Debbie,

It’s been a rough two weeks, for many reasons. But the main reason was that you left without even giving me the chance to say goodbye.

I came home today and looked at the stack of mail sitting on the kitchen counter. There was one envelope that I didn’t want to open yet, the one that Matt sent me. But I had to—it was time.

Staring at me was your face. Your vibrant face. It was an issue of The Brown and White from two Sundays ago.

I’m not sure if I ever told you this, but, for a while, during my last year at Lehigh, you were one of the few people I trusted. I had lost all of my friends except those at The Brown and White. And because you and I were the head “empresses” (to use your word), we stuck through what seemed like endless press nights. I confess that, though sometimes I wanted to skip copy editing (and so did you) and other tedious work, I was happy not to be alone, to be there with somebody who still wanted to be my friend, and so I secretly didn’t want press nights to end. I don’t think I ever thanked you for this, and I’m sorry, but you have no idea how much you helped through those tough times.

I will remember you for many reasons—it’s hard not to. Your laugh. As I read this issue’s editorial, it seems your laugh was your trademark, and I can’t help but agree. That hearty, toss-your-head-back, uninhibited laugh of yours is the soundtrack to my B&W memories. Your high-five. We both had cars, but somehow, you’d always end up driving me up to Coppee and back down in your white beamer. As I’d say goodbye, we’d high-five for one more successful press night. Your emails. You were the queen of random and hilarious emails. Maybe one day I’ll publish them, because the world deserves to see how incredibly funny you were.

You know, I remember having to attend my first B&W orientation meeting and being somewhat scared. I was the lone sophomore who had changed her major a bit late in the game, so there were a lot of freshmen, including this one girl who kept asking questions with her loud, confident voice and who seemed to know more than our orientation leaders and who, frankly, intimidated me. It’s odd to think that was you, because my first and last impressions of you were so different.

I’m sorry I never called to catch up, and that most of our communication was online. It shouldn’t have been like this, and for that I apologize, even though I’m well aware it’s too late.

You still mean so much to me. You have no idea how much I’ll miss you.

Liz

But I had lost more than Alexej and the unique opportunity to save a fellow man. Looking back on it today, from a distance, I see it was then I lost the warm sense of solidarity and companionship I’d had with my fellow black insignias, and with it any chance of resurrecting my trust in men. I began to have doubts about the value of our solidarity, which was based solely on the force of circumstance and an urge for self-preservation that compressed us into a densely packed flock. And I began to think that the black insignia group was as capable of bullying a man (making him an outcast, hounding him to death) as the group raising their hands in the university lecture hall that day in the past, or perhaps as capable as any group.” – Chapter 14, page 115

In this excerpt of Milan Kundera’s “The Joke,” Ludvik, the protagonist, has just learned that the newest, and most wide-eyed, member of the soldiers is dead. Prior to this discovery Ludvik’s friends and a non-commissioned officer think Alexej is sound asleep, and because the consensus is that he was the outsider among the black insignia men, they plan to pour a bucket of water on him to try to wake him up. Ludvik finds this scene repulsive and is disgusted with the soldiers’ blind willingness to side with the enemy (the corporal).

“I was overcome with rage, a blinding rage aimed at the entire lot of them, at their unthinking eagerness to believe every accusation, at their readily available cruelty…” Ludvik instinctively yells at Alexej to get him to wake up and is then confronted by a fellow soldier. Moments later, they realize he is dead.

As for the fateful moment in the university lecture hall, Ludvik is referring to the day his professors and closest friends, among others, voted to have him expelled from the Communist Party and from the university he was attending due to “The Joke” (a short, humorous letter he sent to a girl. It ended up enraging, rather than entertaining, her and members of the Party).

************

Now read this piece by Hitchens:

My old mentor and friend Robert Conquest, another single-handed historian and truth-teller…is still mistaken when he suggests that most of our woes derive from idealists, social engineers and Utopians. He is correct in his way…However, as often as not you will find that—whatever the high-sounding pretext may be—the worst crimes are still committed in the name of the old traditional rubbish: of loyalty to nation or “order” or leadership or tribe or faith. To train the condemnation upon the Utopians is to miss the historical point (the point made in Animal Farm, among other places) that Utopians become tyrants when they start to emulate their former masters.” –“Letters to a Young Contrarian,” Christopher Hitchens

It seems to me, and I could be wrong, that Hitchens is trying to dispel the idea that idealists and Utopians, or any thought leaders under similar labels, look to the future as their way of leading revolutions, because when you think of visionaries, you think of the word “new.” But, what inspires these visionaries, Hitchens says, is what also fuels the rulers they’re fighting against.

