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Monthly Archives: March 2016

(Comics) A Wolf for the People: Sam Wilson’s First 100 Days as Captain America

Reading 150Sam Wilson has not had an easy time of it during his short stint with the shield. He’s basically operating on a shoestring budget out of the basement of a neighborhood church, with only two (testy) people on his staff and no resources. He’s on the “wrong” side of an ideological difference with his best friend and former mentor, Steve Rogers; that same difference has caused most of the public to turn against him. And, for four issues, he was transformed into a wolf/human hybrid against his will by a mad doctor.

Fortunately for us, Sam’s trouble is our delight. The first six issues of Sam Wilson: Captain America makes a bold statement about how he handles the responsibility of being a symbol; writer Nick Spencer positions Wilson as a superhero in an intensely divided country, so no matter what he does he’s going to piss off half the population. Still, Wilson takes a stand even though it’s unpopular, because he’s learned the only lesson worth knowing from Rogers. In order to be worthy of the costume, you have to live up to your morals unflinchingly.

What makes Sam so interesting as Cap is that his morality is so different from Steve’s. Their big rift comes from the fallout of learning that SHIELD has been working on a Cosmic Cube that has the power to reshape reality. The person who leaked this information, an Edward Snowden-type known only as The Whisperer, was nearly caught until Sam helped him — he believed that blowing the whistle on SHIELD’s activities is a public service that he shouldn’t be punished for. Rogers, on the other hand, thinks that though The Whisperer did the right thing, he should still be brought to trial for his actions. Wilson doesn’t believe it’s possible to trust due process in this case, but Rogers does. It’s the difference between Lawful Good and Neutral Good.

That rift deepens when Wilson takes on a militia appointing themselves as border patrol to stop the flow of illegal immigrants, and it’s there he discovers people are being taken and experimented on by Dr. Malus. On the run from SHIELD and Rogers, Wilson is captured and turned into Cap-Wolf, which is the real reason you folks should get these issues. Of course.

Wilson’s investigation takes him through the business world, where Serpent Solutions is making a power-play on behalf of other corporations. The commentary on the current state of corporate politics is a little more ham-fisted, but Sam’s resolution of the arc is surprising yet pragmatic; what I love about the way the story winds down is his realization that ideals don’t happen in a vacuum. Choices have far-reaching consequences, because at this point of American life everything is connected. You can’t advance your morality without stepping on a political landmine, and those politics are deeply influenced by gigantic corporate interests whose success and failure affect the livelihood of millions. If you shut down one thing, you begin a cascade that quickly spirals outside of your control.

Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson have different ways of reacting to the system. Rogers’ Captain America was wholly inspirational; he wanted to be the physical embodiment of the best principles America was founded upon. He believes that the system works, but only as long as the people within it strive for the ideals they serve to the best of their ability. Wilson’s Captain America isn’t so sure; he believes that the system is rigged and leaves out a lot of people who can’t defend themselves against it, and those are the people he wishes to serve.

The Whisperer is the embodiment of that difference in opinion. Since Steve believes in the system, he believes that he can convince people to do the right thing and justice will prevail. But Wilson understands that even if they win in the courtroom, other connected threads will act to preserve the status quo however it can. The system will protect its own, and Steve is inextricably tied to it. Sam has always been an outsider, so his morality doesn’t depend on that allegiance.

So who IS Captain America these days? What interest does he serve? As our understanding of the government shifts and our ideas about what it should and should not be doing changes, every once in a while we need to step back and check on that. I love that Nick Spencer is really diving into that through Sam’s turbulent first days on the job, and I’m really curious how Wilson’s journey continues. There is going to be a lot more fighting for him coming up — Avengers: Standoff is getting into full-swing, and there won’t even be time to take a breath before Civil War II lights up comic stores this summer. Somewhere in all of that, Steve Rogers will don the mantle of Captain America once more, giving us two versions of the hero serving two different visions of America.

Maybe, at this point, that’s the best we can hope for.

