someone

I have been reading the excellent Know Your Place: Essays on the Working Class By The Working Class (Dead Ink Press) and finished reading it tonight. Why would a middle-class American (is that still a thing?) be reading essays about being working class in Great Britain? Many reasons, not least of which is that it is excellent --pretty sure I mentioned that.

One of the essays, a piece called "Glass Windows and Glass Ceilings" by a writer called Wally Jiagoo, struck me. All of the essays struck me, but Mr. Jiagoo's essay struck me on a personal level and ended on a note that spoke very powerfully about the way things are going in the world -- and miracle of miracles, offers a solution.

Mr. Jiagoo has worked as a Housing Benefit Officer in South London and also as a screenwriter, and his essay captures both worlds well with spot-on dialogue and insight. As a screenwriter from a working class background, he experiences the frustration of being someone who has "quite the knack for writing orrrdinary people" (code for someone who has difficulty networking and finding work because everyone else in that world seems to already know everyone else through family or school connections). As a Housing Benefit Officer, he is responsible for delivering benefit caps to frustrated people from behind a glass window "for [his] protection".

The world Mr. Jiagoo writes about --and the world we live in --is full of gatekeepers. You can come in, but you can't. We can help you, but you, we can't.

At some point, we gatekeepers (and I include myself in this group) need to realize that the gates are there. They are very real, and they are built of strong stuff. Why are they there? Tradition? Legal mumbo jumbo? Our own comfort? Fear? Who knows? But they are most definitely there, and we keep them tightly shut.

Mr. Jiagoo's solution: "It's not within our remit that we help ..., so we've just accepted that we can't ...but we can."

It is incumbent on all of us to remember: sometimes, we are that someone who should do something. We can grumble about how unfair things are, or we can begin to do something about it --one person at a time, one situation at a time, one day at a time. It might not be in our remit, but those of us who understand how the gate works need to guide and support those who don't as they navigate its complexities. It is a very lonely place to be, on the outside of a gate looking in.

"See," Mr. Jiagoo says, "in the world I'm trying to enter, I'm waiting on someone to let me pass. But in this world ...I'm that someone." 

We each have places in our lives where we can be that someone. Look for those gates.

optimism: a list

Trigger warning: there may be some politics in here --just a little. 

So this is the eve of the day on which the US Senate, in their infinite wisdom, passed their version of a tax reform bill. If you're the sort of person who worries about paying tax on the upkeep of your private plane, it might have been okay for you. For everyone else, it was an unmitigated disaster.

Fear not, though, everyone else! 

Firstly, the House has to pass their own version (they will), and then the two houses have to agree on the end result (they will), so maybe all of this stress is for naught. I mean, maybe they'll stop being greedy bastards and start caring about all of their constituents? It could happen (in my dreams). 

Secondly, as the infrastructure crumbles around our ears and as we enter the next decade with less opportunity and less financial certainty here in the good ol' US of A, we still have some things that tone-deaf politicians cannot take away from us. Sorry, Whitney Houston --they can take away our dignity, but here are some other things they can't get their grubby little mitts on ...

1. The laughter of children

2. A kind word

3. Friendship

4. Stupid jokes

5. Black Sabbath cranked up to 11

6. Bravery

7. Origami cranes

8. Bad haircuts

9. A good cry

10.The stars in the sky

11.Street art

12.Memories

13.The desire to be a ninja and/or a pirate

14.Good will

15.Stones (rolling or otherwise)

16.An admiration for Robin Williams

17.Dandelions

18.Our ability to learn Morse code

19.Love

or

20.Our f***ing humanity

None of the items on this list mean anything to them because they can't be monetized. That's fine. I'd take the items on this list over whatever they're getting out of this whole debacle any day.

Love and best wishes to you all.

communication bill of rights

I haven't talked about my day job in a while --what with NaNoWriMo, current events, and such. Maybe I'll delve into that today?

My day job is going very well at the moment. This was not the case a year ago, but what a difference a year makes. What changed? Two things: me & the job. The job is still the same: I work with kids with disabilities, helping them develop their communication skills. The difference this year is I'm responsible for a little over half as many children as last year, but with access to as many resources. All of those things I've been wanting to do? I can actually get to some of them this year. It feels more like a challenge and less like a Sisyphean task. It's not fair to anyone involved when it feels like a task --they're human beings. I like the idea that I can be fair and treat them less like a box to tick off and more like individuals with likes, dislikes, and different learning needs.

