Scared of what's behind, and what's before.

I am sitting at my computer at 4 o'clock in the morning, wondering how to put the last several months into words that are comprehensible to anyone besides me.

I don't know if I can, but I'll try.

We are faced with decisions along every step of our lives. Some are easy. Some are more difficult. Many are satisfying. Quite a few more hurt to make. A handful are impossible. It feels, right now, like this one is.

I am reaching the end of my master's program, and I have to decide which step to take next. To leave, or to stay. That sounds overly dramatic, yes, but here is the context. It seems as though, for the past decade, every two years-- wherever I've been and whatever I've been doing.--I've up and left, right around the 24-month mark. Moved on to the next chapter, adventure, challenge. The next new group of people to meet and eventually call friends, and the next new place to explore and eventually call home,... until I move on again. But the past several months here have cemented in my brain an emotion that's not quite the familiar restlessness and not quite dread of once again picking up and going elsewhere. I've realized that above everything else, I'm simply tired.

I'm tired of being constantly in motion, of the semi-nomadic life. All I want is to be in one place for a little longer. I never thought that place would be here. In fact, at the beginning of my Arizona experience, almost two years ago, I'd thought I wouldn't be able to wait to go. I'd assumed that once I had a new, fancy degree in hand, the desert would lose its appeal and I'd be craving summers in Minneapolis and non-manmade lakes and... yes, even snow... again.

But something is grounding me here. I don't know how... I am dirt poor, unemployed, and a thousand miles away from my central support system of friends and family. I live in a state where legislators would rather create an official Tea Party license plate than help terminally ill people on welfare receive life-saving organ transplants. I am in a part of the country where the temperature will reach a scalding 120 degrees a few short months from now, and I have only a bicycle to get me around in it.

And yet, I am happy.

Too much of life goes by without reflection, without our introspective analysis on why or how we've felt the way we do about certain elements of it. I don't want the past year to slip away into oblivion, especially in the coming months, when I actually have to make this decision and suffer the consequences.

Snapshots: I've danced on sidewalks on Mill Avenue, to the beat of African drum circles. I've laughed with people so hard we've cried, and cried so hard we've laughed. I've sat in my backyard long into the night, under the orange tree and the stars, smoking cigarettes and listening to my iPod, with no thoughts at all besides contentment. I spent a night reveling in incredible music... along with 10,000+ concert attendees... but from a 4-story rooftop. I've spent many more nights listening to incredible local music that gets under your skin so deeply you don't even wonder how you find yourself humming it under your breath, weeks later. I've wandered around Tempe with good company, shooting the shit until 5 in the morning. More than once. I've learned the political practices of this state enough to where I desperately want to stay and work for positive change, because I feel invested in what happens to people here who can't. I connected with a person who made me feel beautiful and alive, for the first time in a long time. I've started making my own music again, along with people who crave that glorious creative outlet as much as I do, if not more.

I am constantly learning new things, about myself, how I've always viewed the world and my relationships with people who I like, who I don't as much, who I love, who I wish loved me... these long-held notions are constantly challenged, and I find my old self being broken apart and built up again into someone a little different, a little stronger, more self-aware and self-assured. It's invigorating, to know that you have the capability and courage to allow this change, this full exploration of yourself.

I'm not done. I'm not ready to go yet, but there is a lingering doubt as to whether circumstances will allow me to stay. I know what I want to do, but the economy and job market seem to have other plans right now. I know what I should do, to get by, but I've recently discovered I am abysmal at waiting tables and, for some reason, am not quite employable at Starbucks. Job-hunting is a terrible dance, and I am failing at it. After a rather uninspiring semester, I'm questioning every scholarly choice I've made, all over again. I am running out of options, and it breaks my heart that, just when I finally find a place where I could consider taking a break from my tumultuous madcap journey of the past ten years and resting for a while longer, I might be forced to leave it.

There is no easy answer here. I know I have some time left, to find something--ANYTHING--that will give me money in exchange for some kind of time and labor commitment. The fear is already there, however. I can't fight with human resources departments who don't want to hire me, or credit card bills that can't be paid, or loan officers who hover menacingly around waiting for my graduation date. It's too much to take on at one time, without a paycheck (or even with one from Starbucks), and I'm tired. But enough. This post was not supposed to be my pity party or a plea for charity, or even sympathy. It's about a choice that might end up not being a choice, exactly. At least I know when the time comes to make that "choice," regardless of the outcome, I will understand what it was that I really wanted.


