LOVE WHO?

Forget your enemy, and neighbor, why do we love our oppressors.

We have all met that person---the female coworker that makes the statement--with great pride "I don't get along that well with other women, I think more like a man", the wife that gives religious reasons for husbands beating their wives that don't act right, even the kidnap-victim that joins the gang that kidnapped her (Shades of Stockholm Syndrome).

When I read Alice Walkers "Possessing the secret of Joy" regarding the elderly women that both performed the female circumcisions and encouraged the practice, I knew I had also met this person, the person that gains personal power at the expense of his or her own peer group. Trustees in prisons do this, people held in bondage do this, the "teacher's pet" and the middle-management kiss-up, all do this.   The tough guys in old mafia movies do this, as does the crime boss's "kept woman".

What is the pay-off for such behavior.  We know the price of fighting the wrongs in the system, and the possible pay-off if we all stand strong.  But what is the payoff of assisting those that do wrong to their own  "tribe".

Is it an increase in self esteem?  I find it hard to believe that such hypocritical esteem boosting can exist, but think that may well play a part.  If you hear that your group; women, minorities, unclean, unmoneyed, uneducated, undeserving, unbelonging. other--whatever other might mean--is inferior and to be despised, enough times, you learn to believe it.  For people that are used to not thinking for themselves or that have always followed an authoritarian leader, believing that means they are doing the right thing, becoming closer to those that are better (whether that is male or white or holy or upper caste or the super-rich or powerful in whatever way affects their own world view).

Is it pride? Is it a sign of a competitive person that has found a way to WIN.  Winning by association?

Is it for favors?  For Tips?  For Gifts?   For the opportunity to live a little better than their peers in exchange for loyalty?  Is it for a Gilded Cage?  Or is it more like the original wild dogs that became domesticated as they edged closer and closer to the fires of men to eat the scraps and share a bit of warmth.

Tell me it is NOT just about the ruling class and the rest of us have just become domesticated.

Is it for an opportunity to be seen and heard by our Betters, for a little credit, for a little opportunity.  We all know that people that are oppressed frequently never develop their full potential; if they think deep thoughts and see great creations in their heads and yearn to invent and study and compile, they rarely get the opportunity to make any of that happen outside their own brain.  And being oppressed, unvalued, mistreated, told exactly what you can do and what you are worth and how you will end is pretty depressing.  Depressed people can give up.   Its very hard on cognitive skills.

I know that there have been those seen as exceptional (think about the root of that word, just think about it) that despite their poor, oppressed status they developed a place in society.  These exceptions are shown off like race horses or fur coats by those that feel they "created" them.  Did these individuals become exceptional just because they needed to use their minds.  How many of their peers were ignored or misused or beaten down for that same kind of exceptionalism that was never recognized or worse, was punished by those in power.

Everyday, I read or hear someone comment about how "I know a lot of rich people" or "my father is rich" or "my family runs a corporation" and then they proceed to prove that there is no inequality of opportunity.  Every time, Every. Time.  I hear this and the speaker is talking about people that are doing a little better than they are.  Their rich friends have a nice $200,000 dollar mortgage, both work, no kids, they went on a cruise, they bought a low-end Lexus.  Their dad always has money to loan them, and they live in a nice middle-class neighborhood and don't need to make payday loans. (they even paid college without loans), Everytime, the corporation is a single local eatery and Mom and kids just stopped providing the labor 2 years ago or they have a Mcdonalds franchise and on of them is there for a shift as manager every day. My sister's son knew one rich family--from a sport group that cost her a crapload of money, but was no big deal to them.  They were rich--top two percent of wealth--but not born there.  They were born at the top end of middle-class and went into one those two careers that everyone knows can move you up.  Lawyer, Doctor.  And there are plenty of both that never make it above the upper middle.  They neither one have to live blue-collar, though.  That family never thought twice about seeing a show in Vegas, fly out, see it, eat, spend the night, fly home.  (my friends...that is a lifetime trip, usually starting with a 18 hour drive with the car piled full.)

This just proves how important perspective is.  When you are lying at the bottom of the hole, the people standing over you in the bottom of the hole look immensely well-off.  The people at the top of the hole look like gods.  But at the bottom of the hole, there are no mountains, mountains are not even imaginable.  Who dreams of mountains when all you can see is a blip of sky behind the heads of those still standing over you.

I'm sure that lying their, helpless and hopeless must make you love the head that might be looking down at you.  You might matter a little. 