********************

Besides the serendipitous order of reading Kundera’s “The Joke ” after Hitchens’ “Letters to a Young Contrarian,” the reason I’ve brought these two passages together is because, after such a tumultuous year of uprisings and mass mobilization, it is necessary to remember that revolutions are nothing new.

Much attention has been focused on which tools these modern revolutionaries have employed, and how they’ve been successful, and this is crucial for a number of reasons many experts have reiterated. I won’t delve into that, but if you’re curious, Clay Shirky’s “Here Comes Everybody” is a good primer.

So, revolutions are nothing new. Most, if not all, countries have had multiple revolutions or, as 2011’s most salient legacy, are currently undergoing one.

Revolutions don’t scare me in that I believe both self-appointed and democratically elected heads of state, including their governments, should constantly be challenged for their idiosyncratic flaws. What does frighten me a bit is when the outcome of a revolution betrays its initial aim.

The sentences in boldface reveal the unsettling nature of humans, yesterday, today and tomorrow. What seemed like genuine solidarity at first turns out to be disparate pieces brought together “on the force of circumstance.” Earlier in the book, Ludvik is amazed at each soldier’s singularity, but in this scene, he observes their transformation into a band of like-minded beings (which was prompted by their consensual dislike of Alexej), bringing to light their latent “readily available cruelty.”

These soldiers are deemed enemies of the Communist state and treated as such, and yet here we witness their unconscious approval of brutal behavior towards the minority. And then we insert a bit of Hitchens wisdom: “…Utopians become tyrants when they start to emulate their former masters.”

I’ve seen this behavior among my own friends and when observing crowds. I’ve taken part in this herd mentality as both a victim and an instigator, obviously not at the same time (and not quite as obvious, I’m not proud of the latter).

I see it on Twitter all of the time, the same tool used by revolutionaries to find refuge among an international community and expose the atrocities happening in their part of the world. People, from respected journalists to political figures to visionaries, gang up and, via a slew of biting tweets, bully the person whose views they don’t agree with. These same people also regularly send out tweets in support of religious and ethnic tolerance and in defense of freedom of speech. They demand respect, but don’t reciprocate. You then envision how this could play out in  something as big as a revolution and outside of Twitter.

When revolutions occur, we are all reminded that we are capable of bringing about change; what we never quite acknowledge is that we are also capable of being cruel towards those we deem cruel and even towards other non like-minded revolutionaries.

Will 2012 be a repetition of history? I certainly hope it won’t.

This is the last essay I wrote for my last French class of my college career (it was on French cinema). I’ve lost essays before because I don’t always back up my computer, and this one is really important to me, so I wish to preserve it. You don’t have to read it. This is mainly for my own plaisir.

Le film Ma vie en rose a forcement débattu la question du genre en racontant la vie d’un garçon de sept ans qui désire être fille et se marier avec une de ses camarades de classe. Mais les choses ne sont pas si simples. Son indécision de genre à sept ans n’est pas compatible avec le voisinage dont il est parti, au moins dans les yeux des gens qui habitent là-bas. Involontairement et immédiatement, il représente un tabou, peut-être le plus exécré de tous les tabous parce qu’il remet en question tous les fondements de la société, qui a été pour des milléniums définis par la dichotomie de l’homme et la femme. La présence de Ludo, donc, devient une sorte de catalyseur dans cette société en particulier, et bientôt, il se transforme en le bouc émissaire dont René Girard a parlé.

C’est à dire, Ludo va être persécuté. A la surface, parce qu’il est une anomalie parmi eux. Si on pénètre cette surface, cependant, on trouvera que le problème n’est pas Ludo, mais eux. Comme Girard a dit, au lieu d’assumer la responsabilité des problèmes qui commencent a surgir, les gens attribuent cette responsabilité a « other people who seem particularly harmful for easily identifiable reasons » (Scapegoat14). C’est clair qu’un petit garçon qui se habille en vêtements de fille peut être facilement reconnaissable. Il continue en disant que l’objet de la persécution est souvent « the weakest and most defenseless, especially young children » (Scapegoat 14).

