I am of the 47% percent. I am a woman who hold three degrees: a bachelors, masters and PhD. Yet I am a woman who makes less than she did as a graduate student. I am a woman who has no health care benefits. I exist, and hover around, the poverty line. Would you say, Mitt, that I am feeding off the system? Would you say that even though I have worked so hard to get my education, to help nurture and educate the youth in this country, that I have sacrificed precious time and money to achieve what you politicians call "The American Dream," that I take advantage of the system and, therefore, am not entitled to basic human rights, to a decent paying job? Your rhetoric, your continual elitist condemnation of the working class, the poor, minorities, women seems to suggest so, Mitt.
As a woman of 31, I am terrified for the future. Most notably, I am terrified for my fellow women. The fact that women's bodies are under contention, that women's bodies can be spoken for by politicians reveals how disproportionate and inherently patriarchal our culture is. If a woman cannot make decisions about her own body, if a woman is not granted access to healthcare, pre-cancer screenings, to the basic needs she needs to survive in a fiercely toxic national environment, then this is not a nation of equality.
When driving to work, I have seen women supporting Romney, holding up signs that say "Fire Obama!" If you are a woman who believes in the integrity of her body, her decisions, and believes she should own her body and, therefore, be able to make decisions about her body, then why, WHY would you ever, EVER vote for a man, a tyrant, an administration that has no desire to protect or serve you in any way? Women, we are still vehicles through which male desire and control is disseminated. If we start speaking on behalf of our oppressors, why did our feminist ancestry fight so hard to grant us the right to speak, the right to vote, the right to have ownership over our bodies?
Today, I feel terrified for our collective future. In 2012, I shouldn't have to worry if clinics will remain open that allow me to have my annual exam and pre-cancer screenings. Yes, Mitt, I go to places like Planned Parenthood, where your cohorts chastise women like myself. But, Mitt, I rely on places like Planned Parenthood to provide annual exams and screenings. You see, Mitt, I recently had an exam that came back with pre-cancerous results. And I had to go back and have biopsies done in the hopes we can treat this. Because we caught this early, I believe we will be able to prevent this from getting worse. But if this clinic were not open, if it did not allow women like myself who aren't protected by privatized insurance companies, then I would not, would NOT be able to afford screenings. I would not have been able to have these necessary biopsies taken. And then what? So your plan implies that women, if they are poor, if they do not have benefits, should not have this basic right, this basic need? Protect the wealthy! Protect the elite! They pay into the system! But the 47%? Well, clearly, we don't deserve this right. This is what you tell me, this is what you propose. Your ruthless, misogynist logic is unethical, immoral, unacceptable, terrifying.
I hope, more than anything, that our nation chooses the candidate that at least sees women (all women, regardless of class) who have the right to be protected, who have the right to healthcare. To me, in 2012, this shouldn't even be a question under contention. In the meantime, I will anxiously be waiting for the results...
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
On Empathy
I have been watching our presidential candidates go back and forth like schoolboys, fighting for power with more masculine aggression and pettiness than I have seen in a long time. And what this has made me realize is the following: these men both embody good ol' masculine American values of competition and cutthroat dominance. This is what our society values--the bottom line. Recapitulating and keeping the same hegemonic system intact--keeping the wool thickened over our eyes so thick, so heavy, we let it become a blanket under which we hide and take comfort.
Seeing these characters speak and argue makes me think, even more, about our Western, capitalist infrastructure--the media, movies, the news, sporting events, video games--all of these perpetuate, emphasize, in fact, champion and celebrate competition, power, triumph and victory to the justifiable expense of the "other," the weaker, the opponent. And in sporting events, this is the point, right? But what is the detriment of this kind of competitive game consciousness infiltrating and permeating our society? What happens when this becomes a lived reality that we eat-think-breathe-sleep in? What happens when global resources begin to dwindle because of this kind of competition, where winners take all and losers are left to, well, lose? We know how this goes. We know how this game ends.