Maybe loving our oppressors are our enemies and loving them is not that rare.  Maybe we all need to learn to love those that we see as our inferiors, beneath us.  Maybe.  Or maybe it is a strange but common belief--fantasy--daydream, that we are better than the rest of the people in our situation, and "almost a real person." Do many of us dream of being loved by a rich/powerful person and being transformed like the Velveteen Rabbit.

hard to unbelieve

Our beliefs don't just color our world, it  makes it impossible to really consider things that don't fit our current beliefs.  Changing beliefs is tough.

I have seen, frequently, the way those individuals that hold with the protestant christian beliefs of the bible belt, so clouded by their knowledge that when a person says "I'm not christian, they first ask "catholic?" then "how can you not believe in god?"  Quite a leap from their religion to atheist , but that is where their belief led them.  Their religion is about god, everyone else's is not.

Religious beliefs are very life shaping, very narrowing to our ability to think in ways that are not covered in our particular religion--especially if a child in raised in them, schooled in them, by parents that are either devout or unquestioning.  It is no wonder that  heresy was as much a reason to burn someone during the Rule of the church as witchcraft.  More likely to get you in trouble than murder or rape. 

The beliefs put out politically, are a little harder to understand, but the people that use political belief are rather good at it.  Sometimes the belief is straight from the original thinker of the belief, and his or her passion can carry a lot of people.  But later users are quite aware of the power of propaganda, patriotism, fear of being seen as a traitor and just plain buy-in by those that are lazy thinkers that want to be on the winning side.  Political beliefs hold quite a lot of sway.  Our own American view of history, created and approved by the government agencies that cover education and curriculm, bears little in common with the history learned in other countries.

I love history, so use every person born on foreign soil as an opportunity to see the other side.  I am always baffled and amazed that my own (small town, tax-paid, bible belt) precollege education was completely lacking in information about:  1)the history of the middle east, all I learned about that was from bible school in the summer, a decidedly christian perspective,  2)  Asia, China became Red China just like Russia became communist Russia, before that, both were wonderful places with royals and castles and that is literally it, it was in connection with the fact that Russia and China were REDS, so our enemy, 3) Africa, its where the slaves came from, it's a country and a continent, and its poor. 4)  India is over-populated and starving, and cows walk around in the streets because they worship them (yes, a history teacher told me that, he was a coach, though....) 5)  Japan was our enemy until we hit them with 2 atomic (hydrogen? who knows what the actual difference is?) and then they learned their lesson.  6). Australia, filled with English criminals, maybe we should have tried that, cheaper than prisons (wow, I'm pretty sure that I have relatives that chose to go to Australia rather than the U.S. and for no good reason, just--you are poor, you got caught stealing or being poor, what ship are you going to get on)

I'm sure you noticed that every bit of history is completely about that part of the world's reputation in the USA among the people teaching the class.  Its not about information but beliefs.  Beliefs are allowed to be biased, one-sided, right and wrong, and completely fictional.

We are currently quite horrified by suicide bombers--people whose beliefs have overtaken their own desire for self-preservation; but forget that there have always been people that will sacrifice themselves if they believe the cause is right.  Japan had Kamikaze's, and Christianity had its martyrs, and let's not forget Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.  People that die protecting what we value are martyrs and hero's.  People that die fighting against us are evil, deluded, crazy and ridiculous.  Perhaps we are all so stilted by our personal beliefs that they make us hypocrits.

We are currently being herded by our own buy-in to "Evil Socialism" despite the countries that have a higher standard of living due to it and the reality that we, in this country, were saved from "the great depression" by socialist programs like SOCIAL Security, the WPA (that was likely they last time many of our old infrastructures were repaired).  Those programs were then added to by the addition of Medicare (because no insurance was available for people over 65--to high risk for the actuary tables, then Medicaid--so our children--even the poor ones didn't die of simple things like compound fractures and complicated home births.

Public schools are socialist--and if we weren't currently sitting on a kind of political identity disorder--"do we hate poor people?  do we need poor people?", notice I didn't say LOVE poor people, no one loves poor people but Mother Teresa, and she is not here, but we have public schools for poor people, because rich people's kids always received the best schooling available, but until we changed from agricultural to industrial, no one cared if the person planting seeds and milking cows could read.  Once you have big machines and more complicated jobs, reading and math is rather important.

And ideologically, the USA is supposed to be:

• the land of the free and home of the brave (
• the land of opportunity (you know, like Trump, took a measly million to get that opportunity opened)
• the place where all men are created equal in the eyes of the law (notice, no women, and plenty of men will tell you that the eyes of the law seem to respond well to money)
• one nation under god (pledge of allegiance, ca, 1954)

In my 20's, I spent years trying to reach ground zero on my spiritual beliefs so I could then go in search of beliefs that did not cause me cognitive dissonance.  I think that a lot of people are currently doing that about their own beliefs about the country that they call home.