And me? I understand more. For those of you unfamiliar with it, this is the Communication Bill of Rights (yes, it's a thing):

All people with a disability of any extent or severity have a basic right to affect, through communication, the conditions of their existence. Beyond this general right, a number of specific communication rights should be ensured in all daily interactions and interventions involving persons who have severe disabilities. To participate fully in communication interactions, each person has these fundamental communication rights:

1. The right to interact socially, maintain social closeness, and build relationships
2. The right to request desired objects, actions, events, and people
3. The right to refuse or reject undesired objects, actions, events, or choices
4. The right to express personal preferences and feelings
5. The right to make choices from meaningful alternatives
6. The right to make comments and share opinions
7. The right to ask for and give information, including information about changes in routine and environment
8. The right to be informed about people and events in one’s life
9. The right to access interventions and supports that improve communication
10. The right to have communication acts acknowledged and responded to even when the desired outcome cannot be realized
11. The right to have access to functioning AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) and other AT (assistive technology) services and devices at all times
12. The right to access environmental contexts, interactions, and opportunities that promote participation as full communication partners with other people, including peers
13. The right to be treated with dignity and addressed with respect and courtesy
14. The right to be addressed directly and not be spoken for or talked about in the third
    person while present
15. The right to have clear, meaningful, and culturally and linguistically appropriate communications 

 

It's written specifically for people with severe disabilities and communication difficulties, but if you think about it, it's about all of us. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, about the importance of being able to interact with others and feel safe and respected. We are all autonomous beings, and we all have something in us that is unique and distinct. Looking at the Communication Bill of Rights this morning, as I get ready to start my NaNoWriMo writing for the day, I am particularly struck by Communication Right Number 11. For a person who cannot speak, the AAC device is their voice. It is incredibly important to allow people access to their voices. I understand more and more what an honor it is to be able to help people learn to use their voices to say whatever it is they feel they need to say. Everyone has a voice --some are louder than others, but everyone has a right to be heard.

Have a good day today and don't forget to use your voice however you see fit. It's your right.

 

under the apple tree

I started a story. I could go on and on with it, but I'll stop and leave it unfinished, as it is, and call it a blog post.


Once upon a time, there was a great big apple tree --a fruitful thing that had enough apples for everyone. 

The people lived beneath the apple tree, as that was their source of nourishment. They lived in two groups: the group that lived in the grass directly under the apple tree; and the group that lived in pits that had been dug out of the way of the roots.

Some of the group who lived in the grass above set about climbing the tree to collect the apples. They were industrious. They grew thick calluses on their hands and feet from scaling the trunk, and when they shook the branches, apples rained down from above. Some of the apples rolled into the pits, but most of the apples landed in the grass and stayed there until a grass-dweller happened to feel peckish and leaned down to pick it up.

One day, a pit-dweller named Sam, who had gone hungry for quite enough time, called up. "Can someone please throw down an apple? I'm starving down here!"

What was this noise from below? wondered the grass-dwellers. And why was it demanding apples?

"If you would like an apple, why don't you climb the tree like everyone else?" snapped a grass-dweller named George (who hadn't, in fact, climbed the tree himself but had certainly broken a sweat watching those who had).

"We've been down here trying to climb out of the pits!" called up another pit-dweller named Lucy. "We'd gladly climb the tree --our hands are strong now, from trying to grapple with the dirt, but whenever we dig in, the dirt gives way, and we tumble back down again."

"Fine. Here. Have an apple." George tossed down the core of the apple he had been happily gnawing away at before the complaining began. It's not like he could enjoy it anymore with all of that racket going on below. They didn't have enough energy to climb the apple tree --where did they get all of this energy to complain so loudly?

"That was generous of you," a grass-dweller named Maude complimented George. "Too generous. You don't want to encourage their sloth! And they're devious, too. Do you know, just the other day, I was reaching down to pick up an apple, and one of those pit-dwellers grabbed my ankle and pulled me over and stole my apple! You're much more generous that I would be. They don't deserve it."

"Oh, I know. It was just to get some peace and quiet. I was done with it, anyway."

"Still, it'll only encourage them to be loud again."

"We can hear you, you know," Lucy called up.

"See what I mean?"



