yet another friend or cousin or sibling. You can feel the grief and the hopelessness is palpable. The wrenching brew of rage and sadness is right there in front of you, right there in there eyes if you only take a minute away from obsessing on your own trials and look. Look and listen, you will be disturbed by what you see and hear. Violence, especially gun violence, is a fact of life for these kids, and it is a way of life for far too many. Each one is all too aware that there is a strong possibility that there future is an early grave or a prison cell. It doesn't matter who you are or how hard you try, you might meet your end just standing on the wrong street corner or picking up a quart of milk for your baby sister or even in the school yard. Life is full of dangers and risks but for these children, the risks are exponentially higher then almost any other segment of the population, that they will meet a violent death. With that in mind, the sense of fatalism that is so much a part of these kids thinking is pretty understandable.

It's no great mystery why this is. It doesn't take any particular genius to see the inequalities of our culture. The global capitalist industrial economy, by it's very nature, is based on exploitation where the "haves" use the "have nots" as fodder and fuel for the system. At first it was in agriculture and industry. The poor, primarily people of color but also immigrant Europeans were exploited as labor. Soon the great industrial behemoth that was once the USA faded to a shadow of it's former self. Jobs were outsourced overseas and opportunities have become more and more restricted to the ruling elite.

The black and the brown have ceased to be a labor pool, with the exception of the military and the police, and have become the raw material for a new industry: the prison industrial complex.

Prisons are a growth industry in the US and is becoming more and more privatized. Huge profits are made by contractors, institutional caterers and even entire prisons run by profit making enterprises. In California, the Correctional Peace Officers Association is a king maker in state government. Nobody can expected to elected to high office without there blessing.

The prison industrial complex can be seen as a wealth creating process. Young people on the bottom of the social scale, who are not inclined to military service, are processed through the system over and over again through incarceration, re-offending and re-incarceration. This is made acceptable to the middle class through the use of institutionalized racism. Working people are much easier to control when divided along race lines and taught to despise each other. It would be tough to prove that a conspiracy actually exists but it sure works out well for the ruling elite. It also works out well if these oppressed people commit crimes against each other. After all, that's what marginalized communities tend to do any way, turn on themselves. The problem is that if you want to keep a people in a sewer, somebody had to climb into that sewer to make them stay. When injustice is inflicted on one community then society as a whole is poorer for it.

So what does that leave us? It leaves us with the intentional neglect of youth, the exploitation of immigrants, a pervading sense of hopelessness in the neighborhoods and carnage on the streets While this poverty and exploitation rages on in the cities, the denizens of salons and country clubs of the suburbs get fat on the wealth created by this injustice.

One miscalculation of the oppressors is an underestimation of the intelligence of urban youth. They see whats happening to them and they have a good idea who's behind it, and they are not going to take it lying down forever. In clubs, in galleries, on street corners they protest through art.

So there I was, the oldest person in the room by at least twenty years and a product of the white middle class to boot. Was I nervous? Actually no. Firstly, I was warmly greeted and made to feel welcome from the minute I walked into the joint. I sucked down a couple of Red Stripes which added to my festive mood. Mostly I got the feeling that these young people all had had a stomach full of violence and were done with it. This shows their wisdom as violent revolution results in more exploitation and a destroyed society that will take years to rebuild. Peaceful resistance is the "neutron bomb" of societal change. It destroys the structure of oppression and leaves the people. standing. I also felt shielded from the anger and hatred that is the neo-conservative right that is flooding into our institutions and rotting our leadership. I was able to take comfort in peaceful non-violent resistance which is the only truly effective weapon that the progressive forces of change possess.

I am thankful that there are such dynamic and talented young people to carry on this struggle. It was a joy to witness it last night.

It's You

Gazing into long lost eyes
Gentleness returns
In memories soaked in tears
Yet brightened by a smile
The bittersweet recollections of long ago

Parted in youth
Different roads journeyed
Reunited at the crossroads
In a time of transition
In a time of renewal

Late in the evening
At a dining room table
Fighting fear and worry
With milk and cookies
For a friend near death

Solace
Eases teenage pain
A gentle presence
to my fractured heart
The hand of freindship

It all comes back
years later
in middle age
so much has happened
yet she is still an angel