Ces deux traits sont évidemment trouvés dans Ma vie en rose parce que la présence de Ludo rappelle les points faibles aux gens dans ce voisinage—leurs propres tabous déguisés en désirs et fantaisies. Ludo, involontairement, les fait sortir. Il révèle le mal de la société, et par conséquent il est blâmé pour leur malheur. « Ultimately, the persecutors always convince themselves that a small number of people, or even a single individual, despite his relative weakness, is extremely harmful to the whole of society » (Girard 15).

Alors, l’incipit du film essaie d’établir la rigidité de la société pour aider le spectateur à comprendre pour quoi Ludo est remarqué parmi d’autres. Ce petit monde, qui paraît être une parodie d’un voisinage américain, est contrôlé par des règles et standards stricts, de la structure des maisons aux usages sociales. Les premières scènes répètent l’action d’un fermeture a glissière pour montrer pas seulement tout ce que les femmes doivent faire pour paraître acceptables mais, plus important, pour signaler la homogénéité de la vie dans ce société. Chaque couple et chaque famille désormais commencent à donner des indices au spectateur qu’il faut faire les choses d’une certaine manière. Ca inclut porter des nœuds papillon et porter des robes, et toujours être poli et heureux.

La fête de bienvenue semble être un symbole ironique parce que, bien que son but soit de accueillir les Fabre et les présenter à la communauté, ils seront bientôt ostracisés. Tous ces couleurs éclatantes et décorations superflues dissimulent la réalité du voisinage. Même Granny se moque de la banderole à l’entrée de la maison de sa fille. Elle est aussi la seule personne qui remarque que toutes les maisons se ressemblent, et juste après la fête, la caméra nous montre dans un plan symétrique la synchronisation de la vie à ce voisinage, ou tous les garages s’ouvrent et toutes les voitures départent a la même fois. Le réalisateur ne hésite pas en placer un personnage qui n’est pas aveugle à la réalité des choses. Mais une voix dissidente parmi la foule reste étouffée, et Granny a ses propres problèmes.

Peu a peu, a cause de le statut de Ludo comme bouc émissaire, nous nous rendons compte que, sous ce vernis fragile de perfection, il existe un tissu de problèmes dans la communauté de Ludo, et que ces problèmes sont des tabous, ironiquement construits par les contrevenants à la loi sociale. Ludo sera impliqué jusqu’aux problèmes soient résolus.

Girard, dans son œuvre La violence et le sacré, essaie de expliquer ce qui se passe dans le film, comme dans plusieurs conflits fictives et réelles. Il dit que dans les relations humaines les mots comme l’égalité et la similarité évoquent une image d’harmonie, exactement comme ces images du voisinage qui sont établis d’abord. « If we have the same tastes and like the same things, surely we are bound to get along. But what will happen when we share the same desires ?»

La réponse, selon Girard, est la rivalité. Girard parle du désire mimétique, un terme qui signifie que l’origine d’une désir dans une personne est a cause de l’emprunt du désir d’une autre personne.  La raison pour laquelle c’est important de comprendre ce terme est parce que Ludo est à la fois le bouc émissaire et le révélateur du réseau des désirs mimétiques, et donc complètement responsable, dans les yeux du voisinage, pour le désordre (la rivalité) qui résulte. Il est la source de la tension entre ces deux concepts.  La famille de Ludo aussi est involontairement responsable pour le désordre, et c’est pour ca que nous voyons après la pièce scolaire de Blanche Neige l’expulsion symbolique de tous les Fabre.

Par exemple, avant de fêter la bienvenue des Fabre, Albert, le patron du père de Ludo, et son épouse, Lisette, conversent sur eux parce que Lisette ne les connaît pas. « C’est une grande famille, non ? » demande Lisette. « Ah, formidable. Ils ont quatre enfants » répond Albert. A cet instant, Albert s’est rendu compte que ce commentaire a blessé Hanna, parce que, comme nous apprenons plus tard, leur fille est morte, et ce qui reste est Jérôme, leurs fils de sept ans et l’objet d’amour de Ludo. Par conséquent, les Fabre deviennent l’idéale dans les yeux de Lisette, et probablement Albert. Ils convoitent cette fertilité qu’ils manquent, même si le faire est un tabou religieux.  Et c’est exactement ce désir mimétique qui les pousse à traiter les Fabre comme parias. Ludo n’est qu’une excuse, un bouc émissaire, pour cette douleur cachée.