It was just an idea that came to mind when I woke up one day this week. I stopped where humanity looks pretty bleak, but it doesn't have to end that way. Any ideas for how the two groups can come together?

And some questions about what's already there:

• What do you think of the pit-dweller who stole the apple?
• Do you think it makes sense for only some of the grass-dwellers to climb the apple tree? Why or why not?
• How did the grass-dwellers and the pit-dwellers end up in such different circumstances in the first place (with the pit-dwellers obviously placed at a disadvantage)?

file under 'will never be published' (no. 12)

File under 'Will Never Be Published' (no. 12): To Noam Chomsky, With The Clever Eyes

Background: Yet another contest entry that went nowhere. That appears to be a theme in my writing.

Ideas are hard. I use contests as inspiration for both form (no longer than 500 words, a sonnet, a 1-2 character full-length play, etc.) and content (write about this painting, write something beginning with this sentence, etc.). In this way, even if I have no ideas, someone else has provided one to me. Then, I write.

In this instance, the result cracked me up --in a good way. The idea of writing a love poem to Noam Chomsky (I know him more from his linguistics than his politics, to be honest), who is old enough to be my grandfather, makes me chuckle. I submitted it for a contest that asked for poems written to revolutionaries. I never heard back. This does not surprise me. There's something to be said for writing for one's own enjoyment, but I wouldn't have responded to me, either.

It is written as a sonnet, and it involved some research (since, as I mentioned, I don't know much about Mr. Chomsky's politics). Is it great? Nope. Is it fun? I'll let you judge. I chuckled rereading it.

There's no "wrong" place to find your inspiration, and you are not required to be creative in a vacuum. Enjoy the process, and don't be afraid to be silly!

Why it will never be published: 1) it is a love sonnet to Noam Chomsky; 2) it is a sonnet; and 3) I'm never submitting it again!

To Noam Chomsky, With The Clever Eyes

To Noam, with the clever eyes:

You’re my anarcho-love ideal.

I really must apologize

For telling you the way I feel

(Although I’m practicing free speech,

A cause I know that you support.

I just don’t want to overreach --

It’s not like I’m the Supreme Court).

My feelings are not only lust --

You’ll have to take me at my word

And grant me some degree of trust,

Despite the fact I sound absurd.

I reject most authority,

But my heart says that you’re for me.

collecting the scatterings

It always starts with good intentions, doesn't it?

An idea! And sometimes, that idea leads to another and another, in a direct line. That's how writing starts.

I have issues with attention and focus. I tend to think in twenty different directions at once, which is not helped by the nature of modern life. 

Additionally, I have issues with memory. If I don't do something straightaway, I have a tendency to forget about it. 

Additionally additionally, I have issues with executive functioning. For someone who has issues with attention, focus, and memory, there are certain ways to compensate for these issues, which I seem not to do because this time I'll remember, and ooh, what's that shiny thing over there ...!

I had an idea last week (I think it was last week --memory and all that ...) that I think is a good one. Last week, I also came across a publisher seeking experimental poetry written in classic forms. I thought I would try to combine the two.

Every idea has a form of writing that will work to enhance what it is. I had a great experience with this over the summer when an idea I had coincided with a request for 1-2 character plays. Let's just say, this new idea does not interact well with experimental poetry written in classic forms. I tried it. It doesn't --not at all.

So this blog post is to collect the scatterings of that idea in prose. Maybe it was only meant to be an outline? Maybe I'll do something with it later. Maybe I won't.

The idea was this: it centers around the lamassus in what is now Iraq, but was Assyrian when they were created. They are enormous figures with the head of a bearded man and the body of either a bull or lion and a bird of some sort.

I read an article in the Smithsonian magazine on an archaeologist in Mosul and lamassus played a part in the article. This is what inspired the idea in the first place. Prior to that, I had no idea what these things were called.

Back around the turn of the 19th/20th Century, archaeologists from Europe were busy excavating historical artifacts in the area, the most famous of whom was Max Mallowan (Mr. Agatha Christie, who also spent time here). They performed their excavations and shipped their discoveries off to Europe, ostensibly for safe keeping from the locals or perhaps from the elements or anyhow from people who didn't appreciate them in exactly the right way. You can now see the lamassus in museums like the Louvre and the British Museum --where I saw them many years ago, but I didn't realize what they were. 