Mumford & Sons, 'After The Storm' (from Sigh No More)

Fighting Back Against Hate: November 13th, 2010

So here's what my yesterday afternoon involved:

 

(All photo credits: Robert Haasch)

Yes, the National Socialist Movement, a neo-nazi hate group, was back in Phoenix. This time, they were protesting the recent judiciary actions that pared back the provisions in SB 1070, a law fully supported by the NSM. Think about that for a second. When a white supremacist hate group fully endorses your legislation, champions it even, it might be a good idea to rethink the implications of your legislation. Maybe redo the cost-benefit analysis. Right?

While Russell Pearce was conspicuously absent from THIS rally--it should be noted that he's attended (even sponsored) past anti-immigrant events hand-in-hand with a notorious former(?) NSM member. This former(?) NSM member, J.T. Ready, was there, apparently in full support of his comp-'hate'-riots.

A cueball-headed Ready, 11-13-10.

This, to me, is very scary. The fact that these guys have an apparent "in" to the innerworkings of the Arizona State Legislature is disturbing. The fact that one of their own was endorsed for political office in Mesa by the current President of the Arizona State Senate is horrendous. And the mere fact that people still think like this, in 21st century America, is beyond appalling. 

But I digress a bit, because the original intent of this blog post was to reiterate what was conspicuously absent in most of the mainstream media reports from yesterday's march/protest/riot: one entire side of the story. I'm not going to promise neutrality; I can't. I can only promise to relate what I saw and heard with my own eyes and ears. So here it is, emotional at times but as accurate as possible, written to the best of my memory and ability.

The counter-protesters arrived on the corner of Fourth Avenue and Washington, at the site of the eventual NSM rally. With the exception of a squad of police decked out in riot gear, and a couple of NSMers futzing with the sound system, we were alone. This was disorienting to many of us, who had been on time... apparently being a neo-nazi doesn't necessarily make you punctual.  People in clown costumes, anarchists with black hoodies and bandanas obscuring their features, people with drums and whistles and other musical instruments, a Unitarian church group in yellow shirts, members of the Brown Berets in their khaki and brown uniforms, and plenty of people like me: nondescript but passionate enough to rally for the cause, holding signs and megaphones and hoping that somehow, things would stay relatively peaceful.

That wasn't to be.

Word reached us that the NSMers were marching east down Jefferson, toward us. The people with the bandanas took off running in their direction. A large group of us followed at a slower pace. When I arrived at Jefferson and 8th Avenue, the anarchists had formed a human blockade of linked arms, stretching across the four-lane street.  We could see them, in the distance, their flags waving (warped, perverted variations of American flags with black swastikas), but almost completely obscured by the line of riot police forming a perimeter around them. 

At 8th Avenue, things ground to a halt. People stood toe-to-toe with police, shouting obscenities and chanting at the NSMers, who retaliated with yells of "Seig Heil" and racial epithets. A few objects were thrown over the cops' heads, into midst of the NSM group--a few homemade noisemakers, a bag of bloody meat. The police stood silent. The tension was physically tangible.

I need to say that at this point, I did feel sympathy for many of the officers. I remember telling somebody, "I bet some of them are thinking 'What shitty luck I had to come into work today.'" I locked eyes with a few and held up a peace sign; I couldn't see their full reactions behind their helmet-shields. I wonder if theirs were thoughts of appreciation, indifference, or derision for the (relatively) quiet girl with the anti-Nazi sign and the "Am I Legal?" shirt. Even after events unfolded afterwards, I still very much believe that not all police officers are "fascist pigs" (although some of them certainly don't try very hard to disprove those who think so). So when I heard one girl scream "fascist fucking pigs" in their direction for the eleventh time, I couldn't stay quiet anymore. I briefly repeated my sentiment, and she looked at me like I was one of the people with the nazi flags. I guess they were all the same, in her eyes. And as for me, a sympathizer was a sympathizer, in her mind. My general feeling of sympathy would alter drastically, however, in the span of an hour.

People were yelling, and sweating in the afternoon heat, and blowing airhorns, and not moving. I saw one of the bandana-wearers remove his shirt to reveal a Star of David tattoo on his upper left chest. No one budged. This went on for about an hour. It felt like much longer. 