 

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(Review) A Leprechaun, a Mermaid, and a Greaser

Entertainment 150Darby O’Gill and the Little People (1959)
Darby O’Gill is a walking cliche, that “drunken” old Irishman you find in every pub telling tall tales about his escapades with leprechauns and other Fair Folk. What’s different is Darby doesn’t drink and his stories are all true; so when he is finally sacked by Lord Fitzpatrick, the land-owner whose estate he’s supposed to be tending, his frienemy King Brian steals him away to the innards of Fairy Mountain, where he will naturally live out the rest of his days. Darby, who has a daughter he cares for more than anything else in the world, isn’t having that. So what’s a wily old man to do?

I wasn’t expecting to like this movie as much as I did, which is to say not much at all. When you hear about a live-action Disney film from the 1950s, you naturally think of the corniest all-ages entertainment you can think of — at least, I do. And while Darby O’Gill and the Little People is definitely a G-rated movie, it’s also surprisingly engrossing. The film exists so comfortably in its own skin that if you take it on its own terms you might just find yourself having a pretty good time.

What makes the movie work is how well they’re able to capture the rhythm and flow of a good faerie tale. Sometimes Brian — the King of the Leprechauns — is a friend and confidant, and other times he’s a dangerous adversary with powerful magic who must be outwitted. Darby O’Gill is sometimes a clever old man who tricks leprechauns as easy as breathing, and sometimes he’s a poor mortal wretch so far out of his depth you can’t imagine how he’ll get out of trouble. The dynamics of power and emotional investment are always changing, and even by the end of the movie you’re not entirely sure his experience with the fae is ultimately positive. It’s fun to watch the stakes shift as much as they do.

A pre-007 Sean Connery is the romantic interest here, and he’s so young he doesn’t have any of that urgency or gravitas that we’ve come to know him for. But he does make for a good crooner, and it’s fun to watch him drift in and out of Darby’s narrative. It’s also neat to live in a setting where everyone knows the rules of magic better than you do; their reactions tell you everything you need to know about what’s going on, even though the finer details are missing.

Still, if you haven’t quite gotten into the movies of old Hollywood, chances are this isn’t the movie that’s going to sway you. If you’re more comfortable with the rhythm of old cinema storytelling, this works well. Darby O’Gill and the Little People is an old-fashioned story, but it’s still well told.
Cry-Baby (1990)
John Waters made this film right after the unexpected success of Hairspray, when movie studios were practically beating down his door in order to work with him. The fact that he made this wonderfully insane ode to trash and 50s teen idol musicals just makes me love him more.

Here, Johnny Depp is playing around with his teen-idol image in ways that are actually more effective than burying it under a ton of pancake make-up. He plays the leader of a “drape” gang named “Cry-Baby” Walker; he earned the nickname by squeezing out only a single tear when something upsets him. Cry-Baby is backed up by his perpetually-pregnant sister, Pepper; “Hatchet Face,” a legit crazy woman who steals every scene she’s in; Milton, Hatchet Face’s devoted boyfriend; and Wanda Woodward, a sexpot played by none other notorious porn actress Traci Lords.

Cry-Baby falls in love with a “square,” a good girl being groomed by the stuck-up parents in charge of 1950s Baltimore society. Allison falls for his rock-and-roll singing as well as his single tear trick, and ends up forsaking her clan for the chance to live with the drapes for a while. That’s the basic story, though there are all kinds of detours through it that are surprising and hilarious.

No matter what your expectations coming into this film, Waters manages to upend them. The characters are varied and expertly-drawn, so idiosyncratic that you know who they are by the end of the film’s prologue and opening credits. The fact that their backstories are still surprising when they’re revealed is impressive.

I can’t think of another director who delights in his own weirdness as much as John Waters, and that’s what ultimately makes Cry-Baby so fun. Walker’s gang of drapes are undeniably insane and fundamentally broken, but there is such a passionate and loving bond between them you can’t help but see them as good people. Waters has been the champion of loving weirdness throughout his career, and the fact that he made one of his weirdest and most passionate films as the major studio release here shows a dedication to that vision that’s been simply unwavering.