It is a hard trip.  It is hard to not be angry at hypocrisy.  It is hard to not be hurt when you hear that all that equality you believed in was really more about cheerleading than about how the powers-that-be felt about the average person living in this country.  It it hard to look at your home with open eyes, seeing the inequality, the lack of opportunity, the injustice, the wasted lives and early deaths and extreme lack that has created so much of what is wrong in this wonderful, amazingly rich country.

Recently, a 30-something white male made the comment that the Catholic church could stop world poverty with the money they had stored over the years.  He had no idea how much money they have, and while I doubt they are poor, their biggest assets are religious artifacts, extremely valuable--to those that collect religious artifacts--but not inherently worth anything.  When asked what it would take to stop world poverty-the answer was rapid and flip--"how much does it cost for a bowl of rice?" 

Beliefs.  If you have a bowl of rice, you are not poor.  I didn't ask if that was one bowl per person per day or 3 bowls per person per day.  I do know that nothing but rice is not a balance diet, it will keep you alive today, but you will never make it to the median life expectancy if that is it.  He also didn't address those people that have no access to clean water--and shelter from the elements, healthcare, and if you want to live, not just survive until tomorrow, you need something to do with your mind, your hands, your life.  And you need enough stability in your life that you can have friendships and love, raise children or create beautiful or useful or meaningful things. 

Beliefs.

I have heard it said that the Taoists seek no beliefs, and empty cup.  No preconceptions interfering with their examination of each experience.  I am intrigued, but have found I can't do that.

Apparently, my own beliefs, in fairness, in honesty, in transparency---mean I still have a ways to go before I am truly an unbeliever.  Until then--may the force be with us all.

Simple

When I was young, not 20 young, but under 7 young, the world was a beautiful and amazing and magical place.  Outside was warm and sunny.  The grass smelled sweet or freshly mown.  The trees whispered with the wind.  The sunlight twinkled through the branches.  The ground felt inviting and the grass tickled and the tiny flowers hidden in the weedy lawn became wonderful bouquets for the house.

An afternoon of making mudpies or playing in a sandbox was pure joy.  Hours and hours of intense creating.  Or pulling stuff from a ragbag and turning it into the most amazing play clothes, making friends into cowboys or cops and robbers or kings and queens or whatever story had sparked an ongoing, freestyle rendition of pretend.

My father made weird toys and that was always a weird hit in the neighborhood.  My favorite was the stick horse that had a rolly-wheel on the ground end that was set up to hit something plastic with metal things so it made a clacking sound--not unlike the playing cards on bike spokes.  He also made stilts and wooden guns and wagons and such.  It was as fun to watch them being made as it was to play with them.  Such things were never projects, but were the reusing of scraps from more serious constructions.

We had a dog--we always had a dog, and the dog was always an inside/outside dog, because while dogs were animals and should be outside, if it was cold or wet or too hot or scary or (any excuse worked) it could come in.  We occasionally had a dog that was mostly a stray.  We left out food because its hard to be a stray--its not like being a wild dog at all--no food sources that are consistent and hard to find water with all the fences and gun-bearing stray-haters.  Those dogs didn't come in, didn't want to, but they ended up with covered/protected areas--either in the garage (when did that dog door get in the garage, anyway) or in a house made from the same scraps that furnished toys.

When I was young, we went to the country a lot.  We went almost weekly and spent the weekend.  We drove up the back way; a 3 hour drive on curvy, narrow, pockmarked roads, the last part gravel, frequently in the dark on Friday after Dad got off work.  When it was dark, my sister and I would share the back seat, blankets and pillows, suitcases between the seat so we didn't roll off in a sudden stop.  I remember sleeping, the vibration of the car, the strangely scratchy cloth upholstery. the smell of cigar smoke and the sound of the wind hitting the little window open by the drivers seat.  (When did the little window stop?  Why did it ever exist?)  I never remember getting there.  I always just woke up at grandmas.  But I do remember sometimes waking up to see a black sky full of stars while hearing my parents voices.  I miss that scratchy upholstery.  I miss those stars.  I worry that seatbelts stole something from my children's memories--not their safety, but maybe their feeling of safety.

I loved falling asleep on a blanket in the sun in the spring.  It was the best.  Maybe not better than the Drive-in theater, but I would love that feeling again, while I will skip the drive-in.

Jello salad, and macaroni and cheese, deviled eggs, devils food cake, fried catfish eggs, wilted green salad--those are so simple, and yet food was so wonderful.

