Is Obama the End of Black Politics?

69  bar rises 30.00 0mph NE  dew-point 63  sunrise 6:15  sunset 8:20  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon   moonrise 1926  moonset 0334

A fascinating article in the NYT magazine, Is Barack Obama the end of black politics?

One of the more interesting ideas, which comes from the new generation of black leadership–more Obama than John Lewis–that an Obama presidency might find itself hampered when trying to deal with black issues.  How can you present your community as victimized if Michelle, Barrack and the kids are in the Whitehouse?  A speculation, in my opinion, that reveals the extreme naivete of American politics.

That there are issues in the train of identity politics goes without saying.  Women earn less than men.  Still.  Blacks still end up in jail disproportionately to whites.  Gays do not have the right to marry or have partner benefits.  All these are true.  But.  The big divider is not identity, not gender, race, or sex.

No.  It is, as it always has been, class.  While identity plays a role, class determines.  If you do not have adequate cash, you do not live in the good neighborhood where your kid goes to the good school, learns dominant class cultural mores.  This whole argument goes back to the rise of the new left.  The new left did not pick up socialism as its banner, but struck out for analysis of the “system.”  Was there an oppressive overclass that manipulated power to the disadvantage of the poor, women, blacks? Of course.  It was then as it is now the capitalist elite, the ruling class.

I know what you’re thinking.  This train left the station a long time ago and never arrived at its destination.  Look at Eastern Europe, the Soviet Union, even the People’s Republic of China.  None of them are poster children for socialism.  Correct.  They illustrate the bankruptcy of Marxist-Leninism, a system in which even communism did not have a fair chance.

The failure of early 20th century Marxist-Leninism is not a critique of socialism.  It is a critique of a unique experiment in totalitarian government and a corrupted revolution.  Furthermore, it does not dismantle the critique of capitalism made by socialists.  It only highlights the genuine difficulty of changing the course of a behemoth long underway.

Obama does not need to deal with black or Latino issues.  He needs to deal with poverty.  We need a government which allows no child and no adult to go without housing, food or health care.  We need a political system which ensures the equal education of all its children and full employment for its adults.  As the rise of the black middle-class has shown, if the issue of poverty is dealt with the dynamics change forever.  Has this rise eliminated racism?  No.  Has Hilary Clinton’s run for the presidency eliminated sexism? No.  Will these pathologies of a traditional society still remain and need amelioration?  Yes.

Economic empowerment increases the capacity of these groups to fight for themselves and to find their natural allies in our political system.

So, no.  An Obama white house will not weaken the ability of advocates to make their case, because the first case to be made is against poverty, against class bias.

Making a Contribution

74  bar steady  29.92 6mph NE  dew-point 63  sunrise 6:14 sunset 8:20

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon   moonrise 1926  moonset 0334

When I was young, I used to read about the decline of Western civilization and I decided it was something I would like to make a contribution to.    George Carlin, RIP

Gathered up dried onions and put them in Clementine and old Amazon boxes.  Our crop now rests on two shelves of book-case in the utility room.  A cool morning and clouds made the harvest very present to me.  We gather inside the fruits the earth has given us.

The Arcosanti bell rings with its rich, deep tone in the winds occasioned by the shifts in barometric pressure.

Kate’s back to exercising.  Good to see.

Politics will, once again, absorb more and more of my time.  The web has many tools for the nascent citizen lobbyist.  I’ve located a few that are helpful.  This blog now has them added to the links.

Tired, but Feeling Good

67  bar steady 29.79 0mpn NNE dew-point 61  sunrise 6:14  sunset 8:22  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon

A full Sierra Club day.  Interviews all morning and early afternoon.  Home for a nap.  Workout.  Back in for the full committee meeting.  Even though I get the general thrust of the committee, I’m still playing catch-up on the current political landscape and Sierra Club positions.  Fortunately, I’m with folks who are well versed in both things.  I can listen and learn.  At times I can participate, too.

Long ago someone told me, or I read, politics is arithmetic.  When you work in a PAC, which is what the political committee is, you make decisions based on numbers.  What was the spread in the last election?  What is the history, what are the trends?  Where do we have members?  How many?  Where are those races where we can make a difference? How?  Later on the arithemtic becomes talking to voters, registering voters, then getting voters to the polls.  Your voters.  When you have a limited amount of money and personnel and time, choosing high value work is important.

Josh Davis, the chair of the committee, is a political analyst by trade and helps us understand the trade-offs and possibilities.

Tired, but feeling good.

Politickin’

78  bar steady  29.78  0mph WNW dew-point 62  sunrise 6:12  sunset 8:22 Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon

“A belief which leaves no place for doubt is not a belief; it is a superstition.” – Jose Bergamin

A quick note.  To bed early last night for 8AM candidate interview at Sierra Club.  In for that and two other interviews plus some work on a mailing.  Good experience.  Bought sushi and collard green salad at Seward Co-op.  Talked with Dan Endreson, chair of the endorsing committee and Katarina, the intern from Germany.  Both conversations interesting and fruitful.  More on them later.

I like the fizz of going in, being part of, using the old political gears and levers.  They have not rusted up yet, so I can still help.  Off to bed for a nap because the political committee itself meets at 6:30 PM  tonight.

Hydroponics, Pt. II

77  bar falls 29.72  2mph ENE dew-point 65  sunrise 6:11 sunset 8:24  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon

With Kate I decided on the next hydroponic plantings.  One bed of different lettuce varieties and the other, lower bed with a sausage like green tomato, Rainbow Chard, Red Buran peppers, sweet long peppers and an egg plant.  This is more ambitious than the first batch, but I believe I understand the process better.  We will also start oregano and rosemary plants later on, perhaps September.