So lately, I have been wondering, how can we alter our collective consciousness? Where do we begin? I don't purport to have the answers. Nor would I ever be arrogant enough to claim I have some kind of solution to problems of this scale and magnitude. But I will say--there is something that is glaringly absent in our mainstream culture. And it's this: human empathy. When is the last time you watched the news and heard stories about strangers helping one another? Or heard about folks volunteering at homeless shelters, animal shelters, soup kitchens? Why aren't there stories about educators, nurses, tireless workers giving back to humanity on a daily basis? Instead, we hear about murder, rape, wars, criminals, political campaigns, wars, resource depletion, wars, gang fighting, wars, kidnapping, wars, wars, WARS. The kind of world the news perpetuates is one that is divided against itself indefinitely, interminably. How can we alter our collective consciousness if the kind of reality the media "reports on" is one that is inherently violent? This corrupt culture industry serves to perpetuate itself, to perpetuate the same kind of insidious competitive spirit that has come to define, unfortunately, this Western world.
I find myself caught up in this world too often. When I drive into Denver for my job every morning, I feel frustrated, angry, sometimes even hostile towards other drivers--drivers who are going too slow, who make inappropriate moves in traffic, who aren't paying attention. And this anger rises inside of me and I see red. I don't see a human being in that vehicle, I see a person who is impeding my speed, my progress. I started to feel this today. I was waiting in line to get on the highway and a homeless man was walking along the median with a sign, begging for anything. Normally, and ashamedly, I turn a blind eye. I am often too wrapped up in my head, my frustrations, my thoughts to give much notice. I think about it. I worry about it, I worry about that person--and I begin to critique the system and fall into a prison of my own fury. But what does this do? What am I doing to help perpetuate human empathy? Nothing. I might as well be one of the many other unthinking, purposefully ignorant drones. Today, without thought, I reached into my lunch and gave him a banana. It wasn't much. But the look of gratitude in his eyes, in his voice, was beyond words. He spoke his heart to me. He continued to walk and I saw the man behind me roll down his window and pass him a large container of food--it looked like a fancy sandwich from a local deli. And it shook me, it made me realize the power of human empathy.
I don't write this to say, "hey, look at me, I did something charitable today, give me some praise!" Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. If anything, I am disappointed in myself for not doing more, on a daily basis. But what was beautiful, in that moment, was the person behind me following this lead. If he hadn't seen me roll down my window, would he have given away his lunch? Would he have had the courage to do so? Did seeing someone express empathy help him do the same? How many of us on a daily basis experience the same struggles--not just in this scenario, but in many other ways? Is this how, perhaps, we can begin to transform our collective consciousness--one small, selfless act at a time?
So I think about this moment in respect to our political leaders, to our mainstream media, to the way humanity is constantly portrayed to us on a daily basis. I believe we are much more than how we are portrayed, how we, as a people, are represented. And I think we have the power to make waves in human action through empathy--genuine care for the other that has absolutely nothing to do with ego-fulfillment, stature or power. I'm not sure how to end this blog. In fact, I hope this isn't the end, I hope this is the beginning of an important dialogue that should take place, that should open us up to forming human connections not based on division or hatred--that are not borne out of class divisions. But how do we change the current of predominant, hegemonic thought coursing through the veins of our mainstream American society?
I end with this, from Allen Ginsburg's "Howl: "Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!"
Let's be more than the Mind. Let's start being the Heart.
Seeing these characters speak and argue makes me think, even more, about our Western, capitalist infrastructure--the media, movies, the news, sporting events, video games--all of these perpetuate, emphasize, in fact, champion and celebrate competition, power, triumph and victory to the justifiable expense of the "other," the weaker, the opponent. And in sporting events, this is the point, right? But what is the detriment of this kind of competitive game consciousness infiltrating and permeating our society? What happens when this becomes a lived reality that we eat-think-breathe-sleep in? What happens when global resources begin to dwindle because of this kind of competition, where winners take all and losers are left to, well, lose? We know how this goes. We know how this game ends.
So lately, I have been wondering, how can we alter our collective consciousness? Where do we begin? I don't purport to have the answers. Nor would I ever be arrogant enough to claim I have some kind of solution to problems of this scale and magnitude. But I will say--there is something that is glaringly absent in our mainstream culture. And it's this: human empathy. When is the last time you watched the news and heard stories about strangers helping one another? Or heard about folks volunteering at homeless shelters, animal shelters, soup kitchens? Why aren't there stories about educators, nurses, tireless workers giving back to humanity on a daily basis? Instead, we hear about murder, rape, wars, criminals, political campaigns, wars, resource depletion, wars, gang fighting, wars, kidnapping, wars, wars, WARS. The kind of world the news perpetuates is one that is divided against itself indefinitely, interminably. How can we alter our collective consciousness if the kind of reality the media "reports on" is one that is inherently violent? This corrupt culture industry serves to perpetuate itself, to perpetuate the same kind of insidious competitive spirit that has come to define, unfortunately, this Western world.