The third act of the film falls apart a little bit, but it’s still a lot of fun and really engaging. Well-drawn characters are sacrificed to get the “everything and the kitchen sink” finish that Waters wanted, but it doesn’t eat up too much of the goodwill the movie earns. If you’re an neophyte in the ways of Waters, I’d say Cry-Baby is an excellent film to cut your teeth on — if you hate it, then it’s highly unlikely you’ll love anything else he’s written or directed.
The Little Mermaid (1989)
The 70s and 80s were rough on Disney animation; after The Jungle Book, there weren’t too many films that were looked upon fondly before this one. Even though I liked quite a number of the animated films of that period, there is simply no question that The Little Mermaid raised the bar for the company and began a creative high period that would take them through most of the 1990s.

Ariel is the title character, a mermaid princess who is fascinated by the human world above the surface of the oceans. Her father, King Triton, knows the cruelty that man is capable of and wants to protect his daughter from being hurt — his isolationist demands runs counter to her curiosity and optimism. When the terrible sea witch Ursula grants Ariel’s fondest wish — to be human so she can marry a prince she’s fallen in love with, the fate of two kingdoms is suddenly hanging in the balance.

The songs in this movie are some of the greatest in any Disney musical ever. “Part of Your World” is a fantastic, ideal “I want” song; “Kiss The Girl” is the most romantic song that I can think of in a Disney film; and “Poor Unfortunate Souls” is so delightful that it almost gets you on Ursula’s side for a hot second. The animation has to be better just to be worthy of the words, and Disney steps it up in wonderful ways here. Taking fish, crabs and other sea-creatures into anthropomorphic territory is not easy. Sebastian scuttles nervously, and you at once recognize he’s a crab (ew!) and that he has these intense emotional desires (aw!) that endear you to him. Flotsam and Jetsam, Ursula’s hench-eels, are creepy, predatory, yet hypnotic. It’s easy to imagine how naive Ariel could be pulled under their sway.

There are some problems. This time around I found Ariel’s character design a little weird; her head feels really long, accentuating the forehead in this distracting way. And Prince Eric is kind of a terrible character, this wishy-washy dude who seems to be mostly defined by his love of alto voices. Even when Ariel gets Eric in the end, you get the feeling that she could do so much better; the humans in the story are more bland than sadistic, so what was King Triton even worried about there?

The stakes are supplanted by the battle between Ariel and Ursula in the third act, and even then Prince Eric effectively kill-steals the encounter. What did Ariel actually learn through this? How will she be a bit more discerning and a bit less reckless in the future? How did she earn her happy ending?

The argument could be made that this is not that kind of children’s movie, and you might be right. But Ariel’s flaw — the thing that gets her into trouble — is never really identified and addressed through the course of the story. The happy ending feels just a little lessened because of this, even though the rest of the movie is nothing short of delightful.

Still, if it’s been a while since you’ve seen The Little Mermaid, it is definitely worth another look. The songs are amazing, the environments and (most of) the character designs are fantastic, and its ambition is really something to admire. After the long dark time of Disney’s lesser canon, it’s a great example of how you can take Walt’s original passion for telling great stories and update it for modern audiences.

 
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Posted by on March 23, 2016 in Movies, Reviews

 

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(Buddhism) Using Anger in Practice

Buddhism 150It might surprise some of you to know that I consider myself to be an angry person, but it’s true. I have a pretty quick temper, and like most idealists there’s a strong sense of order and fairness within me that gets offended often. That sense of fair play isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it can lead us to have strong emotions against the people who we think disrespect it on a frequent basis.

A lot of people think that anger is a negative emotion, but it’s not; it’s simply a difficult one to react constructively with. Acting on anger without thought leads us to do terrible things to other people in the name of “justice” or “revenge”, and that doesn’t really solve anything. It just directs pain somewhere else; instead of dissipating or eliminating it, it’s amplified and channeled. Instead of stopping the behavior that caused the anger in the first place, these actions can often harden the targets of our lashing out. It makes them more defensive, less likely to listen.