Il faut mentionner que la scène ou Ludo et Jérôme sont sur le point de « se marier » dans la chambre de la sœur morte de Jérôme, c’est Ludo qui est blâmé pour le spectacle. Autres scènes, cependant, suggèrent que Jérôme est en train de chercher son identité, par exemple lorsqu’il préfère jouer avec Ludo plutôt que Sophie pendant la recréation. Jérôme, c’est évident, se sent comme Ludo, mais ces parents ne le acceptent ni le tolèrent. Albert et Lisette, dehors la champ de la camera, menacent leur fils qu’être homosexuel signifie aller en enfer, l’incitant a rejeter Ludo et, peut-être, son désir secret pour lui. Evidemment, ils sont coupables pour construire les tabous qui règnent dans ce voisinage, et ils jouent une grande partie dans la complicité de leur douleur et celle des autres.

En réalité, la plupart des adultes dans le film sont coupables pour leur propre douleur interne, qui se traduise en la persécution de Ludo. Comme susmentionné, Albert et Lisette ont une rôle puissant dans ces deux choses, mais la famille de Ludo est responsable aussi, particulièrement Pierre, le père de Ludo.

Pierre et Albert sont le disciple et le modèle, respectivement, dont Girard parle dans le processus du désir mimétique. Le modèle, écrit Girard, favorise l’imitation de sa vie et se considère sensiblement au-dessus du disciple. Ca peut expliquer pour quoi Albert, bien qu’il soit très fier de sa position comme patron et père, se sent menacé par le fait que son fils ressemble le fils de son disciple, Pierre.  Pendant ce temps, le disciple « feels both rejected and humiliated, judged unworthy by his model of participating in the superior existence the model himself enjoys » (Violence 146).

Cette rivalité dans Ma vie en rose est très évidente, particulièrement parce que Pierre travaille pour Albert, et donc, il doit faire le possible pour s’accrocher a son boulot. Malheureusement, le bouc émissaire de Ludo doit souffrir tandis que son père essaie de réussir. Pierre reproche Ludo quand il utilise les vêtements de la sœur de Jérôme et lorsque lui et Hanna l’emmènent au psychologue. Pierre promet à Albert que la psychologue va régler Ludo.

Il faut ajouter que Lisette, pendant la fête de Sophie, dit « Albert n’aime pas beaucoup ce gens la. Il pense que si la société n’était pas aussi dégénéré, il n’aurait pas besoin pour des fous qui s’occupent d’autres fous ». Sa remarque rappelle les Fabre de leur position sous Albert et Lisette, et aggrave la rivalité entre les deux hommes. C’est jusqu’à la scène ou Pierre dit qu’il a été terminé, qu’il partage la marginalisation de Ludo. Et en répondant a la question innocent de Ludo si c’est ca faute, il dit : « Non, les gens sont des cons. » Les gens, ou vraiment, les adultes ?

« To make the reciprocity complete, we need only add that the disciple can also serve as a model, even to his own model, » exprime Girard (Violence 146).  Lorsque Hanna est présentée dans la fête de bienvenue, Albert la regarde avec des yeux qui exsudent le désir. Lisette s’est rendu compte, mais ne dit rien. C’est après la dernière session avec la psychologue lorsque Hanna intentionnellement donne un baiser à Albert qu’elle réagisse. Il remarque que Hanna est folle parce qu’il ne peut pas admettre qu’il désir la femme de son ancien employé, un désir mimétique dont l’origine est Pierre mais aussi l’image idéale perpétué par la société.  Puis, Albert dit que la famille Fabre représente le mal. Une autre fois, l’état de Ludo comme bouc émissaire est renforcé, mais cette fois il est accompagné par sa mère aussi.

