Hand-screened canvas found in Berkeley

Leaders with too much power and too little accountability will always disappoint, no matter what good intentions they may start out with at first.

There are better ways to bring hope and change to the world.

On Sunday there was an article in the New York Times about the increase in Food Stamp use in the United States.  The article shows that there is still an ugly stigma attached to accepting food aid: even new recipients of food aid feel the need to proclaim that they are the ones who “really” need it, not like the (imagined) ones who supposedly are just lazy and/or scamming the system and don’t really deserve the help.

The article got me thinking back to my own experience as one of those statistics, when I was out of work for medical reasons and on public assistance.  Here’s a journal entry I wrote in an online support group from back then.

——————-

“You have the right to food money
Providing of course you
Don’t mind a little
Investigation, humiliation
And if you cross your fingers
Rehabilitation
Know your rights
These are your rights”
“Know Your Rights,” The Clash

i still had a little $$ left from public assistance, food stamp money stored on this handy little swipe card so you supposedly don’t have to worry as much about folks in the grocery store looking at you funny or judging you for being one of “those people.”

i had to pick up a few things, i went to the nearby grocery store where it’s very likely i’ll run into someone i know, but i was having an ok day and didn’t think too much of it.  i get some stuff, head over to one of the self check-out machines so i won’t have to wait in line (have i mentioned that standing in lines like grocery store lines are a trigger for anxiety attacks for me these days?)

so it’s all going fine, scan and bag the food, and then all i need to do is swipe the card and punch in the PIN code. except the stupid auto checkout computer wasn’t accepting the payment.  wtf? i could have sworn i had enough left to cover these purchases. i try it again, nothing.
by now there’s a line forming behind me, and i’m getting nervous, feeling these impatient eyes on me.  (have i mentioned that another of my panic triggers is being watched and scrutinized by people, esp. strangers, esp. when i don’t know what i’m doing?)

breathe, it’s ok, i tell myself. i motion to a nearby clerk to ask for help, explaining what i’m trying to do. she pushed some buttons, then has me try again— the screen, the very big screen that the other customers can read from where they’re
standing, reads “Insufficient funds.” great.

so, can you just pay in cash? the clerk asks.

ummm, i don’t have enough cash on me to cover the whole thing (btw, isn’t the whole point of being on public assistance to assist someone when they’re unable to come up with lots of cash???). I ask if i could pay part of the bill with the card, and the rest in cash, i could cover that. she pushes more buttons, nothing.  motions another worker over. she can’t figure it out either. “what was your balance?” “i could have sworn i had at least $30 left”.

she motions over the manager, and by now i’m feeling embarrassed and panicky and trying hard not to cry from all the commotion this is causing. i’m thinking ‘god i hope no one i know is here right now…’ i ask them again if they could just void it and go to a register so we could do it manually, but no, they say they can’t do it b/c the computer won’t let them.

the manager gives up, and the 2nd lady tries again, and then she complains “you know it would help if you people would come in knowing your balance.”

my jaw dropped. she realizes quickly that she’s probably said something offensive and tries to backpedal, ‘you know, just to help us out some…” I told her again, i’m sorry, i could have sworn my balance was high enough to cover it. my head is down b/c i’m now blinking back tears, both angry and ashamed.

person number four makes her entrance. i start apologizing about causing such a hassle, and with a kind tone she says it’s ok, we’ll get it taken care of. and then, with the slighted sarcasm, “if the rest of them just knew a few basic keystrokes…”

i’m still crying and feeling embarrassed, and she’s trying to make me feel better, saying it’s ok, and i blurt out, “well, one of your associates didn’t seem to think so.” i then tell her about the ‘you people’ comment. she was taken aback, and asked which one said it. i described her as best i could, not wanting to say it too loudly b/c i really didn’t want to make more of a scene.

we finally got me over to a register, got things figured out. it turns out is was my mistake, i did have the balance wrong.
i guess that happens to ‘people like me,’ and by ‘people like me’ i mean people who are human beings.
fortunately i had enough cash on me to cover the rest of it.

person number four, thank you for being so very kind to me. thank you for telling me i don’t have to apologize as i was trying to explain about my panic attacks. thank you for offering to walk over with me to a manager to report what was said to me (i declined, i just wanted to get the hell out of there).

i held it together long enough to get to a safe space to cry my eyes out and get my breathing back to normal.
i happened to have a mix of music by the clash with me.  i turned up “know your rights” really loud, esp the part about having the ‘right to food money’ as long as you’re willing to put up with the humiliation.