One interesting piece of trivia about these lamassus is that their original purpose was to protect the area (specifically the palace,  I believe, but I'm no expert). So European archaeologists removed them and sent them to Europe. If one were superstitious, one would wonder whether the protection of the lamassus was removed along with them ...

Flash forward to now and the article about the Iraqi archaeologist in Mosul. The area was captured by ISIS for a period of time and has now been recaptured but just. The lamassus that were still located in the area were targeted by ISIS during their occupation in the same way the Buddha in Afghanistan had been by Al-Qaeda, and for the same reason.

My idea, which I still can't fully wrap my head around, is this: did the original archaeologists do the area a disservice by removing the statues in the first place, thus leaving the area unprotected; or did their actions end up saving the ones that were removed preemptively; or ...? The area did end up overrun by people who did not appreciate the lamassus, to put it mildly. However, the removal of the lamassus in the first place was cultural imperialism ("You couldn't possibly know how to take care of these the right way. Here, let us get that for you. There, there ..."), and it is an Iraqi who is risking her life to account for the remaining artifacts and protect them as best she can. The lamassus make excellent representative symbols of a lot of questions I have about the world.

And when you throw in me, an American woman, writing about the whole thing in a Western poetic form (cultural appropriation, anyone?), it gets very confusing. And bad --trust me, the poem was bad.

So I'll just leave it as a blog post about the idea that got away. Writers don't use all of their ideas --or they shouldn't, at least not all at once, I don't think. Maybe I'll find the right form at some point to ponder the questions I have. Maybe I won't. At least now my scatterings are collected somewhere, and I can look at them again if and when the time comes.

Good luck with your writing, too. Good luck collecting your scatterings that don't quite add up, and good luck with maybe finding their proper form in the future. They can't all be winners, but it doesn't mean they're bad.

famous person says ...

Please stand for our National Anthem ...

Okay, you don't really have to, for a couple of reasons: 1) I'm not sure which country you're reading this in; and 2) even I were to play the National Anthem of any given country, you wouldn't hear it anyway because this is a blog post and you are reading and can't hear what's going on here. Please remain seated (or lay down or stand on your head --whatever you like).

I was merely referencing current events. No, not the current events about threats to the end of humanity or ongoing war or natural disasters. No, not those. I was referring to football players choosing to protest inequities by not being present for or kneeling for the National Anthem of the United States prior to football games. Some people see this as disrespectful to a variety of things including the United States, U.S. Veterans, and Donald Trump.

Feel what you like about this issue, but I am very intrigued by one criticism that keeps popping up.

These players gets paid millions of dollars to play football and they're lucky to be able to do that and receive that salary. Somehow, this means they're supposed to not say anything because the system, as it currently stands, benefits them. They have fame and fortune, so what do they have to complain about?

A similar criticism is leveled at other celebrities of all political persuasions who have political opinions. The assumption is that they are abusing their position by stating their beliefs, and that somehow they are unqualified to have opinions on the basis of their participation in the arts or sports.

Here's the thing: they are citizens, too.

Are they in a peculiar position? 

Absolutely. People listen to them --lots of people listen to them. 

Does that mean that they cannot have or state their political beliefs? 

No. 

And what makes them qualified to have political beliefs? 

I would respond to this question with a question. My question would be, what the hell kind of question is that? 

Are you? Yes? 

Am I? Yes? 

Then why on Earth would they be any different?

Like any other citizen, one would hope that the politically-minded celebrity would educate themselves on the issue they are interested in. Sometimes, they don't.

Guess what, though: we do that, too. And it is up to us, not them, to consider how we form our opinions. They simply get the issue publicity by virtue of choosing to speak publicly. It is up to us to decide if we agree or disagree by seeking out additional information. It doesn't mean they shouldn't speak their mind. Freedom of speech applies to all citizens.

I personally am happy to live in a place where all citizens are encouraged to participate in political discourse, be it for the status quo or against it. I am encouraged that people who are in otherwise very comfortable positions choose to deflect some of that glory onto people who don't always get heard. I am thankful for nonviolent protest because it shows us where things aren't working or where we need more dialogue.

Anyhow, you can agree with what a famous person says or disagree with them --just like you can with your uncle or coworker or stranger on the street corner. Their opinions hold no more importance than any of those other citizens, and I think that's where confusion comes into the situation.