I’m seeing this play out in activist circles, and it unnerves and exhausts me. Being angry about the problems we face is a completely reasonable reaction; we’ve noticed how unfair our society is, how few times those in power do the “right” thing by us. As idealists, of course living in a world where anti-social behavior is accepted as “normal” drives us crazy. However, I don’t think we’ve learned how to really think about the best uses of our anger. I’ve mentioned before how it can be a catalyzing force for us to change, or a way that we keep ourselves firmly on the path of social justice. But way too often, I see us lashing out, hardening the very people we should hope to change, demonizing and disconnecting an increasingly large set of people. Our anger is beginning to put us into an echo chamber, where we’re only willing to tolerate the people who think exactly the same way we do.

That’s not good for anyone. So in order to find a better way of dealing with those injustices that are everywhere within the modern world, I have to figure out how to have a better relationship with my anger, to really understand and harness it. For me, the best way to do that is fall back on the foundation of my Zen practice and recommit myself to the precepts and Noble Eightfold Path.

The Four Noble Truths tell us that attachment and desire is the root of all suffering, and the elimination of suffering can be achieved by eliminating our attachments. This is often misunderstood as having no emotions on anything, having no likes or dislikes, simply existing in reaction to whatever stimulus comes our way. That’s a mistake; taking such an extreme view of detachment isn’t consistent with the Middle Way, of course. It’s a form of emotional asceticism, another attachment to a bad idea.

I think what’s happening these days in activist spaces is a deep attachment to our anger. Perhaps we’ve spent so long ignoring or repressing our anger that letting it out just feels too good. It’s an empowering thing to express our anger and have other voices rise up in chorus with it. But that attachment is simply preserving the cycle of suffering; we hold on to our anger, use it to lash out regardless of the situation, and the resulting ill will and alienation just creates more anger in others…who then lash out, and pass on this cycle to someone else.

What detachment really means is being able to disconnect ourselves from our anger just enough to figure out the best way to express it. Sometimes that’s organized protest; sometimes that’s respectful debate; sometimes that’s leaving a situation where it’s clear there is simply no way you will be understood or treated fairly. It depends on a multitude of factors that must be considered before action; even though the stimulus is the same (something offensive happened), the things that gave rise to that stimulus are different and have to be examined both on their own and in relation to one another.

Anger is one powerful emotion, but that doesn’t mean there is only one response to it. We must put our anger in perspective to figure out its proper place and usage each time we encounter it. Knowing more about our emotions, when and how they arise, what our instinctive response may be to it, and how people are likely to react to that all help us out with that work. And one of the ways we learn more about our anger is through meditation, self-reflection and listening to the experiences of our fellow human beings.

As someone who struggles to cope with a variety of strong emotions, it’s very important to me that I have multiple tools at my disposal to manage them. Anger, anxiety, despair and boredom are emotions that I’m very sensitive to; that makes it much more difficult for me to put them in their proper places. But hopefully, with a firm commitment towards Zen, I can do just that.

 
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Posted by on March 21, 2016 in Buddhism, Politics, Self-Reflection

 

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(Review) Why Black People Don’t Time Travel

Reading 150Edana Peterson is a writer who works temporary jobs to make ends meet; during one of these jobs, she meets a white, blue-collar worker named Kevin Franklin and falls in love with him. Kevin rejects his racist family in order to marry Dana — not something that’s easy, but it was especially so back in 1976. As the newlyweds move into a small place together, Dana gets dizzy while having a conversation with her husband. The room begins to spin; her vision blurs. And suddenly, she’s in a river with a drowning child. She saves him, and in reward for her trouble she’s attacked by the boy’s mother and nearly shot by a white man wondering what she’s doing off of a plantation.

This is the first of a half-dozen incredible trips back in time and across the country for Dana, the protagonist of Octavia Butler’s seminal work Kindred. Over the course of the novel, she learns that she’s being pulled back through time to save a young man named Rufus Weylin, who turns out to be an ancestor living in slavery-era Maryland. However, Rufus’ calling her have massive and long-lasting effects on Dana and Kevin; the first-hand experience of American slavery leave deep and lasting scars on both of them that they struggle to deal with.

