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.

The Reading Pile

No, I don't just read textbooks right now. I would go loop-a-doop-loopy if that were the case. While I don't have a special shelf on my bookcase for the "fun" books I'm reading (or will-read-in-the-near-future queue), I do instead have a sloppy little stack of goodies teetering right next to my bed. For those who are interested, here's the annotated bibliography of what is currently on The Pile:

1) "They Take Our Jobs!" and 20 Other Myths About Immigration, by Aviva Chomsky

I'm just getting into this one. During almost the entirety of last semester, I was bothered because I was having difficulty finding conversation and resources about immigration advocacy and open-immigration reform policies. Amazon.com surely saved the day this semester. This book touches on the 20 most common false perceptions about immigration, including "illegal" immigration, and offers strong counterpoints to anti-immigration drivel... er, arguments. 

 

2) The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark, by Carl Sagan

This book, judging from all of Dr. Sagan's works I've read thus far, is going to be amazing. Furthermore, it appeals to the scientific-methodist (gaahh, bad pun!) and woo-skeptic in me. Basically, drawing from history, culture, and--of course--science, "Sagan examines and authoritatively debunks such celebrated fallacies as witchcraft, faith healings, demons, and UFOS." Sagan also discusses and discredits (see: delivers a roundhouse-kick to the face of) the growing popularity of modern pseudoscience practices such as "channeling," ESP, past lives, alien abduction, and paranormal activity. Oh, joy.  :-) 

3) Illegal People: How Globalization Creates Migration and Criminalizes Immigrants, by David Bacon

Another gem from Amazon.com. The author--a photojournalist, former labor organizer and immigrant rights activist--documented connections between labor, migration of people, and the global economy for twenty years. Twenty. Years. This book is an analysis of our national immigration policies and economic practices and how they produce "even more displacement, migration, immigration raids, and an increasingly divided and polarized society."  

4) Atheist Universe: The Thinking Person's Answer to Christian Fundamentalism, by David Mills

This one, I started awhile back when I was considering writing a blog on Christian Fundamentalism and how I think it's wronnnnnnnng. Unfortunately, Atheist Universe got stuck on the back burner last semester, as grad school started to kick in. It really is quite awesome, however, and Mills plants himself firmly in the religious skeptic's corner, detailing "why God is unnecessary to explain the universe's diversity, organization and beauty." A logical breath of fresh air in that murky, awkward realm that is a religious conversation with my grandparents.

5) The Politics of Immigration: Questions and Answers, by Jane Guskin & David L. Wilson

Sensing a theme? I tried to find a book that was more "middle-of-the-road" then the other two I purchased (I have absolutely no desire to pick up a copy of Arpaio's biography or a different 200-page anti-immigration bundle of word vomit). Although, paging through it, I'm finding it of similar structure to Chomsky's book, as it identifies the main players, questions, and misconceptions in the national immigration debate. Guskin and Wilson appear to take a rationalist's approach to the subject, which is good. If you can remain neutral in tone while providing a solid analysis of a subject that has so many people shrieking bloody nonsense, your credibility is never in question.

6) Beyond Civilization: Humanity's Next Great Adventure, by Daniel Quinn

I'm almost ashamed at how long this book has been sitting on the pile, 1/3-read. Quinn, as some of you may know, is the author of Ishmael, one of my favorite books in the entire world. Yes, it is about a talking gorilla. But it is also about changing the world. I'm not going to give too much away, because I think you need to experience Ishmael (and this book, for that matter) for yourself, unbiased. Beyond Civilization touches on this new world created in Ishmael, and bravely proposes how humanity as a whole can transform itself into something different, something better. It's revolutionary, really. I love Daniel Quinn.

7) The Origin of Species -and- The Descent of Man, by Charles 'THE MAN' Darwin

I think we all know what this one's about. I mentioned I was almost ashamed about procrastinating Quinn. I am PROFOUNDLY EMBARRASSED about procrastinating Darwin. The sparkly gems of evolutionary science, straight from the mind of the guy who originally theorized about them. Dinosaurs and monkeys and homo sapiens, oh my! This book should be a must-read for everybody. Even the Crazy Creationists. I want to read this book so much it's ridiculous, but I've never made the time. Travesty. I will remedy this as soon as possible. 