I find myself caught up in this world too often. When I drive into Denver for my job every morning, I feel frustrated, angry, sometimes even hostile towards other drivers--drivers who are going too slow, who make inappropriate moves in traffic, who aren't paying attention. And this anger rises inside of me and I see red. I don't see a human being in that vehicle, I see a person who is impeding my speed, my progress. I started to feel this today. I was waiting in line to get on the highway and a homeless man was walking along the median with a sign, begging for anything. Normally, and ashamedly, I turn a blind eye. I am often too wrapped up in my head, my frustrations, my thoughts to give much notice. I think about it. I worry about it, I worry about that person--and I begin to critique the system and fall into a prison of my own fury. But what does this do? What am I doing to help perpetuate human empathy? Nothing. I might as well be one of the many other unthinking, purposefully ignorant drones. Today, without thought, I reached into my lunch and gave him a banana. It wasn't much. But the look of gratitude in his eyes, in his voice, was beyond words. He spoke his heart to me. He continued to walk and I saw the man behind me roll down his window and pass him a large container of food--it looked like a fancy sandwich from a local deli. And it shook me, it made me realize the power of human empathy.
I don't write this to say, "hey, look at me, I did something charitable today, give me some praise!" Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. If anything, I am disappointed in myself for not doing more, on a daily basis. But what was beautiful, in that moment, was the person behind me following this lead. If he hadn't seen me roll down my window, would he have given away his lunch? Would he have had the courage to do so? Did seeing someone express empathy help him do the same? How many of us on a daily basis experience the same struggles--not just in this scenario, but in many other ways? Is this how, perhaps, we can begin to transform our collective consciousness--one small, selfless act at a time?
So I think about this moment in respect to our political leaders, to our mainstream media, to the way humanity is constantly portrayed to us on a daily basis. I believe we are much more than how we are portrayed, how we, as a people, are represented. And I think we have the power to make waves in human action through empathy--genuine care for the other that has absolutely nothing to do with ego-fulfillment, stature or power. I'm not sure how to end this blog. In fact, I hope this isn't the end, I hope this is the beginning of an important dialogue that should take place, that should open us up to forming human connections not based on division or hatred--that are not borne out of class divisions. But how do we change the current of predominant, hegemonic thought coursing through the veins of our mainstream American society?
I end with this, from Allen Ginsburg's "Howl: "Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!"
Let's be more than the Mind. Let's start being the Heart.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Breaking Through.
I realize my posts have been rather depressing lately. So let's have a lighter hearted post today, shall we?!
I have done a lot of thinking since my last post. I realize it sounded dismal and fairly hopeless. And instead of giving into the feelings of despondency the capitalist regime causes me to feel, I refuse to let it drain me of my creativity. Because then hegemony wins. And another artist submits to the machine. And I won't do it.
There are plenty of other artists, theorists and intellectuals who have written from within far lesser and more decrepit conditions than I. What about Antonio Gramsci, one of the most brilliant yet oppressed intellectuals in the history of Marxist criticism? The man was born with scoliosis, was sentenced to life in prison because he was resisting Italian fascism and, despite these terrible, utterly demoralizing conditions, he did everything he could to get his ideas of resistance out. He wrote on pieces of toilet paper and sneaked them out, literally through the prison bars, to his accomplices and comrades who would then later help him publish The Prison Notebooks--one of the most brilliant treatises on the plight of intellectual hegemony ever written.
If a man like Gramsci can take those conditions, conditions that are utterly and deplorably worse than mine, then I have no excuse.
In fact, I should consider myself a hypocrite for lauding the work of female activists, poets and writers like Luce Irigaray, Helene Cixous, Emma Goldman, Margaret Fuller, Adrienne Rich, Susan Sontag, Vandana Shiva (I could continue the list indefinitely) while not continuing in their tradition. Each of these women has confronted the most abject of conditions and has utilized that as a form of fire, as a catalyst to bring forth new thought into the world.
I need to do the same.
The capitalist regime blinds us with a thick layer of seemingly impenetrable hegemonic wool. But we have the shears, we have the tools. It's time to start cutting, deconstructing and using every cell, every tool possible, to remove it and cultivate our own form of resistance and existence.
Let's begin.