Simple.  Why was life so simple so much of the time, why do we complicate it so much as adults.  Not a single home back then was "up-dated".  No one cared if the color scheme was current, or the furniture matched the decorations or even each other.  People didn't redecorate, they bought a bed when they needed one more for another person, or for if one was broken and couldn't be fixed, or if it was--god forbid--stolen.  No one donated perfectly good furniture so they could redecorate.  If they donated, they no longer needed it.  Someone had grown up and moved out, or they had "passed".

In a simpler life, we are not "consumers".  We are just living our lives.
We are not being trendy to compete with the neighbors.
We are not hoarders, we are taking our time to find a new use for what we don't need right now.  Sometimes we make something new with the parts.  Sometimes we give it to someone that just found out that they needed something we no longer need.  Sometimes we are just grieving a little longer for the loss of the reason to keep the thing.
We are not working constantly so we can buy more stuff.
We are not buying more to fill the hole in our lives--that feeling of purposelessness that grows from being rudderless, unconnected, lacking in something.
We are being ourselves.
We are alive.
We are being present in every moment of our life.
We are simply alive.

FAMILY HISTORY

Why do people worry about geneology?
Lots of reasons:

• Sometimes they want to find that rich or famous person that proves they ARE someone.  Good luck with that one. 
• Sometimes they are that branch of the tree that fell off.  Parents or grandparents moved away never to return, married, had children, then died and the offspring are too alone.  They yearn for their roots.  They yearn to find their people and be part of a family again.
• Sometimes they have heard family stories and want to verify them or prove them wrong.
• Sometimes they are just plain obsessive/compulsive and start a project that ultimately has no end.
• Sometimes they just love history--all history.

A friend from an homogeneous culture told me that no one from that culture worried about geneology.  She said they all knew where they came from and who their ancestors were.  She understood how people in my country would do it since we are all intermixed.  I wondered what she could tell me about her great-great-grandmother---besides that she came from the same culture as everyone else in her family.  I didn't ask her.  It seemed rude to ask.  

 

But my little journey into personal family history taught me alot about my relatives and lots about the regular people that lived in this country before me.  The history books tell you nothing about regular people, history books are full of BIG moments and BIG people and little moments in BIG people's lives--many of which, like Washington's cherry tree cutting, never even happened.

Family history should be real history.  I have seen some older books that were vanity printed; some were good, honest, warts-and-all histories.  Others were prim, proper, with whole branches eliminated due to less than braggable moments.  Searching for and writing about family history should be about self-discovery.  If you are not brave enough to go to the store without full battle makeup, you may not be ready for what your family history reveals. 
There are no benefits to finding and writing an abridged family history.  You might as well just take up something purely creative.

I have heard people argue that geneology is NOT Real history unless there is some BIG moment.  Everyone's family was here for the BIG moments.  EVERYONE'S!

My mother loved telling me about the night that "The War of the Worlds" was on the radio-live.  She knew it was a fictional story, but it was quite dramatic, and her own father got a little revved up before she convinced him it was like a movie.  Apparently, quite a few people had a problem with mistaking that particular production as a genuine live reporting event.  Must have been a little like walking into a showing of "The Blair Witch Project" and thinking it was a news program.

That was history.  That was what her family was doing during that bit of history.  For some people, they would have slept through it, others got out their guns or shivered in their beds.  Everyone alive at that time was somewhere doing something.  History is all about perspective.

Our family history helps to connect us to our roots.  Roots provide sustenance.  They ground us.  They anchor us.  They connect us to the space-time continuum. 

I have heard people say--"I don't have a family history, I'm adopted".  They are still connected.  They KNOW, if they just think about it, that their family goes back to the beginning of humans, just like everyone else's family does.

 If you don't know your history and can't find your history,  it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.  It just is a mystery.  If you are really disturbed by the mystery, you can do things like one of the autosomal genetic tests or you can dig really hard--this might actually be a bad thing, as our search for our history should not take over our lives and the brick walls of adoptions can be pretty hard and frustrating.  You can borrow your spouses history or your adoptive family will most likely be glad to share theirs.  Or you can make one up--just remember to keep it real, none of that kings and heros and famous actors crap.

Knowing about the people we came from can help us recognize our strengths and appreciate the diversity of our quirks and strangities.  It can also help us be less judgemental, less arrogant, and less certain of our own superiority. 

Anything that makes us more aware of who we are, what we are, and where we fit into the larger picture is a good thing.  And in those BIG history moments, those BIG historic people were larger than life--the rest of the time, they were just eating, sleeping, toileting, doing chores and pondering the very same things the rest of us were.