I live near UC Berkeley, where protests continue against the 32% increase in tuition fees, cuts in course offerings, and staff pay cuts.  Today the police began trying to forcibly put a stop to the demonstrations that are now in their third day.  Pepper spray, batons, riot gear, the usual violent, unnecessary tactics.

Right now I can hear helicopters in the air.  Probably news copters, but no doubt police helicopters as well.

I hear helicopters and I think of Miami.  It was six years ago this week that I was there doing legal support for activists protesting the Free Trade Area of the Americas.  The helicopters were overhead all day, every day, and all night, too.  It was often hard to sleep.  When I got arrested that Friday in the police sweep (video, trigger warning) and taken to jail, the one consolation was that the thick walls kept out the sound of the helicopters and I finally got some rest.

I hear helicopters and I still get a sinking, sickly feeling in my gut.  I hear helicopters and I know that I was right to stay away from the demonstrations, even though I fully support the students, faculty, and staff who believe that quality public education should be accessible to all, not just to all who can afford it.

It’s been six years, but I’m still selective about the kind of protest actions I take part in.  Immediately following Miami, I made the mistake of  not waiting longer before jumping back into activism and actions that kept tearing the scabs off my still healing emotional wounds.  I didn’t realize how much trauma I’d experienced, not until it began manifesting in other areas of my life, becoming a crippling anxiety that finally forced me to rest and recover.

I hear the helicopters and I am grateful for the healing I’ve experienced so far.  I hear the helicopters and in the safety of my home I pray for the safety and emotional well being of the demonstrators.

Last month I noticed these two posters side by side, and was struck by how they’re related.  One almost necessitates the other.

Ashby BART Station, Oct 2009

The first one is for a revival of the musical South Pacific, the Rodgers and Hammerstein show that, while being ahead of its time in examining racism, gives a portrayal of the Pacific theater of WWII as time spent in a tropical paradise, where yes, there’s some occasional combat, but for the most part problems had to do with deciding which fruit to “pick right off the tree” as you sang about missing the dames back home.  The bloody combat of the Pacific theater, while part of the plot, is given far less attention than the romantic songs and storylines.

South Pacific is based on a book by James Michener, and a story is told of him meeting a Navy flight surgeon. The surgeon comments,”Mr. Michener, I fought in the South Pacific in World War II, but I never realized how much fun it had been until I read your book!” Michener replies, “I never realized how much fun it was either, until Rodgers and Hammerstein set it to music!”  In terms of capturing the reality of what happened, it really misses the mark.

So why does this matter?  After all, it’s just a musical, right?  So what if it’s not accurate about what happened?  What does it have to do with the other poster?

The second poster reads “It takes the courage and strength of a warrior to ask for help” and provides a hot line for war veterans who are having trouble coping with their life after active duty.  Ad campaigns like this are needed because there is such a stigma about asking for help in coping with emotional trauma.  Soldiers are expected to be tough, to be able to cope, to not show signs of weakness.  While civilians sing and dance, veterans are suffering in ways we can’t understand.  The South Pacific revival is just one of the ways we shield ourselves from taking an honest look at war can do to a person.

When we as a culture diminish or make light of how ugly and traumatizing war really is, we make it even harder for veterans to open up and talk about their experiences.  Song and dance have their place, but if they become one of the ways we convince ourselves that war really isn’t all that bad, we’re less likely to put all of our efforts into stopping wars before they begin, or looking at alternatives to ending conflict and injustice.  That’s not a good way to honor the troops.