Hanna, comme les reste, a son rôle dans la victimisation de Ludo a cause de son désir mimétique de monter l’échelle sociale. Lorsque Pierre perde son boulot, la première chose dont Hanna s’inquiète est déménager parce qu’ils n’ont pas les moyens pour garder ce style de vie.  Ludo innocemment demande si c’était sa faute. Pierre le dénie. « Je m’emmerde de la hypocrisie » elle hurle. « Oui, c’est ta faute. » Elle a la même réaction quand Ludo doit changer écoles.

Il faut parler de Granny, l’autre adulte avec un rôle puissant dans le film. Le désir d’elle est simple et évident des qu’elle est présentée : elle veut être jeune. Elle arrive à la maison de sa fille en une décapotable jeune éclatant et implore ses petits-enfants de l’appeler « E-li-sa-beth », pas Granny. Pendant la fête, tandis qu’elle danse à une chanson pop, son gendre remarque « elle se déguise en jeune ».  Elle ne cache pas son désir, particulièrement à Ludo. Granny lui admet que elle veut être comme Pam, fine, mais puis elle lui dit qu’il faut affronter la réalité. Quand elle désir être jeune, cependant, elle ne le fait pas d’une manière qui blesse Ludo. Elle « fermez les yeux » et vit sa fantaisie. De tous, Granny est le plus acceptable et la seule personne qui ne considère pas a Ludo comme un bouc émissaire, particulièrement quand il lui dit qu’il et Jérôme allaient se marier quand il ne soit plus garçon. Le garçon de sept ans n’est pas tellement différent a elle, Granny détermine par contre aux autres adultes qui ne veulent pas s’associer avec lui.  Le problème est-ce que le désir d’être jeune est plus acceptable, dans les yeux d’autres, que vouloir changer de genres.

Finalement, le bouc émissaire, Ludo, a son propre désir mimétique dont la racine est Pam, la poupée et une sorte de fée pour Ludo.  La seule fois que nous le voyons être violent est pendant la pièce de Blanche Neige. Pour vivre sa fantaisie de devenir elle, il imite les adultes en sabotant la pièce et forçant à Sophie de lui donner ses vêtements. One peut justifier ses actions dans le sens qu’il les a appris de ses parents. Il y a d’autres exemples dans le film ou les enfants imitent leurs parents, comme quand Sophie ne veut pas jouer avec Jérôme parce qu’il est un « tapette » (nous voyons un Albert furieux confronter le père de Sophie).  Une autre exemple est la pétition réclamant le renvoi de Ludo—c’était signé par les parents, pas les enfants.  Les enfants, nous semble dire le réalisateur, sont innocents. Ce sont les adultes qui causent la douleur, comme quand Ludo est « castré ». Toute sa famille regarde l’acte sacré de sa castration de cheveux. Ils savent ce qu’ils font et la violence qu’ils inspirent. Désormais, Ludo n’est pas le même.

Alors, nous témoignons comment les désirs mimétiques des adultes ont effectué la persécution et transformation de Ludo. La plupart du voisinage a tourné le dos à Ludo, mais au moins sa famille est revenue à la raison. L’histoire de Ludo évoque l’histoire du Christ, qui est une figure centrale du livre, Le bouc émissaire, de Girard, et qui comme Ludo, a été persécutée par les Juifs, mais au moins ses disciples sont revenues a la raison. La souffrance de Ludo évoque images religieuses, et même le terme bouc émissaire ressemble l’agneau dont les Evangiles parlent. Comme agneau, dit Girard, « it implies the substitution of one victim for all the others but replaces all the distasteful and loathsome connotations of the goat with the positive associatons of the lamb. It indicates more clearly the innocence of this victim, the injustice of the condemnation, and the causelessness of the hatred of which it is object » (Scapegoat 116).

Mais le Christ était un homme masculin, au moins la définition accepté par la société, et son genre n’était pas questionné. Est-ce que Ludo et d’autres comme lui pourront devenir la connotation positive d’un bouc émissaire ? Ou est-ce qu’ils toujours seront des victimes ?

If you think all is fine and dandy with this world, then you better stop reading this.

It all started on Twitter. After reading tweets of Erin Burnett this and Erin Burnett that, as anyone else would, I googled her name. The first link that caught my attention was Hollywood Life’s “Meet Erin Burnett & Her Hot News Show ‘Outfront’!” Yes, exclamation point. I know.