Kindred is essentially a fictionalized slavery narrative that does something vital — it recovers the true extent of the slave’s experience and contextualizes it for modern-day audiences. One of the greatest disservices that have been done to American history is the sanitization of this period. So many stories set during this period are “lightened” so that audiences don’t lose their stomach for the tale while still hopefully learning how difficult it was. But what that does is distance ourselves from the very thing we need to be connecting to — no matter how difficult it is, knowing exactly what happened to black Americans during slavery and who perpetrated these horrors is essential in understanding the social and psychological impact it had on the people and institutions of modern-day America.

Both Dana and Kevin see themselves as progressives of the time, but the forced confrontation of the reality of their history is still hard to take. Their experience gives them no choice but to re-examine the idea they had about slavery and the choices that people under that brutal regime had to make in order to survive. Kindred illustrates just how people could possibly come to accept the abuses they endured and why they did it; it gives shades to those “Uncle Tom” and “contented mammy” characters that were caricatured in stories like Gone With The Wind; and it restores agency to so many other people trapped in the huge social ecosystem of the Southern plantation. The slaves that Dana meets when she’s transported through time don’t belong to merely a few stereotypes; their rich inner lives shows us the vast array of responses to their enslavement and how those decisions came about.

Perhaps more than anything, Kindred makes me understand just how much black women in particular suffered under white patriarchal supremacy in the antebellum South and how much they continue to do so today. They were perceived as nothing but property by all of society, and were subject to the base desires and whims of their masters. When all of the world was arrayed against you, you had to think very carefully about how you rebelled; it wasn’t simply a matter of worrying about your own life, because you had to think about the lives of your children and family as well.

One of the most fascinating things about the novel is how the shared experience of Dana and Kevin affects their relationship. Even as they become separated across time and space, what they have to endure changes them. Kevin has to disabuse himself of several notions about the struggle of black Americans in both the slavery South and the more “enlightened” times of 1970’s Los Angeles. When he returns to his “world”, it’s clear that he can’t really absorb what happened and move forward. Combined with Dana’s trauma, the couple must struggle to build a life together as best they can. The novel ends on that difficult, unresolved, yet hopeful note.

I think that’s the ultimate lesson of Kindred; fully facing a difficult history will change you in ways that are irrevocable and possibly damaging, but ultimately necessary. We can no longer go on as a society thinking that we don’t have the scars we do. If we don’t pay attention to our collective wounds, they will continue to fester and grow infectious, poisoning the very life-blood of our society. This unwillingness to look at the legacy that was left for us by our ancestors results in the continued abuse against minorities of those in power; the persistent inability of our legal system to properly recognize how those abuses have been perpetrated, largely unbroken, to this day; and the unchecked, raw anger and resentment that so many of us black Americans feel for our brothers and sisters with different ideas, lives and stories as well as the broader society that we’re all struggling to integrate into.

Kindred teaches us that clear understanding of our history is difficult but also healing. We are not whole people; we’ve done and endured terrible things. Facing that teaches us to better grasp the decisions of others within that system, see how its consequences are still baked into our society and have more compassion and empathy for our ancestors and each other. Realizing the hell we were all in simply gives us better orientation to get ourselves out of it.

So, if you can, read Kindred. Precisely because it is difficult, and will change you.

 

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(Personal) San Francisco by Starlight – Walking for Suicide Prevention

Myth 150The first time I attempted suicide was the lowest moment of my life. I was sprawled out on the couch of a relative stranger, miles away from home, certain that I would never see my family again. It was the summer of 1999, and I had been outed by my therapist to my mother as gay (long story); after several months of put-downs and pretty awful behavior, my mother told me not to come back home when I left for college in August. I moved out that week, and I’ve never been home since.

A few friends who lived nearby offered to pick me up and let me crash at their place for the summer. They were generous with their space and resources when I had no one else, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But they were also dealing with their own fairly severe emotional, psychological and relationship problems — it was a dysfunctional household, and I was facing down the rest of my life without ever seeing my family again.