*Never once did I hear an order for the crowd to disperse. It may have been ordered, but no one near me heard it. Let it be said again: standing on the sidewalk, not 10 feet from the line of police, I did not hear any spoken warning from the Phoenix PD.*

A call went out among the counter-protesters: the gas masks were going on. The anarchists braced themselves against the riot shields. Those of us on the sidewalks held our breath. And suddenly, there was pepper spray in the air. Everywhere. One of the local reporters and bloggers at the Phoenix New Times was right in front, and reportedly got the worst of the initial onslaught (read his account here). Even from the relative "safety" of the sidewalks, we were sent scrambling, coughing and gagging. The air was thick with it; you couldn't avoid it. The feeling of thick, blistering pepper spray lodging in your throat, eyes and nose is one that I won't forget any time soon. 

Holding vinegar-soaked rags to their faces, everyone was sent running as the cops discharged what is probably the most liberal amount of spray I've ever seen used on people at any protest, unprovoked. I say unprovoked, because (contrary to news reports) protesters did not charge the police barricade. I've heard this justification used several times. It didn't happen. What did happen was mutual pushing, as protesters struggled to hold their ground against police with riot shields. Meanwhile, the NSMers laughed and chanted "Gas the Jews," over and over. The kid with the Star of David tattoo flashed through my mind. Sympathy for the cops quickly morphed into 'pissed off' in general. 

The counter-protesters regrouped about a block away. This time, heavy metal newspaper receptacles formed a less-vulnerable barricade across the street. While the anarchists reformed their line, volunteer riot medics on bicycles rode around with water bottles full of magnesium hydroxide, to pour in spray victims' eyes in order to counteract the burning. I watched a fellow protester and peace advocate (a friend of mine) get a blast of pepper spray full in the face; she was holding a sign that said "Free Hugs" so I can see how they might have thought she was a credible threat. Sorry, editorializing. But I'm really not sorry. The image of this woman, brought to her knees on the side of the road, screaming in pain from the burning in her eyes and mouth and scalp, is not one I'm likely to ever get over.

*Official mainstream media reports, by and large, ignored this equal-opportunity gassing of the Arizona activist populace by its law enforcement.* Instead, they reported a few "bumps and bruises" suffered by NSMers and by police, due to the events that followed (read on):

Then someone threw a rock. I can't say exactly where it came from, except from someone in the street, but it hit one of the NSMers in the head. Then rocks were flying from multiple directions. I don't condone this type of action at all, but it seemed to me that an inevitable chain of events had been set in motion from the moment the police decided to bring out the pepper spray. People were enraged. You can't ignite a spark in a dry field on a windy day and expect not to have a wildfire on your hands. 

What commenced was essentially a violent back-and-forth between the Phoenix PD and the anarchists. Which, I think, was something the NSM was hoping for. It certainly was something the mainstream media were hoping for, since that aspect of the day was all that was reflected in the newscasts that evening. Purple tear gas was dispensed by the police, nails were scattered across the road by the anarchists to supposedly puncture the tires of the police vehicles, and back and forth; the whole procession slowly made its way down Jefferson to the courthouse.

So the nazis held their rally. The counter-protesters were restrained behind a concrete barricade about forty feet from them, but we continued to hold our signs and chant and make noise. I didn't hear what Jeff Schoep (head Furher) was saying over the speaker system, as our noise drowned most of it out. A lot of the NSMers--even more emboldened because of the distance, and the reinforced barricades of concrete and riot police--waved their flags at us, gave us the nazi salute, and pantomimed targeting and shooting protesters with imaginary guns. Fairly anticlimactic, but we stayed as long as they did. And "escorted" them to their cars.

*This post isn't an attack on the First Amendment.* I am instead trying to underscore the fact that the general attitudes about immigration in this state are creating environments where ideologies of hate groups like the NSM flourish. They were able to come here under the guise of "illegal immigration"; they have come before, and they have come often. Our Senate President, Russell Pearce, used to rub shoulders with J.T. Ready; Pearce has recently denounced neo-nazi movements, but Ready has implied otherwise. 

Another point I cannot stress enough is that there are times when sitting home just doesn't work. People are always torn when it comes to the decision to demonstrate against groups like the NSM: ignore them and make them march alone, reducing the chances for media coverage and making them look like fools? Or in situations like these, is silence another word for implied consent?

I believe the latter. Despite the slanted media coverage, despite the fact that people were hurt, and despite the fact that I would have preferred nonviolent tactics over what did transpire yesterday... I believe that in instances such as these, if you say nothing, do nothing, in the face of evil on your doorstep, evil is soon inside your house. 

If the National Socialist Movement has the constitutional right to march and rally under their racist banner, then we who oppose that disgusting mentality have every equal right to show up and scream loudly our dissent.