I have done a lot of thinking since my last post. I realize it sounded dismal and fairly hopeless. And instead of giving into the feelings of despondency the capitalist regime causes me to feel, I refuse to let it drain me of my creativity. Because then hegemony wins. And another artist submits to the machine. And I won't do it.
There are plenty of other artists, theorists and intellectuals who have written from within far lesser and more decrepit conditions than I. What about Antonio Gramsci, one of the most brilliant yet oppressed intellectuals in the history of Marxist criticism? The man was born with scoliosis, was sentenced to life in prison because he was resisting Italian fascism and, despite these terrible, utterly demoralizing conditions, he did everything he could to get his ideas of resistance out. He wrote on pieces of toilet paper and sneaked them out, literally through the prison bars, to his accomplices and comrades who would then later help him publish The Prison Notebooks--one of the most brilliant treatises on the plight of intellectual hegemony ever written.
If a man like Gramsci can take those conditions, conditions that are utterly and deplorably worse than mine, then I have no excuse.
In fact, I should consider myself a hypocrite for lauding the work of female activists, poets and writers like Luce Irigaray, Helene Cixous, Emma Goldman, Margaret Fuller, Adrienne Rich, Susan Sontag, Vandana Shiva (I could continue the list indefinitely) while not continuing in their tradition. Each of these women has confronted the most abject of conditions and has utilized that as a form of fire, as a catalyst to bring forth new thought into the world.
I need to do the same.
The capitalist regime blinds us with a thick layer of seemingly impenetrable hegemonic wool. But we have the shears, we have the tools. It's time to start cutting, deconstructing and using every cell, every tool possible, to remove it and cultivate our own form of resistance and existence.
Let's begin.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Blue Dreams
The only sound that can soothe me right now is that of fire.
I sit here in the Writing Center, where I work part time, trying to maintain some sense of zen, of calm. I imagine my feelings of helplessness burning in the flames, giving way to a death of emptiness and a birth of creative inspiration, buried within the pine cone of sheer despondency.
It's a desperate attempt and I feel as though I am losing the battle. Quickly.
As I sit and listen to a "meditation mix" of calming "nature sounds" I downloaded off i-tunes (an inherently paradoxical act altogether), I ponder my dream and my purpose.
I feel my passion slipping away and here is why: I have 3 degrees. A bachelors, master's and PhD. And I am now making less than I was as a graduate student. I hold on desperately to the adjunct position I have at a non-research university, hoping to one day earn a livable wage.
In graduate school, I studied, critiqued and analyzed, perhaps to a fault, the plight of exploited capitalist workers. My entire dissertation is a study of this logic. And I am faced with the exact same issue. And I can't seem to think, or write, my way out of it.
What is this capitalist machine that drives the world, that utterly devalues artistic integrity and the intellectual mission? These are two things I have always been passionate about and now I am beginning to feel such a level of despondency, I'm not sure what can happen next.
I used to vehemently write about fighting the "man," resisting the capitalist machine and, at all costs, holding onto our dreams. But at the time, I had a spark of hope inside of me that ignited my path. I was a graduate student, a young fledgling learning to fly, being groomed for her flight into the world. The entire future was before me. Now that I am on the other side, now that I have earned my wings and am experiencing the true dismissal and devaluation of my discipline, my degree, I can't seem to find that light anymore.
I have a healthy CV with relevant and prestigious publications; I have pages of conference presentations, administrative experience and over eight years teaching at the university level. I have won numerous awards for my writing talent; I was one of the top students in my PhD program and all of my mentors believed I would land a tenure-track position at a top research-institution. Or, at the very least, a sound liberal arts college.
I don't say this to show off my abilities or talents. I am offering this as an example of how utterly unfair the American educational system is. I know I worked very hard, I know I am a talented intellect and writer: this is why I chose to pursue my passion. Anyone who worked as hard as I did, and has the level of credentials as I, deserves, at the absolute very least, a livable wage.
But I am not even making that.
I received a depressing email from my Department chair today. He (sadly) let me know that one of my courses for the Spring was cancelled. I absolutely count on that course to scrape by. Without that course, I will need to pick up a serving job at a restaurant. At age 30, a woman, a doctor, with 3 college degrees and multiple publications will need to start over--as she once did when she was 18.