Okay, that's all for now. I should mention that I am reading my textbooks, which do take up a significant amount of my time, so getting through this list is going to feel like slow-motion. That said... what are YOU reading?

What do cartoon cats know about 'illegal' immigration?

Quite a lot, surprisingly, from this video. Interesting perspective on the illegal immigration debate... a perspective that, I've noticed, gets drowned out by the whack-job rants or shrugged off by a lot of the moderates who still cling to the "illegal is still illegal therefore criminal" mentality. Which ends up comprising the bulk of immigration conversations in this state, from what I've read so far. I'm doing some research and will have an AZ-relevant blog post soon, but grad school has other plans at the moment. For now, enjoy the articulate, animated kitties...

Yes, it starts a little slow. But neither Pinky--nor her cantankerous counterpart Daisy--say they're in this because of a lust for power and fame, nor do they attempt to stir the metaphorical hornet's nest of fear and prejudice. You want that, talk to Glenn Beck. I hear he does one hell of a carnival act.

TIME sheds light on child slavery practices in Haiti

The scary thing is, this "practice" (see: travesty) has been in place for enough years (see: centuries?) so that it is ingrained in Haitian society. And in Africa. And several countries in Asia. In addition to enraging me beyond belief (see: desire to put forehead through cement wall), it epitomizes one important reason why I decided to continue my education.

Human Predators Stalk Haiti's Vulnerable Kids

By TIM PADGETT WITH BOBBY GHOSH / PORT-AU-PRINCE Wednesday, Jan. 27, 2010

 

(CARLOS BARRIA / REUTERS)

Mia Pean's heart sank last week when she saw the Toyota pickup truck cruising the debris-cluttered streets of Léogâne, ground zero for the earthquake that has devastated Haiti. Each time the driver saw a child — especially a young teen — he would stick his head out of the window and shout, "Manje, manje," Creole for "eat." Pean says she watched the hungry kids, four or five at a time, hop into the back of the pickup, which then disappeared. "I saw the same man again a few days later in Carrefour," a poor suburb of Port-au-Prince, says Pean. "I asked him, 'What are you doing with all those children?' He said, 'Don't worry, we're going to put them in safe homes.' Then he drove off."

But Pean, a Haitian-American emergency consultant for the Andrew Young Foundation, doubts that altruism is the motive of the pickup driver and others like him who are now prowling Haiti's streets. The quake that has killed 150,000 people has left thousands of children orphaned and consequently vulnerable to being preyed upon by child traffickers and Haiti's shameful tradition of keeping child slaves, known as restaveks. "I really fear," says Pean, "that most of the kids you see being picked up on the streets in Haiti right now are going to become restaveks or victims of sexual trafficking."

Pean isn't the only one who is concerned. Haitian Prime Minister Jean-Max Bellerive on Tuesday expressed the fear that amid the clamor to airlift Haitian orphans out of the devastated country to waiting adoptive parents in the U.S. and Europe, others are being trafficked. The U.N. says it's on alert to prevent the exploitation of the thousands of Haitian kids who have lost or been separated from their parents and who wander aimlessly in search of food, water and shelter. UNICEF, the U.N.'s child-advocacy arm, as well as groups like Save the Children and the Red Cross, say they're registering at-risk kids and setting up shelters exclusively for them. Says a UNICEF official who is monitoring reports of scenes like the one witnessed by Pean: "Traffickers fish in pools of vulnerability, and we've rarely if ever seen one like this."

The earthquake seems to have shaken more Haitians into vigilance as well — and perhaps, unfortunately, some vigilantism. In the Port-au-Prince neighborhood of Petite Place Cazeau on Wednesday, a crowd of quake survivors living in tents surrounded a pickup truck and beat up the driver, saying he had for several days been trying to kidnap young girls. Bleeding from his nose, mouth and scalp, he managed to get back in his truck and flee. (The angry crowd then threatened to beat up a journalist for even asking questions about child trafficking.)