Here's one last (skewed?) video recap.  And yes, that is me at 2:02, in my typical role of peace advocate. During the impasse at Jefferson and 8th, I was interviewed by a local Fox affiliate. Yes, ironically, of all the news stations out there, Fox News asked me for an interview. *Sigh.* 

While not all of my comments made it to the airwaves, I do remember talking about the need for civil dialogue. And how the presence of the NSM--their hateful ideology, their deepening involvement in political matters in this state--all but eliminates that possibility. 

An Epic Probiotic Adventure (Or: A Nonpolitical, Non-Arizona-related Type of Post)

So about two weeks ago, I decided to try an experiment.

I boiled up about a liter of water, steeped some organic black tea leaves, dumped in some sugar, allowed the brew to cool down to room temperature, and poured it into a glass jar. I then added the contents of one bottle of store-bought raw kombucha. It’s been sitting on my kitchen counter ever since.

Some of you probably know where this is going.  J

Yes!  I decided to try to grow my very own SCOBY! For those of you unfamiliar with the phenomenon that is kombucha, “SCOBY” stands for Symbiotic Colony of Bacteria and Yeast and is the primary component of kombucha-making. Kombucha is a fermented beverage made from tea and the byproducts of the SCOBY feasting on sugar, which yield tremendous amounts of beneficial organic acids and probiotics. If it sounds gross, it isn’t. If you want to know more, click here. 

For those of you who ARE familiar with this delicious and nutritious probiotic nectar, you might know that for a while I’ve wanted to try my hand at home-brewing the stuff. If there is any chance I could avoid spending 4 bucks on a bottle every time I feel the kombucha urge, I’m going to take it.

Anyway, back to the story. Approximately a week ago, I was growing discouraged by the lack of progress in my jar, so I decided to expand on the experiment a little. A second jar was filled with only half of a store-bought bottle, with no tea or sugar added. I set Jar #2 next to Jar #1 and promptly forgot about them for a few days. Grad school and all.

But, flash forward to yesterday, when I finally remembered to check on my little experiments. SUCCESS! Not one, but two baby SCOBYs! They are still thin and fragile-looking, so I don’t know if I should transfer them to bigger jars yet and start actually brewing… I think I’m going to wait until they’re at least 1/4” thick, since most of the home-brewing websites I’ve found recommend that. I wasn't expecting such positive results, so I’m ridiculously proud of myself. Hopefully I’ll be enjoying my own delicious fermented tea beverage within the month!

If any of you have suggestions, advice, or just want to talk kombucha, feel free to post!

  

A quickie update from the shell-shocked hippie.

Well, I'm back.

Sort of. 

I'm about to start Year Two of my grad program at ASU. Returning to the baked desertlands of Arizona merely three days ago, I checked the syllabi for my fall semester classes, uploaded a shit-ton of Tanzania pictures onto Facebook, and then promptly fell into a strange dazed limbo of un-productivity. Needless to say, culture shock. Jet lag. Mental weariness and homesickness for a country that's not technically "home." Yet, it is.

 

This morning, however, I snapped out of said limbo by means of an electronic roundhouse kick to the face, in the form of an email from one of my professors, reminding us we have an assignment due at midnight. On an entire book. A book I have not purchased yet. Let alone read. B'ohh.

Time to wake up, I guess. But for those of you who need some context, here's a little recap of pre-summer events:

So in May, my first year of grad school was D.O.N.E. Done! Big collective sigh of relief? Thank you. The last semester was a good one... yours truly scored a 4.0 GPA (yeah, I'm bragging a little). It's also been busy because of all the shenanigans going on in the AZ legislature... crazy bills being passed and whatnot... so this little activist has been spending a lot of free (?) time up at the State Capitol. Like I said, there is a blog post regarding these shenanigans that is looooonnnng overdue. It's been very educational, to say the least, and my heart is telling me more and more that my future lies in advocacy work in some form. Something that many people around here (including some in my program) are finding difficult to understand. I think a lot of people don't quite know what to make of me... we have a lot of future government bureaucrats and policy analysts who try not to be political, and a few mid-career private sector folks with conservative leanings who probably think I'm the devil incarnate. But so far no one has said that to my face. At least not in class. At the rallies, I've been called more than a few things.  ;-)

So educationally, I'm doing A-OK. In terms of rock 'em-sock 'em experiences, I'm doing just  fine. What I'm having trouble with is the readjustment from my mind-blowing trip to Tanzania.  