I know I am not alone in this situation; I know there are hundreds, thousands, of un/underemployed higher education graduates who are in the exact position as I: some worse, some a bit better. I suppose I ought to be thankful that I even have my foot in the door at any academic institution. But my situation is incredibly precarious: as we already see, my class can be eliminated in an instant. If budget cuts hit our department, I will be the first to go. On the flip side, I am too specialized and, in many cases, over-qualified for jobs outside of academe. I have tried looking into the non-profit sector and other related fields. But my experience and degree does nothing for me.
I realize I should continue writing--now is the time I should channel my despondency into fiery, creative energy. Indeed, some of our greatest writers have written from within that space. But as I lose my economic stability, I feel my creative energy seep out of my cells. I long for a sea change.
I sit here in the Writing Center, where I work part time, trying to maintain some sense of zen, of calm. I imagine my feelings of helplessness burning in the flames, giving way to a death of emptiness and a birth of creative inspiration, buried within the pine cone of sheer despondency.
It's a desperate attempt and I feel as though I am losing the battle. Quickly.
As I sit and listen to a "meditation mix" of calming "nature sounds" I downloaded off i-tunes (an inherently paradoxical act altogether), I ponder my dream and my purpose.
I feel my passion slipping away and here is why: I have 3 degrees. A bachelors, master's and PhD. And I am now making less than I was as a graduate student. I hold on desperately to the adjunct position I have at a non-research university, hoping to one day earn a livable wage.
In graduate school, I studied, critiqued and analyzed, perhaps to a fault, the plight of exploited capitalist workers. My entire dissertation is a study of this logic. And I am faced with the exact same issue. And I can't seem to think, or write, my way out of it.
What is this capitalist machine that drives the world, that utterly devalues artistic integrity and the intellectual mission? These are two things I have always been passionate about and now I am beginning to feel such a level of despondency, I'm not sure what can happen next.
I used to vehemently write about fighting the "man," resisting the capitalist machine and, at all costs, holding onto our dreams. But at the time, I had a spark of hope inside of me that ignited my path. I was a graduate student, a young fledgling learning to fly, being groomed for her flight into the world. The entire future was before me. Now that I am on the other side, now that I have earned my wings and am experiencing the true dismissal and devaluation of my discipline, my degree, I can't seem to find that light anymore.
I have a healthy CV with relevant and prestigious publications; I have pages of conference presentations, administrative experience and over eight years teaching at the university level. I have won numerous awards for my writing talent; I was one of the top students in my PhD program and all of my mentors believed I would land a tenure-track position at a top research-institution. Or, at the very least, a sound liberal arts college.
I don't say this to show off my abilities or talents. I am offering this as an example of how utterly unfair the American educational system is. I know I worked very hard, I know I am a talented intellect and writer: this is why I chose to pursue my passion. Anyone who worked as hard as I did, and has the level of credentials as I, deserves, at the absolute very least, a livable wage.
But I am not even making that.
I received a depressing email from my Department chair today. He (sadly) let me know that one of my courses for the Spring was cancelled. I absolutely count on that course to scrape by. Without that course, I will need to pick up a serving job at a restaurant. At age 30, a woman, a doctor, with 3 college degrees and multiple publications will need to start over--as she once did when she was 18.
I know I am not alone in this situation; I know there are hundreds, thousands, of un/underemployed higher education graduates who are in the exact position as I: some worse, some a bit better. I suppose I ought to be thankful that I even have my foot in the door at any academic institution. But my situation is incredibly precarious: as we already see, my class can be eliminated in an instant. If budget cuts hit our department, I will be the first to go. On the flip side, I am too specialized and, in many cases, over-qualified for jobs outside of academe. I have tried looking into the non-profit sector and other related fields. But my experience and degree does nothing for me.
I realize I should continue writing--now is the time I should channel my despondency into fiery, creative energy. Indeed, some of our greatest writers have written from within that space. But as I lose my economic stability, I feel my creative energy seep out of my cells. I long for a sea change.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
On (Student) Apocalypse
The other day, I decided to have my public speaking students (college level) compose and present a speech about what they would do if there were an apocalypse. They were each given a random object and were to present their ideas for innovation to the class.
I gave them 40 minutes and told them to be as creative and imaginative as possible. I told them to envision their future: imagine obstacles, people they may encounter, how they would rehabilitate the land, the earth, using their skill set.
I was excited about the prospect of their speeches. Once I heard them all, I was saddened.
In every single scenario, a student wrote about finding an empty Wal-Mart, Target or King Sooper's. Once entering each abandoned consumer hellhole of choice, students looted what was left and either stayed there or magically discovered a car, which they miraculously hot wired, and drove off to some distant civilization.