But the problem remains daunting, and it is exacerbated by the fact that children are not accorded much if any protection under Haitian law or culture. That's a big reason restaveks are still so prevalent today, not just in Haiti but even in Haitian-American enclaves in the U.S., such as New York and Miami, as TIME first reported in 2001. Restavek in Creole means "to stay with," an innocuous term for a far more sinister practice — children, often given up by their poor Haitian families, "stay with" more affluent families as slaves. And like most slaves, they're usually subject to physical, emotional and sexual abuse.

Before the earthquake, the Haitian government estimated that more than 300,000 Haitian children were living as restaveks in the country, and more of them abroad. Those numbers are likely to grow, says Danielle Romer, a Haitian-American social worker and head of Haitian Support Inc. in Miami, who has long fought the restavek practice — her efforts still often met with denial and even anger by many Haitians. "We were starting to see some improvement before the earthquake, both in terms of getting more of these children into orphanages and missions and in terms of getting some teaching about it out to Haitians," says Romer. "But I'm afraid the earthquake just opens the box to a scarier situation."

Joan Conn, executive director of the Jean Cadet Restavek Foundation in Cincinnati, agrees. "We had been building more awareness in Haiti than ever before," says Conn. "At least people were actually starting to say the word restavek out loud for once. But with so many children now abandoned and alone, the task could become even harder." Conn's organization — named for Jean-Robert Cadet, a former restavek whose 1998 autobiography, Restavec: From Haitian Slave Child to Middle Class American, lifted the lid on the problem — works to give restaveks refuge in Haiti. In the wake of the earthquake, its staff and volunteers have fanned out across Port-au-Prince and the provinces to watch out for vulnerable kids.

Under prodding from the U.N., the Haitian government last year had finally begun to move against the restavek practice. Last May, some 500 Haitian officials attending a conference with Conn and other child advocates pledged to make restavek and child protection a legislative priority. But word has yet to trickle down to the general Haitian population, says Conn, and most restavek recruiters and other child traffickers still feel they have carte blanche to funnel kids to wealthier Haitian families or abroad.

Worse, says Pean, many of them are exploiting the rush to get Haitian children out of the quake-ravaged country. She recalls the man in the Toyota pickup telling her that "Senators in Washington want us to expedite getting the kids to the U.S." But, she adds, "the Senators are talking about kids who already have adoption papers ready. These guys are trying to exploit all that confusion." The situation for Haitian youths was difficult enough before the earthquake. Now, in addition to losing their families, many are under the threat of losing their childhoods as well.

In which the hippie gets off her soap-box, talks about the weather, and then hops right back on again after a minute.

December is here!  I passionately adore this month.  Normally for me, it means the first major snowfall, outdoor ice skating, hot apple cider and fireplaces, decorations made from tinsel and pine cones, nonstop family get-togethers, and the most glorious event known as Jennifer Lynn Anderson's Day of Birth.  Plus, a usually wicked New Years party finale.

Decembers in Arizona are strange.  Granted, we're only five days in, but--call me crazy--I keep expecting to wake up and see snow on the ground.  And people are putting Christmas lights on their cacti.

While I definitely think the decorating is weird, I've acclimated enough to shiver in the mornings along with the rest of the Phoenicians... to be fair, it's dipping below 40 at night.  To somebody who's been basking in 90-110 degrees since August and has zero exposure to Minnesota December so far this year, that's cold.  I'm regretting the fact that the bulk of my shoe collection here is made of flip-flops, but I'm digging the fact that I can still wear said flip-flops in the afternoons.  Suckaz. 

It's also the end of the semester, and I'm struggling a bit.  I have two major projects left for my eternally dreaded economics class, both due on Wednesday.  Two projects are all that stands between me and a month of freedom too exquisite to fathom.  

So, naturally, I'm procrastinating.  I call it voluntarily seeking distraction.  

One of the major reasons for the distraction is also the main reason for this blog post.  I'm trying to organize an excursion overseas through a volunteer program, not unlike the Peace Corps but much, much more abbreviated.  I'd go for 4-12 weeks, during the summer.  Through this organization (which I won't name yet because plans are still strictly preliminary) I could choose to volunteer (the 4-week end of the spectrum) or intern for degree credit (the 12-week end, if ASU gets on board with it).  I could also choose where, out of the countries with established programs, I'd want to serve.  Tanzania.  Morocco.  India.  Peru.  South Africa.  All are options, plus about 10 or 12 more.