I moved from downtown Phoenix to Tempe at the end of May, into a room in a house I found for rent on the ASU student advertising listserv. Awesome. There's nothing like moving in with strangers two weeks before you leave for the summer. The place is about 70 years old and, as such, has a lot of 70-year-old quirks... i.e. my closet-sized bathroom with a faucet nozzle in the wall (yeah have you ever heard of something called a swamp cooler? It was new to me until I moved to Arizona), and the RAD peach and brown floral wallpaper gracing one of my bedroom walls... but the place is totally my style. Which is, I think, eclectic and humorous and with TONS of character. And the rent is cheaaaaap.

So I'm back in most respects, but not emotionally. Not yet. Emotionally, I'm still somewhere else...

     

First blog post in over 4 months... and I'm promoting another blog.

At least it's MY other blog.

There is no legitimate reason why I have not written on this blog.  It's not that things haven't happened that merit documentation... a horrible immigration law passed by intolerant Arizona politicians, and the protest movements that sprang up, occupied most of my free time in my remaining weeks in Phoenix.  While it should have been written about as it happened, day by day, for many reasons it didn't.  I apologize for that.  The summary and timeline of events that I WILL write won't equate to a minute-by-minute record, but they will be something.  

My purpose for writing THIS entry is about the reason why I didn't write about the above situation (follow?).  I am volunteering overseas for a month, and have set up a blog to document my experiences in Karanga and Moshi, Kilimanjaro Region, Tanzania, AFRICA.  Yes.  A lifelong dream is about to be realized.  So while this blog remains on hiatus for at least another 4 weeks, you can follow my adventures abroad at jenstanzaniajournal.blogspot.com, documenting a perspective--a lifetime's worth of experience--from the other side of the world.

Paz,

Jen

Buh-bye, benefits of urban revitalization...

No parks.  No museums.  No youth programs.  Less public transportation.  I understand there are very few options, but how is this a good idea?

Phoenix City Council approves budget plan 

(Scott Wong, The Arizona Republic, March 3, 2010)

Do you enjoy your basic human rights?

Don't feel like having your civil liberties trampled by a bunch of corrupt Wild West cowboy-wannabes?

Then don't vote for this guy.

I've been wanting to write something on Joe Arpaio since moving to Phoenix and hearing first-hand accounts of his corrupt policies and practices. I've fully intended to post a rap sheet listing the various crimes and abuses of power on the part of Sheriff Joe and his Good Ol' Boy Posse. It seems, thanks to an increasingly powerful grassroots movement on Facebook, that now is the perfect time to do so. While I'm writing (and it might take awhile; the list of abuses is lonnnnnng), you can check out the Facebook movement for yourself:

People against Sheriff Joe Arpaio

And here's a very brief summary of the "Arpaio Abuses" complete with links to relevant articles. If I've forgotten any critical points here, I will add them in later posts:

• Arpaio's controversial (see: unconstitutional and nonfactual), so-called "crime suppression" sweeps, targeted predominantly at Hispanic populations, that are actually searches for undocumented immigrants and amount to nothing short of racial profiling (and essentially constitute a campaign of fear);
• The abhorrent conditions within the Maricopa County jail system and "Tent City," which infringe on the basic human rights of both convicted long-term residents and undocumented immigrants (who, though "guilty under the law" [I even have issues with this phrase, touted by many a pro-Arpaio fan, as is implies criminal activity... crossing the border without documents is a civil violation], are still human beings), and inmates being held in the jails awaiting trial (who should be allowed to exercise that little right called presumption of innocence until proven guilty);
• The excessively rough, even brutally abusive, treatment of individuals who are temporarily housed in Arpaio's jails awaiting trial, many held on relatively minor offense charges (punishment = crime?... nope); and even instances of brutality and victimization toward individuals who are disabled or who have potentially life-threatening medical conditions;
• In a similar vein, the horrendous abuse of women's rights within the MC jail system (see: forcing a pregnant woman to give birth while shackled);
• The frequent, systematic targeting of vocal Arpaio critics--public officials, news media, and average citizens--in the form of arrests, "investigations" and threats of filed charges against said critics... blatant attempts at censorship and retaliation that foster fear;
• Overt disregard of federal mandates that limit Arpaio's power to locally enforce federal immigration laws, and blatant refusal to cooperate in the federal investigation of his policies and practices.

Human rights are for EVERYONE. Fear campaigns and persecution have NO place in upholding the law. Stand up to human rights abuse. Spread the word.