I had never felt so alone. I grew up in a religion that encouraged its adherents to keep a distance from the rest of the world, so my congregation was my life in many ways. I didn’t have many friends; I didn’t have many appreciable skills; I didn’t have any money. As far as I knew, I would live on campus, struggle through classes as best I could, and sleep on couches for the forseeable future.

The thought of that, barely surviving through a series of tests with few friends and no prospects, was too painful to contemplate. Who could possibly love me? I was sad all the time. I knew nothing and I couldn’t learn. In a very real sense, my life was over and I had no idea what could replace it.

So I bought sleeping pills, and took as many as I could swallow. I slept like the dead for ten or twelve hours, and when I woke up I took more. Then more, and more. After three or four days, one of my hosts shoved a sandwich into my hands. I ate automatically. And I began to recover.

Before I dropped out of college at the end of the year, I lost a friend to suicide and another friend made an attempt on her own life. I’ve known others — friends of friends, people in the furry community, folks from back in the old neighborhood — who have tried to kill themselves. Almost every single person I know has been touched by suicide, an act of desperation made by people who say no other way out of their deep suffering.

A 2005 study found that suicide was the third-leading cause of death among young black males in this country. A CDC report found that between 1999 and 2004, the suicide rate among black males was the highest in the land. There is a whole culture of us who feel trapped in broken neighborhoods, targeted by those in authority, with no hope of anything getting better for us. In addition to turning to crime, drugs and anti-social behavior, suicide is a recourse that so many of us consider.

The same holds true for LGBTQ youth. Those brave teenagers and young adults who are open about their alternative sexuality and gender expression face bullying, rejection from friends and family, isolation, confusion about their own minds, and depression almost routinely. So many of us have felt like there is simply no place to go, no other option left to us. We have no idea what kind of help or resources are out there.

There is a stigma about mental health and suicide in the black community, and in the fandom/geek community. There is so much misinformation about there about the nature of suicidal thoughts, expressions and actions; there’s an incredibly damaging attitude about self-harm and what it means. It’s incredibly important to me to change that. I need to speak up about my own experiences and advocate a more responsible and compassionate conversation about this. I want people to know that they’re not facing this alone, that people see and support them, that we understand and want to help.

So I’ll be participating in The Overnight, an event in San Francisco that begins at sundown on May 21st. I and hundreds of others will walk 16 – 18 miles across the city, visiting landmarks by moonlight and connecting with others by sharing our experiences and losses. At sunrise we’ll gather one final time to reflect, share, mourn and celebrate the fact that we’re still here.

If you’re in the Bay Area — or New York, where an Overnight Walk will take place on June 4th — I highly encourage you to join me. If you can’t, please donate whatever you can to support me and the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. The AFSP is a charity that focuses on education and outreach about mental health and suicide, provides support for those who have been affected by it, and promotes legislation that encourages a more compassionate response towards those of us dealing with mental health issues or suicidal thoughts. If you would like to help me raise money for this important work, please visit my participant page here: http://theovernight.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donordrive.participant&participantID=18579

Every little bit helps, and I’d be incredibly grateful for your support.

 
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Posted by on March 9, 2016 in Buddhism, Self-Reflection

 

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(Buddhism) Taking Refuge

Buddhism 150I’m not going to lie — 2016 has been pretty stressful so far. The day job has been demanding and constantly shifting; racial and identity politics have been as contentious as ever; and the rise of Trump signalling the fall of the GOP has been one of the most depressing stories to follow. Meanwhile, there are reports that we’ve hit the +2 degrees Celsius shift that we had been talking about maybe avoiding some day; China’s economy is faltering enough to make their government fearful, which makes what’s happening in the South China Sea especially worrisome; there’s also Russia, ISIL, Syria and a whole host of problems around the world. This is the time we should be uniting as a species to solve problems that threaten our existence, and we feel more fractured and disconnected than ever.

I realize that there isn’t a whole lot that I can do about all of this besides try to be the best person I can and encourage others to do the same. For me, trying to be the best person I can means trying to be the best Buddhist that I can be — so that means diving back into the Dharma and realigning my life to hew closer to its principles.