Not one student thought about survival skills; not one student considered cultivating the land; not one student considered the environment itself: water, animals, farmland, trees.
This scares me. Even in a post-apocalyptic world, when capitalism has crumbled, when consumer culture has become obsolete, students still gravitate to the remnants, the ghosts of the capitalist world. They would rather pillage an empty Wal-Mart for cans of tuna and insta-mac n'cheese than move to an open space and begin an alternative community, which would involve arduous labor, farming, agriculture.
I don't blame the students for this, I blame the current state of our techno-capitalist consciousness; I blame our education system that prides itself on consumer culture, business, corporate monopoly, and marketing; I blame our American leaders, who propagate false ideals of economical gain, world power and exponential capitalist growth; I blame the West in that it has all but eradicated the importance of the arts and has transformed Hollywood celebrities, political pundits and reality tv stars into modern gods and goddesses; I blame our open acceptance of an easy culture where everything is handed to us, where an ecological ethic is marginalized and pushed aside for those "liberal tree huggers"; I blame free-market global capitalism that imports cheaply produced goods and exploits poor, third-world minority workers; I blame American apathy, in every sense of the term.
As an educator, I feel an even greater responsibility to educate my students on the importance and vitality of the imagination. But in an age in which students are anxious to update their facebook statuses, watch the latest episode of Jersey Shore and tune out the world with their I-Pods, my battle becomes increasingly insurmountable. When I present my students with the complexities of Modernist art, the Dadaist Revolution or the feminist poetics of Adrienne Rich, students roll their eyes in frustration, in boredom. And it pains me, to the core, to see such a sea of apathy rising before me--as I truly believe that art enables the human mind to expand and appreciate the world in ways beyond the sheer limitations of our ego-ideals.
Is there hope for us? I am a dedicated warrior, armed with my passion for the arts, ready to continue my journey. But I can't help but feel saddened, defeated and worn by that which we are faced against: utter human listlessness.
I gave them 40 minutes and told them to be as creative and imaginative as possible. I told them to envision their future: imagine obstacles, people they may encounter, how they would rehabilitate the land, the earth, using their skill set.
I was excited about the prospect of their speeches. Once I heard them all, I was saddened.
In every single scenario, a student wrote about finding an empty Wal-Mart, Target or King Sooper's. Once entering each abandoned consumer hellhole of choice, students looted what was left and either stayed there or magically discovered a car, which they miraculously hot wired, and drove off to some distant civilization.
Not one student thought about survival skills; not one student considered cultivating the land; not one student considered the environment itself: water, animals, farmland, trees.
This scares me. Even in a post-apocalyptic world, when capitalism has crumbled, when consumer culture has become obsolete, students still gravitate to the remnants, the ghosts of the capitalist world. They would rather pillage an empty Wal-Mart for cans of tuna and insta-mac n'cheese than move to an open space and begin an alternative community, which would involve arduous labor, farming, agriculture.
I don't blame the students for this, I blame the current state of our techno-capitalist consciousness; I blame our education system that prides itself on consumer culture, business, corporate monopoly, and marketing; I blame our American leaders, who propagate false ideals of economical gain, world power and exponential capitalist growth; I blame the West in that it has all but eradicated the importance of the arts and has transformed Hollywood celebrities, political pundits and reality tv stars into modern gods and goddesses; I blame our open acceptance of an easy culture where everything is handed to us, where an ecological ethic is marginalized and pushed aside for those "liberal tree huggers"; I blame free-market global capitalism that imports cheaply produced goods and exploits poor, third-world minority workers; I blame American apathy, in every sense of the term.
As an educator, I feel an even greater responsibility to educate my students on the importance and vitality of the imagination. But in an age in which students are anxious to update their facebook statuses, watch the latest episode of Jersey Shore and tune out the world with their I-Pods, my battle becomes increasingly insurmountable. When I present my students with the complexities of Modernist art, the Dadaist Revolution or the feminist poetics of Adrienne Rich, students roll their eyes in frustration, in boredom. And it pains me, to the core, to see such a sea of apathy rising before me--as I truly believe that art enables the human mind to expand and appreciate the world in ways beyond the sheer limitations of our ego-ideals.
Is there hope for us? I am a dedicated warrior, armed with my passion for the arts, ready to continue my journey. But I can't help but feel saddened, defeated and worn by that which we are faced against: utter human listlessness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)