I was talking with a friend the other night about this, and during our discussion I had sort of a mini-epiphany.  When I applied to the Peace Corps a few years ago (and was officially recommended by the recruiter, offered a program spot, and medically cleared for service), I realized during the process that maybe I wasn't quite ready.  When it happened, it happened relatively fast, and suddenly the girl, right out of college, had to make a pretty important choice.  And I chose to stay. 

I haven't regretted that choice as much as I regret not going.  That is a confusing sentence, I realize, but let me try to explain.  

Not once have I regretted staying, because staying allowed me to grow exponentially as a compassionate person, as a humanitarian, and as an activist for causes in which I strongly believe.  My horizons were profoundly expanded by my experiences in AmeriCorps.  The relationships forged from those experiences will be with me for the rest of my life.  I am a richer human being for all of that.  No doubt, no question.

My first semester of grad school has taught me some things, too (as well it should, for 20 grand).  One, I have a fairly decent chance at surviving it.  Two, I don't just want to survive it.  Three, I don't want to merely survive it, but I don't want to do the "cookie-cutter" public policy degree that the program vibes are projecting at me.  The policy degree at ASU is relatively new, and while I understand the point of all the analysis and statistics and research methodology, I am missing visceral experiences.  I don't want the next two years to fly by, resulting in a fancy new degree and feelings of self-doubt and unfulfilled purpose. 

In some ways, I regret turning Peace Corps down.  At the time, it was the right decision.  But where would I be now, with that experience under my belt?  Who would I be?  What could I have accomplished?  

Part of that line of questioning stems from selfishness.  But at the same time, who would I have been able to help?  That call to service, to get out and actually do something to improve the lives of others, was partially and temporarily satiated by AmeriCorps, but it's not going away.  It's exacerbated by my profound desire to get out of the familiar for once in my life and travel to far reaches of the world, where the need is so great.  I feel like if I don't go soon, I never will.  That thought has kept me awake at night, more than once.

Service comes naturally to me.  It doesn't to everyone.  Service is also defined differently by almost everybody.  It is impossible to quantify the experience of service, to rank it.  People have commended me for my AmeriCorps service, but those same people have questioned my desire to serve overseas.  Why?  What makes one more justifiable than the other, in their eyes?  Are there justifiable differences between them in my own?

It sounds cliche, I know, but I wholeheartedly believe what it comes down to is that we are ultimately defined by the choices we make, or don't make; by what we want or don't want to accomplish.  I want to be able to shape my degree into something that represents who I want to be, and what I want to actually do with it.  More and more, I feel like that involves immigration policy and humanitarian rights issues.  I want to continue the work that AmeriCorps turned me onto.  I want to do what I can to help, for as long as I'm here.

So here are the choices I'm making.  Next week, I'm sending in the paperwork to renew my passport.  I'm talking to the internship director for ASU's School of Public Affairs, about credit.  I'm talking to an enrollment manager with the volunteer organization, about enrollment options.  I'm researching fundraising tools to see if this thing is financially possible.  

This time, I'm ready.  

Why I love Jon Stewart so much.

Only a classy individual such as Mr. Stewart can take on the rampant lies and idiocracy of the FOX network and make them hilarious at the same time. There are no words. Just videos. Glorious, glorious videos. Here's his recent Emmy-clinching impersonation of Glenn Beck. Not to be crass, but be careful... you may wet yourself:

more about "Jon Stewart does Glenn Beck: The 11/3...", posted with vodpod

And here, is Mr. Stewart exposing the blatant attempt of blowhards Sean Hannity and Co. (including Most Hated Woman in Minnesota, Michelle Bachmann) to mislead their viewing public concerning recycled video footage--aired on Hannity's program--of a Glenn Beck rally used to inflate the apparent numbers at Bachmann's health care rally, held on a COMPLETELY different day. Jonny basically served up a major can of whoop-ass to their "credibility" (what credibility?) with a sprinkle of delightful silliness:

more about "Daily Show: Sean Hannity Uses Glenn B...", posted with vodpod

And then, Part II of the Silliness: 

more about "Daily Show: Sean Hannity Apologizes t...", posted with vodpod

Thank you, Mr. Stewart, for keeping it real.  And really, really funny.  And you stay classy, FOX News.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The neo-nazi Counter-Rally...