Civic engagement can take many forms, and that's a good thing.

america

Disclaimer: I'm just me. This is not the work of a political expert.

Charlottesville. Everyone knows what happened there recently, and I have no need to replay the incident. And I have written about race and growing up in Virginia in a past blogpost --while that blogpost had nothing to do with the Civil War, it had everything to do with the Civil War. So does this one. It has to do with the Revolutionary War. It has to do with the founding of the United States, and what that means today.

There is no one America, and there never has been.

I've thought long and hard about how to explain 'American' to friends who don't know or martians who might randomly drop from the sky. The truth is, in order to explain 'American', you have to be willing to give whatever adjective or example you like and there will be plenty of adjectives and examples that contradict what you say. 

There have been families here since the founding in the 17th-Century; there are families who arrived yesterday; there are families who have been here since centuries before the founding.

There are families who came here for economic opportunity; there are families whose ancestors were brought here against their will.

There are people who descend from one race; there are people who descend from more than one race and may not be aware; there are people who descend from many races.

There are people who can afford gold-plated toilets; there are people who clean those gold-plated toilets and may not be able to afford rent; there are people who cannot fathom why anyone would need a gold-plated toilet (the vast majority, I would assume).

There are people who speak English; there are people who don't speak English.

There are people of all religions; there are people of more than one religion (yes, it is possible); there are people of no religion.

There are people who love jazz and country music; there are people who love jazz, but not country; there are people who love country, but not jazz; there are people who tolerate both; there are people who hate music in general.

Etc.

And yet, they are all American.

We are a nation of contrasts. We are a study in cognitive dissonance.

When I read people saying about what happened in Charlottesville, "This is not what America stands for" --it's not entirely true. 

Since the beginning, we have been a nation founded on high ideals like equality and freedom and opportunity, but we have also been a nation that --in practice --was founded on inequality and the lack of freedom and opportunity of some.

Going forward, we need to have hard conversations and acknowledge that. This may not be what we want America to stand for, but it is part of what America has been and is. It needs addressed. The one glimmer of hope in all of this horrible situation is that it is being addressed out in the open.

I have no answers, but I hope all of us --from leadership down --can try and move towards our ideals, so that we can in the future say it and mean it: this [hatred, fear and oppression] is not what America stands for. We can't truly be the Land of the Free until we figure it out.

i don't know

There is an answer to every question, and sometimes, that answer is, "I don't know."

It seems like, nowadays, everyone is expected to be an expert at everything. This leads to trouble. If we feel like we can't say, "I don't know," it means we have to know. That's not a comfortable feeling.

We lash out.

We disappear with embarrassment.

We pretend we know and potentially mislead others.

We alienate other people.

I work with students who need to be explicitly taught that they are allowed to say, "I don't know". The difference in behavior is significant once they learn "I don't know" is an acceptable answer. When they think they have to know the answer to everything, they become highly agitated and use all means at their disposal to get out of the situation. Once they understand that they are not expected to know everything and can communicate when they don't, they relax. 

I think most people are similar to my students in this way.

When we can say we don't know, we can seek assistance. When we can say we don't know, we can ask questions. When we can say we don't know, we can listen to answers. 

When we can say we don't know, we can learn.

I don't know everything, but I do know that.

nothing at all to do with the state of the world

This blog post has nothing to do with the state of the world. 

This is a mushroom. There are things that are only here for a short moment, like this mushroom, and you miss them if you're not paying attention. It's good to remember to enjoy them while they're here.

Similarly, there are things that were here before we got here and that will likely be here after we're gone. This tree is high up in the mountains. It withstands brutal winters. It stands like a testament in the rocks. It's good to remember that some things have seen more than we have and will see more than we ever will.

Perspective is good. I said that this blog post had nothing to do with the state of the world, but that's not entirely true. It has nothing to do with politics or current events. It has everything to do with the state of the world, though. There is a world beyond us, and it's good to think about that from time to time.

dear cassandra levesque

For background, please read this New York Times article detailing the state of the legal age of marriage in different states in the U.S.

Dear Cassandra Levesque:

You don't know me, but I am an adult who recently read of your attempt to change the age at which individuals can get married in the state of New Hampshire. I am writing to applaud your sense of civic responsibility and the effort it must have taken to get the bill introduced.