This is what she said about her show! Exclamation point. Exclamation point.

“She plans to be “tough, hard and firm in the dealing with issues and getting answers”, she tells Hollywoodlife.com. But she also wants to contribute to “making America as great as it can be.”
Erin doesn’t want to just be criticizing the politicians and other movers and shakers in America. She wants to point out “how we can constructively contribute,” to making America better as a country.”

Those are all lofty goals and ideas, of course putting theory into practice is tres, tres difficile as her first show clearly demonstrated. Actually, it’s not so difficult, it’s just not going to get you good ratings, and this following video and its consequent proliferation online has stirred things up quite a bit.

I don’t want to make this about Erin, though. (This is where I link to an article all about her, because it is really, really good. Thank you Salon.) This is about quality journalism.

After watching her “Seriously, protesters?” segment, I may or may not have ranted on Twitter.

The inflammatory tweet: After Erin Burnett’s condescending usage of “Seriously?” re: #OccupyWallStreet protests, I’m boycotting the word AND her. #seriously

A minute later, I received a direct message from an exec producer at CNN. I had exchanged tweets with this person only once before, so this caught me by surprise.

The person asked me about my tweet, saying “No? Where/When?” I wasn’t sure if the producer was referring to my tweet, so I asked. The producer said it had piqued his/her interest because it involved his/her network. So, I explained:

“Well, her segment on the OWS protests undermines the point that this is all part of a larger narrative–the Great Recession. It’s as if she’s mocking those who are unemployed for being unemployed, when the real issue is, why aren’t companies hiring? It just struck me as offensive and unprofessional. I don’t blame CNN. These things happen.”

But do these things really happen? I didn’t want to be unpleasant and continue my rant. After all, the producer was gracious and even thanked me for caring and told me he/she would look into matter. I’m not going to blame him/her for all of the network’s problems, but it got me thinking how, in this day and age, despite the innovations in social media and the increasing importance of citizen journalism, we still have these big, powerful news networks that can easily sway public opinion, whether it’s with truthful information or with pure bias.

I’m not saying she should have sided with the protesters, but she shouldn’t have treated the Wall Street protests like a circus and its advocates like animals. After reading the Salon piece on her background, I rolled my eyes and thought, no wonder she has such scorn for the 99 percent. But she’s not the only one who makes decisions when it comes to broadcast shows.

There is a team of producers, bookers and interns who all have a say in molding the direction of the show’s daily segments. I’m sure she didn’t just go to the protests and interview that one unemployed software developer. But, she and the producers decided on that footage, therefore making it seem as if all protesters are unemployed ignorants.

Everything else about the phones, the “catered” food, the lululemon reference, and so on was all just wasted space on the teleprompter.

What she doesn’t understand is that the protests are part of a bigger story, a story that may be only 2 minutes long on air but that lives in the minds of millions of people every single day. These protests that have spread nationwide are the symptoms of the disease that has gripped the nation since 2008 and even before, all because of decisions made by the few political and financial leaders, whom we so blindly trust.

My best friend’s dad lost his job to education cuts. After sending out hundreds of resumes to hundreds of companies, my older brother had to go back to school–to undergrad, to get an engineering degree because his business degree is worthless, even if it is from McCombs.

Recently, the Dallas Morning News laid off a big chunk of its staff, as the DMN Cuts blog reported. The blog also posted an article on the earnings of top execs at the DMN and Belo, as shown below:

Among the other four top executives, Dallas Morning News Publisher James Moroney earned $1.3 million in 2010, up from $478,090 in 2009; Morning News President and General Manager John McKeon earned $1.3 million in his first year on the job; Chief Financial Officer Alison Engel earned $800,001, up from $276,765; and Senior Vice President Daniel Blizzard earned $575,000, up from $211,228.

Granted, the journalism industry isn’t faring well. But, this sort of high-five-the execs-and-pink-slip-the-workers attitude is toxic and yet widespread. High unemployment and high profits simultaneously is also toxic. As one Merrill Lynch broker told me, companies aren’t hiring until Obama is out of the picture. Um, come again?

There’s so much to report on, so much to investigate, so many opportunities to be “tough, hard and firm in dealing with issues and getting answers,” but no, CNN has to resort to mocking protesters and their plight. Seriously?