Phoenix surprised me today. In a very, very positively affirming way.

The neo-nazis came a-marchin' on the Capitol today. So did a contingency of people who think they're absolute scum... and that their ideology sucks.

Watch for the "Ain't No Enchiladas Here, Boy" marcher. He's my favorite (sarcasm).

It was ugly at times. I must say, most of the ugly came from the opposite side of the street from where I stood. The NSM probably had about 50 guys there, including their fuhrer, Jeff 'Massively Overcompensating for SOMETHING' Schoep, and Phoenix's own resident nazi sympathizer, J.T. Ready. (Oho, sense another blog topic? I do!) They were there on the guise of anti-illegal immigration; however, the rhetoric swiftly devolved into overt racist propaganda, re: the "ain't no enchiladas here, boy" gem, among other, similarly inflammatory globs of verbal diarrhea flung at all manner of different ethnic groups.

Notice I'm not using the term 'ignorant'. Ohhhh no. These guys knew exactly what kind of reaction they wanted, and they knew what to say to get it. I should note that under no circumstances were there ANY coherent arguments made for the case against illegal immigration on the part of the NSM. There WERE non-NSM individuals present who still stated they were strongly against illegal immigration... however, these people were standing on OUR side.

Which brings me to the fun stuff... the NSMers were met by a large, diverse crowd of counter-protesters who came out to voice their extreme disapproval. City residents, students, senior citizens, anarchists, pacifists, hippies, Democrats AND Republicans, concerned citizens of many different racial and ethnic backgrounds. It was a powerful, united, direct challenge to the scheisse being regurgitated from the creepos waving their swastika flags and getting their tighty-whities (no pun intended) in a bunch over their hateful propaganda.

Telling the NSM to kindly leave.

I'm a little torn about the fact that the events were covered and aired by so many of the Phoenix news stations (see the video in Exhibit A). I mean, these societal throwbacks are so delusional they'll take this "free publicity" and exacerbate the holy bejeezus out of it. That was a concern expressed by many of the local civil rights groups. But for the people who showed up today in counter-protest, something more vital was at stake: the chance to look straight into the face of evil and tell it to get out... to take a stand for our community. We were there because we needed to be. It really wasn't a choice.

ACTIVISM VS. AVOIDANCE: Taking a Stand Against Racism in Arizona

I know the promised Sheriff Joe post is loooooonnnng overdue... sorry. Grad school caught up with me. Now the trick is catching up with it. Don't think I've abandoned the anti-bigotry, anti-political corruption and anti-abuse of power stand... I've been researching this guy for the past month and a half and have quite the nice lengthy back story on him. But since people who vocally criticize Crazy Sheriff Joe tend to be targeted after the fact--and for unrelated, unsubstantiated offenses--I want to make sure I have my shit together. Even though maybe five people read this thing, a hippie really can't be too careful.

However, it's impossible NOT to read about the questionable practices of the as-of-now-unnamed Maricopa County law enforcement agency (you know, the ones with the big cowboy-lookin' hats)--especially the questionable, and downright immoral, ideology and opinions expressed by said organization's very own Boss Hogg--and draw connections to recent developments here in Phoenix. Intolerant, racist policies breed intolerant, racist ideology, and always attract racist ideologies from other festering parts of the country like flies. In many cases, the rational, compassionate people in those communities (and there are usually many of them) refuse to accept this.  

Take, for instance, Minneapolis. This past October, the National Socialist Movement, a fascist neo-nazi organization, attempted to demonstrate against an ANTI-racism workshop held at the Midtown YMCA (yeah... try and wrap your brain around THAT logic). Needless to say, members of the community responded. 250 of them.