Many times, older people --you were very young at 16! --misunderstand what kids are about these days. We think you're all selfish and glued to your iPhones. You have proven us wrong, and thank you for that.

I would like to encourage you to keep going, despite the shortsightedness of your legislature. Adults don't like to admit this can happen very often, but you are right and the adults responsible for the laws of your state are wrong. 

How can a kid be right when you're just a kid? Because you are speaking up for yourself. Not only are you speaking up for yourself, you are doing it in a way that helps other people your same age, including some who may not be able to speak up for themselves. You are doing it in a way that operates within the law. It was very clever, actually, and shame on them for discouraging someone like you (they may have tried, but I seriously doubt they could!).

I would like to encourage you to keep going. Please consider going into politics or doing something related to law when you are of a legal age to do so. You've got your heart in the right place, and we need that. 

Thank you for trying. You are a role model for adults across this country. I wish more of us would be like you.


Update 6/4/2017: Your mother told me you'll be going to school to become an elementary teacher (because you're 18 --must work on my fact-checking!) and will continue your advocacy for children. Best news I've had all day! Please see below.

the lion & the mouse: a modern retelling

Once upon a time, not so long ago since this is a modern retelling, there lived a lion. 

He was the King of the Jungle. He gained his status through accident of birth (he was born into a family of lions instead of into, say, a family of aardvarks). Later, he maintained his position through brute strength at some times, and cunning at others. It wasn't important how he got there --he would have gotten there, regardless. He was more majestic than the rest of the beasts, so he was the King.

The other animals gave up challenging the lion after a while. After that last time, when the monkey challenged him, they learned: you don't challenge the King. That poor monkey. No, none of the other animals wanted that to happen to them. And besides, sometimes, he threw one of the other animals a scrap from whatever he was gorging himself on. He could be generous, as long as you told him how resplendent his mane was or complimented his ever-increasing mighty figure.

Time passed. The King remained king, and the other animals kept out of his way, except when they had to bring him something to eat. Then, they crept up quietly, in case he was sleeping, and dropped off his meals. I won't go into what he was eating, but I will say the Jungle was no place for the old or infirm. Everyone was required to bring his meals. It was quite something when it was the smallest creature Mouse's turn. Dragging that carcass took every ounce of energy she had in her small body! She was exhausted by the time she got to the lion, and so, she was careless when she dropped the elephant off for him to eat. The trunk landed on his left paw.

"WHAT?" he roared, startling awake.

"I'm sorry, sir!"

All of the animals moving nearby froze in place, as did Mouse, who was sure she would be eaten as an appetizer before he started on the elephant.

"I was sleeping --SLEEPING! How dare you, you pathetic little critter? You! Gazelle! Come here!"

Gazelle slowly neared the two and the elephant carcass. Gazelle was chastising himself for not being somewhere else at that exact moment.

"Take this ...mouse and drop it into the river. I am too busy doing important things, or I'd teach it a lesson myself." He licked his chops and prepared to eat the elephant. The mouse was not worth eating, so drowning it in the river made more sense.

Gazelle hesitated.

"DO IT!" he roared. "Or I'll call Cheetah over!"

Gazelle gathered Mouse by gently gripping her tail with his teeth and carried her off towards the river. 

On the way, Mouse pleaded with Gazelle, "Oh, please don't drown me! I was so tired! I didn't mean to drop the elephant, but it was so heavy ..."

Gazelle set Mouse down by the river. "Don't worry about it. I'm not going to drown you. That guy's a jerk. He wouldn't notice if I drowned you or not. In fact, why don't we stay over here for a while? I might invite a few friends to join us."

So Gazelle and Mouse continued to live by the river and the other animals began to join them. There were a few animals who didn't move right away --Hyena and Vulture, for example, refused to believe that things were changing since they did alright for themselves under Lion, and he must surely be as powerful as he kept telling them all to have kept power for so long. Even they began to recognize that Lion's meals were shrinking, however, and thought maybe they too should be moving along.

In the end, Lion was left alone, bewildered about who would bring him his meals. He wanted to go look for the others, to get them back in line, but found he had difficulty standing on his own.

Mouse, in the meantime, thrived. So did Gazelle. So did the other creatures. Not dragging the dead to feed the King did wonders for them all.

The States and the Unions

It's May Day. To me, an American, it is a very strange day. We are very confused about it. Where the rest of the world seems to have figured it out somewhat, we don't seem to know what to do with ourselves on this day.