After my post about emotional triggers I realized that there are still a lot of people who don’t know I’ve left the Catholic Church, or what that means for me.  Of the people that I have told, the responses have ranged from a look of shock, a knowing nod, or questions.  The questions are usually the same.

One of the questions I get asked is the “tipping point” question, as in what, after all this time, finally made you decide to leave?  What was the last straw?  What event, scandal, pronouncement from the Vatican, etc finally caused you to say “enough!”?

There were many.  There were none.

Maybe in another post I’ll write more about the issues I most struggled with in the church (and those of you who know me can probably guess those already).  But in the end, those issues don’t explain why I left.  This was not an intellectual exercise of weighing pros and cons.  This was a soul decision.

The other question I get asked is if I’m leaving the Catholic Church because of a conversion to a different belief system.  Am I converting to a different religion?  Am I joining a church where I could be ordained a minister?  No, this isn’t about wanting to be another religion or another Christian denomination.  I’m not leaving because I’ve found something “better” for me.

The thing is, I’m still a Catholic, and I will always be one.  In spite of everything, “Catholic” is still the best way to describe my spirituality, as well as my cultural identity.  But for me there’s a big difference between being a Catholic and being an active member of the institutional Roman Catholic Church.  It’s the human institution I’m leaving behind, the one that, instead of helping me draw closer to God, was keeping me from more fully experiencing the God who is Love.

The best answer I can give for why I left: I am tired.  For a very long time my soul felt heavy and restless, and the longer I stayed active in the Church, the less peace I found.  I lost sight of God inside the walls of the institution.  It wasn’t until I walked away that I was really able to hear the voice of God’s Spirit, the Comforter.  The Spirit’s voice was a single word: “Rest.”

So here I rest, Catholic but not Catholic, still seeking the intercession of the saints and the counsel of the Spirit, but no longer in connection with a formal faith community.  It is a sad and sometimes very lonely process, grieving a deep loss and facing a lot of uncertainty as to where this will all lead.  But the Spirit’s voice remains, inviting me to rest, and that is enough of an answer for now.

This weekend I had the choice of attending a workshop on “Learning to Manage Emotional Trigger Points” or attending an ordination ceremony for classmates who are being ordained Catholic deacons (and who will soon be ordained priests).  Since past ordinations I’ve attended have tended to be a bit on the triggering* side for me, it seemed fitting to opt for the workshop.

Part of my decision to leave the Catholic Church has to do with needing to distance myself from negative triggering events.  I miss attending Mass on Sundays, but I don’t miss being reminded on a regular basis of the hurt inflicted on me and on people I love by Catholics in positions of authority. I don’t miss the feeling of tense dread that would sometimes invade my prayer, painful memories surfacing and making it difficult to stay for the entire liturgy.

I am happy for my classmates who were ordained this weekend.  I know that they are doing their best to follow the Spirit’s call and serve God and neighbor.  I will continue to try to do the same.

*Being triggered is when a person “experiences a current event that activates feelings or thoughts associated with a past event, often a traumatic one.”

Over the years I’ve seen many people go through burnout.  It happened a lot to volunteers in New Orleans, and I saw it happen during my brief stint as a youth minister.  The activist community also has a very high rate of burnout.

This past April I had the privilege of working with the Youth Worker: Collective as they revamped their workshop format on self-care and rejuvenation for people who work for or on behalf of youth.  But the workshop isn’t just a professional resource for youth workers; it can be used in any community looking for new ways to avoid burnout.

In addition to helping draft the curriculum, I wrote a paper that explains some of the whys and hows of what we did  (I happened to be taking a pedagogy course at the time).  I tried to keep the academic jargon out of this draft, so hopefully it’s an accessible read.

The workshop curriculum and materials can be downloaded for free at the Youth Worker: Collective website by clicking here.  Use all or part of it as it makes sense for your particular community.  And if you’re in the Bay Area and would like some facilitators to do a workshop, get in touch with the folks at the Youth Worker: Collective.