Helloooo, fascists.  Wanna dance?

Apparently an NSM representative looking for information about the workshop a week prior tipped off workshop organizers and community members, who decided to organize a counter-protest at a community planning meeting held 3 days before the NSM demonstration was going to take place. Word of the NSM protest and the subsequent counter-protest spread fairly quickly, through Facebook and other avenues, but was still short-notice; in many cases, information reached people 24 hours ahead of time, but the people still rallied. In the end, four--count 'em, FOUR--members of the group showed up for a grand total of about 45 minutes, remained under massive police escort and, due to pressure from the crowd, left soon after to chants of "No hate to our state," and "No Nazis, no KKK, no racist U.S.A."

This is one of the many reasons I am proud to hail from the Twin Cities. We have a distinct tendency to band together in the face of adversity and evil. We take ownership of our communities. We refuse, on the whole, to be intimidated into letting events be dictated by people and forces we know to be socially debilitating and morally rotten. There is an amazing culture of diversity and acceptance in my hometown. I miss it.

I miss it because I have yet to find its equivalent here. Tomorrow, there is a protest scheduled to take place on the grounds of the Arizona State Capitol, here in Phoenix. It is billed as an anti-illegal immigration protest... a common-enough subject in this polarized state. The protest organizers? The National Socialist Movement.

This, however, is no Minneapolis. This protest is expected to be bigger... the head fuhrer... er, "commander" (whatever, same delusions of grandeur)... of the NSM has expressed his desire to get 200 to 300 skinheads out on the lawn. Other estimates point more to numbers around 50 to 100. Which, I think we can all agree, is 50 to 100 skinheads too many. The organization claims to be protesting illegal immigration, but exactly what aspects of illegal immigration they're protesting is still unclear. Many people think it is simply a front for the nazi scheisse they spew at all of their events. What IS clear, however, is that the loudest emotional reaction to this development isn't outrage (although there is, thankfully, quite a bit of that). What's being smeared across the comment sections of online Arizona news sites and blogs is fear, sometimes scary indifference, and most frighteningly, agreement.  

Agreement. With nazis. For each rational post railing against neo-nazi fascism and racism, there are at least one or two that ADVOCATE SUPPORT for the position of the NSM, spread more hate speech against ethnic minority and immigrant groups, and vomit up accusations of fascism against our president. I am NOT saying that the majority of Arizonans feel this way. Not at all; in fact, I'm pretty positive the opposite is the case. But these people claim to be tax-paying members of this community, and they are screeching their hateful messages so loud that the rational folks are being drowned out in an assault of verbal garbage. It's a shouting contest and intimidation, pure and simple.

What's particularly difficult to swallow is the fact that local civil rights groups have reportedly declined to organize any official counter-movements in response to tomorrow's event. The Arizona ADL and several local Latino advocacy groups have adopted the position that counter-demonstrations will merely call attention to the NSM, and many have expressed concern for the safety of counter-protesters.  

Their positions are valid. There is no guarantee that protests over highly polarizing issues, which tend to attract highly volatile extremists on both ends of the spectrum, won't become violent. The media flocks to events that yield sensationalized outcomes (I was a journalist at one point; I know my news values. Conflict is one of them). Two groups engaged in a heated exchange is more newsworthy than one group hanging out by itself, watching the grass grow. Thrown punches equal headlines. Riot? National news.

However, with all of that taken into consideration, I still cannot personally justify the call from these groups to just stand aside and do nothing. The NSM is an affront to everything I believe in and hold important in terms of the way I approach life. They have an ugly history of spitting on the civil liberties of others while hiding behind the Constitution, so much of which they flout, it's laughable. Ultimately, it's not about WHAT the NSM is protesting. The danger lies in allowing them to have their protest without a show of counter-protesters, the opposition vocalizing its belief that the fundamental principle of the NSM is horribly, horribly WRONG. I don't believe I am alone in this view; I sincerely hope that tomorrow there are crowds of people at the Capitol who oppose the NSM's presence as much as I do. 

To let the NSM march unchallenged is, in this case, tacit acceptance of their existence and their message. This cannot be tolerated. We cannot be complacent.     