And The Young Turks’ response to the segment–applause:

 
 

I’m the type of person who asks for permission because I can’t imagine a world where you do what you want with complete disregard for the person next to you. I’m very much conscious that my actions will have consequences, whether positive or negative, and that I won’t be able to immediately gauge these actions.

On September 17, I did something uncharacteristic. I attended the #occupywallstreet protests. I informed my boss and colleagues that I would be in New York that weekend so I might as well go and see it for myself. My tools were a borrowed flipcam and my iPhone, and, well, my boyfriend to carry my bag. That Saturday afternoon, I descended to the financial district, made my way to Wall Street and looked for protestors and posters. The area was blocked off by the NYPD. One of them let me in when I showed him my makeshift press pass (the badge I use to get into my workplace). He told me the demonstrators were on Broadway and that they were blocking the area because it was private property. I didn’t ask questions, just directions. But then I came across another police officer and, empowered by God knows what, I asked him why they were blocking it. He wasn’t as nice as the first one. He told me in an authoritative manner, which I guess is granted by wearing a uniform and carrying a gun, that he was just following his boss’s orders. I retorted, “So, you don’t question these orders?” My boyfriend gave me “the look.” I left before he could think of an excuse to arrest me.

Then I encountered the protest, and dozens of police officers obstinate and observant. It was an eclectic crowd, to say the least. My Twitter feed said they were all young. Not quite. There were many old folk, people whose soles had made a mark on modern history before I was born. There were characters in costume, sporting the now infamous”V for Vendetta” mask or personifying capitalism in some creative way. Just to be clear–there were people wearing jeans and shirts and dresses and coats, too. Some weren’t even wearing clothes. But the clothes weren’t the point.

They were there for a common concern–why is trying to live the American dream a nightmare?

One need not look any further than the hashtag #occupywallstreet to understand their anger and whom it’s directed at. It has to do with money and jobs, or lack thereof, and the reckless decisions of the powers that be. It has to do with not being able to afford their necessities. It has to do with justice and injustice. It has to do with a laundry list of grievances that a minority of the population never has to think about.

That day, not many people were paying attention. I knew there was potential in this “occupation,” and that’s why I went. Now most news outlets have covered it, some have even been implicated (journalists arrested, the NYT’s controversial change of perspective).

It’s a shame that people in this country cannot get the attention they deserve. There must be arrests, there must be pepper spray, there must be a celebrity, there must be some element of scandal or stardom that drives news outlets to cover an event. Isn’t angst enough? And considering that this is a product of the Great Recession and is a crucial part of the narrative, how was it not covered as soon as it happened?

Is social media the answer to this gap or this bias in choosing what and what not to cover? Maybe. I just know that it’s what prompted me to go to the protests. I now wish I would have camped out a la Gonzo and developed a thorough understanding of the story by getting to know these people who have sparked a mass movement instead of just having interviewed a few protesters and taken photos.

 

It’s been at least two months since my last post. I wholeheartedly apologize to my 1.6 loyal followers.

To be completely honest I stopped writing on my blog for security reasons (this was when I was back in Mexico). Catch my drift? I’ll leave it at that.

Now I’m in Washington D.C., watching my scattered ambition and aspirations fall into place and meeting people who, I believe, will be invaluable in further understanding my purpose in life.  So far, so good.

 

So many stories, and yet only a few I can publish.

Yesterday evening I spent time at my grandma’s going over our family’s history, of which I know trop peu, and from this I gleaned two peculiar stories. One pleasant, the other tragic.

The first one I didn’t listen to very well (at least, I didn’t follow the details). All I know is that my grandma’s grandfather (or some male figure in her family) did not like to eat alone. So whenever he’d get home and his family had already eaten, he would take a little trip outside his house and look for the first person who’d walk by, proceeding to invite him or her for a free meal.

The second one I really thought strange and unfortunate.  Apparently, my grandma’s mom had made a type of superstitious covenant with God by dressing little Geronimito in white every day for five years (and she showed me pictures as evidence). The day of his fifth birthday he was going to wear a cowboy outfit. That day never came. The day before his change of attire a tornado took the lives of both my grandma’s father and brother.

So there are the stories I can tell you. The rest will have to wait!

23/90

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