I don’t talk a lot about Buddhism here because I’ve never figured out a way to talk about it that didn’t sound like proselytizing on one hand, or exposing a vast ignorance about core teachings on the other. Being a Buddhist has always felt like a personal thing to me; I can make allusions to it, but that’s as open as I’ll get for the most part.

But the fact is that Buddhist philosophy is a very large part of who I am, and as I grapple with trying to be a better activist and a person who serves as a connector and organizer within his community, leaning back into Buddhist principles will help me tremendously with that. I believe that following the Noble Eightfold Path helps me to encourage my compassion, move past my fears, keeps my worry from curdling into despair.

Like most idealists, I have an attachment to the idea of a perfect world. People are kind and considerate in the ways that I deem most important, and their priorities are in lockstep with my own. We take care of each other. We take care of my environment. We’re an empathetic people who can’t see suffering without taking action to do something about it. We turn away from harmful things, even if they provide us with short-term pleasure, even if they’re something we’ve been doing for a very long time. Connection with other animals is one of the best things we can do. We’re accepting of each other’s differences; we even celebrate them. Sadness and loss are tempered by love and understanding.

That’s not the world we live in. None of us are perfect, and all of us have darker natures that we fall prey to. We are afraid, and angry, and selfish, and hurting. We make mistakes. We act maliciously. We do things that aren’t in our best interest because we think it will make us feel better. Our differences cause disagreements, and those cause divisions that widen and deepen until we can’t even see the other side as human any more. While problems get worse, we can’t even reach consensus on whether or not there IS a problem. Some people — perhaps most people — will never agree with me.

One of the strengths of Buddhism is enabling practitioners to deal with what is right in front of them. I am who I am, and the world is what it is; wishing for a utopian version of either invites suffering. It is better to see ourselves exactly as we are, and take the best actions we can under those circumstances.

This is the Dharma that I will be trying to follow. I’m digging back into the basics for a while, to check my foundation. What are the Four Noble Truths? What do they really mean? What is my understanding of the Noble Eightfold Path? The Bodhisattva Vow? How can I marry the vulgar and the divine? How can I follow the Middle Way while driving, or in the supermarket, or on the toilet? And how does Buddhism inform my activism?

These are important questions for me to figure out, and I’ll be spending a little time talking about them in the coming days, weeks, months.

 
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Posted by on March 7, 2016 in Buddhism, Self-Reflection

 

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(Political) The Third Rail: Anger in Activism

Politics 150The 88th annual Academy Awards aired Sunday night, and like all good cinephiles I watched. It was a last-minute decision, though; with the eruption of protest against the Academy’s decidedly monolithic nominations (all 20 acting nominations were white, and there were depressingly few POC, female and other minorities nominated in the other major categories), I had to struggle with the question of whether or not to continue supporting (in my relatively meaningless way) an organization that still put up barriers to anyone who wasn’t white or male. In the end, I decided to watch but make it a point to watch and promote movies produced, written, directed by and starring people of color in the coming year. That particular moral dilemma resolved, I sat down with a bunch of friends to see Leonardo DiCaprio finally get his Oscar and Sylvester Stallone get passed over for Mark Rylance. Uhm, better luck next time, Sly?

It was a pretty good ceremony, I must say. Host Chris Rock did a good job (mostly), though a few of his jokes didn’t land. Still, a few missteps in a four-hour telecast isn’t bad. While checking Twitter Sunday night, though, I noticed something that was capturing the attention of my sphere of activists beyond what was happening on TV — the #NotYourMule response to other people of color calling out Rock for not speaking up more on behalf of non-black minorities.

On one hand, I get it. Rock had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to address the lack of diversity plaguing even the liberal bastion of Hollywood, and he used it to highlight the reality of black artists and creatives trying to make it in that town. He spoke on behalf of the community he was a part of, and I thought he did it well. But those jokes against Asian-Americans that were not cool, and us black folk aren’t the only ones suffering under the non-inclusive status quo set by studio heads, producers and power players. It would have been nice to use the platform to remind everyone involved — black and white — that Asians, Latinos, native Americans and others are also desperately in need of more representation in the stories we tell.