Want these guys in YOUR neighborhood?  I think not.

More on the NSM march and rally, Nov. 7th, 2:00 p.m. at the Arizona State Capitol in Phoenix...

For Stacey

On September 17^th, 2009, the world lost a tremendous presence.  Those of us who knew her lost a vital source of strength and light in our lives.  I lost my mentor and friend.  Stacey Morgan was so much, to so many people.  I’d like to share with you what she became to one idealistic young college graduate who was at a strange place in her life, just over two years ago.

I was out of college and not sure what to do next.  I’d graduated with a degree I wasn’t planning on using.  In a sort of crisis, I’d looked to the Peace Corps, and when I decided that was TOO MUCH of a solution, I found AmeriCorps.  National service would be the buffer between me and the big crazy world, while I took some time to serve other people, learn and figure out what kind of a career I wanted.

So… as luck would have it, the first (and only) program I interviewed with was Multicultural Communities in Action, the AmeriCorps program partnering with CommonBond Communities.  After my initial interview, it was time to find a site where I’d best fit for my term of service.  I went to Cathedral Hill Homes to talk with Stacey Morgan, the Advantage Center program manager.

And it clicked.  Immediately.  I sat down and interviewed with this spunky, hilarious lady who had this incredible curly red hair that I was instantly jealous of.  And I was like, “Yep.  I want to work for her.”  I did not regret that decision.  Not once.

Stacey was unbelievably open and supportive from the very beginning.  She had a complete teamwork mentality, and would never hesitate to drop one of her countless current projects to help out her (rookie) staff.  She would not let us sink.  I remember—and this happened more than once my first year—I would be running Homework Center at Cathedral Hill, and would have 9 or 10 kids, Kindergarten through fifth grade… and I would be literally up to my elbows in children needing help with math and science and telling me so-and-so was hitting so-and-so and needing a snack and the bathroom and “Jen I’m bored,” “Jen, can I use the computer?” “Jen, Jen, Jen!” and I would be ready to pull my HAIR OUT BY THE ROOTS because I’d tried EVERYTHING and the children JUST.  WOULD.  NOT.  FOCUS…

And then, Stacey would get there, coming from a meeting or running an errand… and she would see the look on my face, and without saying a word, would simply take off her coat or put down her bag, and would try… something else.  A little youth work technique or trick that, even though I’d tried everything I could feasibly think of, I just had not known.  And, of course, it was the one thing that worked. 

I was always in awe of that… her unshakeable confidence.  She knew SO MUCH about her job, and the residents, and the kids.  She had an amazing capability to gather a group—even a group of unruly seven-year-olds—and could get them to listen, and work together, without them even fully realizing it.  I wanted to learn how to do that, what she appeared to pull off so effortlessly.  It made me work that much harder to be better at my job. 

Stacey taught me so much.  She was my mentor in all respects.  She helped me figure out where my true strengths were, she listened to me voice my insecurities about my future career choices and life in general, she helped me through the grad school application process… and she entrusted the Cathedral Hill Advantage Center, with all its programs, to me for an entire summer while she embarked on her own much-looked-forward-to adventure of being a mom.  If I ever questioned her confidence in my abilities, she'd laugh and give me a look that clearly said "I'm not stupid.  Neither are you."  And I would work so very hard not to prove her wrong.

The two years I spent under her direction as an AmeriCorps member at Cathedral Hill are indescribable to me in terms of value.  I valued her empathy and her strength, her wisdom and warmth, her leadership and her friendship.

Stacey gave me a thank-you card during our farewell dinner on my last day at Cathedral Hill, not too long ago.  There is a quote on the front of it that impacted me then and has stayed with me, and I’d like to share it with you:

“They came to sit and dangle their feet off the edge of the world, and after awhile they forgot everything but the good and true things they would do someday.”

I like to think that when she picked the card out, she saw me in that quote.  I see her in it, too, except for the very real, obvious truth: Stacey never SAT.  She ran, danced, hopped, skipped, cartwheeled and roller-skated… celebrated… through everything she did.  

And Stacey, I will never forget the good and true things you taught me.  You did those good and true things every day.  Thank you.