I guess it has something to do with unions and our ambivalence towards them.

Looking it up on Wikipedia, it looks like May Day is used synonymously with International Workers' Day or Labour Day, in those misguided countries where they use an extraneous letter U in everything. Yes, Wikipedia's going to be my only source tonight --I've been at work all day. Anyway, somewhere along the line, we diverged from what everyone else does and began celebrating Labor Day in September, which is interesting because according to Wikipedia (who is on the Internet, and is therefore never ever wrong), May 1st was selected as the date because of a labor-related tragedy that happened in Chicago. In the United States. Go figure.

May Day is celebrated in Communist-led countries like the People's Republic of China and North Korea and was celebrated in the former Soviet Union. Traditionally, the U.S. has been at odds with Communism. Perhaps that's the problem. That's often the argument that comes up when Americans discuss the issue of unions and workers' rights --inevitably, the S-word is used, which leads people to refer to the dreaded C-word, and the conversation dies a horrible death. Maybe that's it. I don't know.

What I do know is that I like the idea of a day that celebrates workers that crosses borders. We live a rapidly shrinking world, where everything is becoming more and more interrelated. Multinational corporations exist, so why wouldn't you want something out there that balances that? And if workers in different parts of the world, particularly those parts of the world where there are labor abuses like we saw at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution or worse still going on, had access to other people who were sympathetic and asking for fairness in their treatment across borders, why wouldn't that be a good thing? I don't know the answer to this --I'm asking.

Some people in the United States marched today, although May Day is not an official holiday. I applaud them for doing this. I would have liked to have joined them. Instead, I am writing this blog post to say Happy May Day and to say, to all of you who work hard for a living for a boss who isn't you, I'm glad to be one of you. We make a good team.

an idea ...

I'm getting political again. Somebody stop me ...

Oops, too late.

First of all, that my idea is at all political strikes me as odd. It is human. It involves politicians, however, so I suppose that is what shifts it from the realm of the human to the realm of the political.

I had this idea a month or so ago, but a tweet I saw on Twitter while I was taking my virtual evening stroll tonight reminded me of it. This evening, Alice Kirby (@Alice_Kirby), a disability activist based in the UK, brought up a similar idea. Maybe it's time to revisit it and put it out into the world, since evidently, I'm not the only person with this idea?

Alice Kirby tweeted (wrote, for those of you who don't speak Twitter) to the current Prime Minister of the UK, Theresa May, "How do you expect disabled people who are unfit for work to survive off £73 per week? Could you live off that?".

I've seen similar sentiments from others, as well. For example, when town halls were happening in the U.S. earlier this year (well, in places where the politicians actually showed up to meet with their constituents, but that's another discussion ...), people were asking the Congress to use the same health insurance as everyone else uses.

It's reasonable to ask our representatives to try to understand what we experience in our lives. How can a legislator legislate wisely without having some understanding of the practical implications of their decisions? And what better way of understanding is there than experience? I've written on this theme before, and it holds true here.

My idea: have legislators try to live on what they ask others to live on. It can be for a limited amount of time, but at least try it, no cheating.

Pick a benefit, any benefit, and try it out.

In my original idea, I was thinking about food stamps (also called SNAP). Here is an explanation of the benefit in an easy to read table, courtesy of the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities:

In case you are wary of doing math, this is roughly $48 a week for a single person for groceries, or just under $7 per day, and this includes everything (including coffee!). 

Legislators should try it, in order to understand the human impact of decisions they make. At the very least, they should probably speak to people who have to use this benefit before voting on related legislation. Just a thought.

Alice Kirby's idea was also a good one. Legislators could try to live off of £73 (roughly US $93) per week --I don't know about unemployment benefits in the US off-hand, so I can't offer the comparable figures. That's a little over $13 a day for lodging, utilities, transportation, etc.

The legislators would only need to do it for a limited period of time, of course. Their constituents don't actually want them to suffer too much. And even if they resume their base salaries of $174,000 a year (for a Member of Congress --it goes up for Senators, Speaker of the House, and such), that small period of time ...say, a month, will have saved the taxpayers enough to fund something like Meals on Wheels from now until the end of eternity.

A slight exaggeration, but it would be interesting to see what could happen if our politicians were to try to see the world through the eyes of the people in their communities.