On the other hand…the protest against Rock came across to a lot of us as tearing down an activist at a time so many of us were invested in him. On a night the black community wanted to celebrate a major milestone for AA activism, we had to field attacks from our flanks about why Rock hadn’t pushed them too. It feels like there’s an expectation for the AA community to do all the work, push for equality, and have other groups walk through the door that they spent so much time breaking down.

I KNOW that’s not the case. Asian, Native American, Latino and transgender activists have done amazing work over the past few years increasing the visibility of issues specific to their communities. We’re all working hard in the progressive space to make sure inequality and injustice is dealt with and taken out of the structure of our society. And in so many cases, when these issues are brought to my attention, I highlight them as best I can (even if that means a simple retweet or repost on Tumblr). It’s definitely not much, but I’m still figuring myself out — I don’t do enough even for the causes I’m personally invested in.

There are so many fights on so many fronts, because white patriarchal supremacy affects all of us in a kaleidoscope of different ways. With the resistance that each of our groups face against simply being recognized, most days it’s all we can do to fight the fight that directly affects us. The problems we face, personally and on a social level, leaves us angry, frightened and tired. I see it all across Twitter — people are fatigued, y’all. How many times do we have to explain the institutional nature of racism or debunk the same tired counter-arguments again and again before we can move on to fixing the problem? When will it ever feel like we’re making progress?

That anger, that frustration, that fear causes so many of us to lash out against the folks we ought to be aligning with. In spaces like Twitter, where communication is limited to little more than sound bites, we construe the worst possible meaning from a careless or incomplete thought and attack immediately. We spend our time fighting each other instead of listening to and ironing out our grievances so we can get back to the work at hand — building a better, just world for everyone.

It breaks my heart to see the fallout from the Oscars and #NotYourMule take our eye off the ball. The #OscarsSoWhite movement has the potential to affect real change in the entertainment industry, with the Academy putting a concerted effort together to invite more under-represented communities. We need to use this momentum to continue the conversation, to show how great a multi-racial Hollywood could be, to unite and amplify our voices for effective change.

But instead we’re fighting amongst ourselves, taking out the frustrations we’ve harbored over long and endless years of activism on each other. It’s not a good look. Our anger shouldn’t be directed at other people who are just as underserved, just as tired, just as frustrated as we are. It should be put to work helping our fellow minorities, teaching them how to use their voices to shout for the causes they believe in. We don’t have to do the work for them — we shouldn’t — but we can help them in their own work.

We have to find better ways to relate to our brothers and sisters in this struggle. We’re all hustling out there, and since we’re just fallible human beings there are going to be blind spots. There are going to be times when even the best of us (I’m looking at you, Meryl) get it wrong. There are going to be times where we disagree, and it’s important for each and every one of us to start paying attention to how we handle those situations. Do we use them as moments to correct and connect, or does our anger run away from us to push these people away?

I have a quick temper, and I’ve had to work very hard to change my relationship with anger. It’s still a work in progress — but I truly believe that anger is simply an emotion, neither good or bad, and what matters is what we do with it. Anger can be used as motivation to push us into action; it can be used as steel to strengthen our resolve and remind us of the injustice we’re fighting to change when we get weary. It can give us the courage to stand up firmly for what we believe in. But it can also be used as grape-shot to bloody friends and foes alike, and its indiscriminate use hurts the people we should be trying to help.

So to my non-black people of color, to my family of various sexual orientations and gender expressions, to the strong and amazing women out there; I see you. I know it’s hard out there. I want you to know that I understand your frustrations, and I want to help. Let me know what you’re doing to push against injustice and get an equal shot in our society and I’ll do what I can to spread the word. If you’re working, I want to know. And I want to stand with you. I’m not your mule, but I am your friend. Let’s roll up our sleeves together.

 
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Posted by on March 2, 2016 in Politics, Pop Culture, Self-Reflection

 

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