Kate’s going to go to Interior Gardens with me sometime this week and look at the gro-room.  This setup would have to go in the furnace room.  It would have lights on rails so they can move and hydpronic bathes on the floor or on platforms.  This would allow us to grow larger plants that our current setup does not allow, primarily due to height restrictions.

If we do this, I’d like to see it set up for winter.  I would then turn the upstairs set-up toward flowers and start-ups for next year’s out door garden.

Tomorrow morning I plan to head in to the Sierra Club for candidate screenings and to help with a mailing.  Then back home for a nap, and in again in the evening for the meeting of the political committee.

It’s sunny out after a rain.  The garden glows.

Why Does Gardening Inspire Us?

65  bar steady  29.78  0mph E  dew-point 64  sunrise 6:11  sunset 8:24  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon  moonrise 1816  moonset  0130

Rain all night.  After a night of moisture the air is cool and the garden looks replenished.  The lily bubils I set out in their soil plugs yesterday got a good drenching.  Forgot to mention yesterday that I also planted a stem with the bubils on it, apparently this was the old method of regeneration.  It makes sense because it’s what the plant intends.  After die back the stem and its bubils would fall to the ground and sprout from there.

While looking at the tomatoes yesterday, I had a realization, one you’ve probably made already.  When the tomato fruits are not ripe, they blend in with the bushy plant and its leaves.  Once they are ripe, that is, ready for distribution by hungry critters, they turn red.  Then, they stand out against the green.  Mother nature reverses the human traffic light, for her green means stop and red means go.

When I set aside a book review to purchase the book The Brother Gardeners, it made me think about gardening from a different perspective.  That is, why does gardening inspire us, over and over again?  We do not write books of a philosophical bent about agriculture, at least not many.  I can’t recall any, but there must be some.  So why does gardening get so much ink; it is an act usually irrelevant to economic fortunes.

Here’s one answer.  Gardening is a unique experience for each one who engages it.  The topography of your land, its winter and summer extremes, annual rainfall, the microclimates, the amount of work you put in to the soil, your ability to match plants with all these variables, the time you can devote, all these factors plus many more make certain that even the person gardening next door has a different experience than you do.

Within that unique experience though, there is a universal moment, an archetypal moment.  Each time we provide support and care to a plant, any plant, we relive a defining event in all human history, the neo-lithic revolution.  Somewhere, around 10,000 years ago or so, somebody, probably a woman, noticed that plants grew from seeds.  Little by little this led to tending the first gardens, a bulwark against the vagaries of hunting and gathering.

This changed the world.

Gardening, too, remains the most common activity, perhaps after parenting, that gives us the sense of co-creation with the forces of life.  In each unique experience, from tending African Violets in a windowsill to tomato plants and corn outside, we have to live on plant time.  We wait for the seeds to sprout.  We wait for the leaves to grow.  We wait for the blooms.  We wait for the fruits to set.  We wait for the fruit to mature.  Though we can, and do, fiddle with these factors most of us allow the plant to lead us.

In this cycle, as old as plant life itself, older than the animals, is the paradigm for our own lives.  Thus, when we weed or harvest, prune or feed we know ourselves part of the vitality of mother earth.  That’s key, we know ourselves as part, not the whole, not the most important part, only a part.

Colma, California City of the Dead

69  bar falls 29.80 1mh SSE dew-point 53  sunrise 6:11 sunset 8:25  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon    moonrise 1816  moonset  0130

Finished Alive in Necropolis. A fascinating book, part ghost story, part coming of age story, part police procedural set in Colma, California.  Colma, California is not just anywhere; it is where San Francisco chose to bury its dead.  There are way more dead people in Colma’s 17 cemeteries, 1.5 million, than citizens, 1, 280.   This one I read almost straight through.  It kept what John Gardner calls the fictive dream alive.

Feels good to have read the last two nights rather than watch TV.  I might let it become a habit.  I love fiction, write fiction.  That’s not to say I don’t pick up non-fiction, in fact, I do.  Quite a bit.  Some folks I know rarely read fiction.  I rarely read non-fiction books through in the same way I do novels.  I tend to treat them as resources, reading them more in the manner of college reading.  I seek the big ideas, the general arc of the argument.  Sometimes, I’ll finish them, but rarely.

Kate is home, the night is pleasant.  The kids are healthy, the grandkids, too.  And the dogs.  The gardens productive and the flowers are beautiful.  A good now.

Bubil Plucking

74  bar falls 29.85  0mph NNW dew-point 56  sunrise 6:11  sunset 8:25  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon

The punk hairdos of our Country Gentlemen corn now resemble pubic hair, albiet a dark purple.  Sex and the country gentlemen.  Though I’ve seen corn grown all my life, I’ve never done it myself.  The simple, elegant sexuality of these green giants intrigues me.  The tassel pops out of the top, spreads its stamens.  The developing ears–seed pods–push out this delicate female part, the silk, to receive the pollen which falls down as wind rustles the tassel.  Each seed on the ear has a silk that runs straight to it.  A gravity based system.  One of the tiny miracles in a garden of major miracles.

There is nothing on the planet so miraculous as the photosynthetic driven production of carbohydrates.  Without this marvel the food chain has no beginning link.  No beginning link, no chain at all.  It would not be out of place to stop by a plant tonight or tomorrow, put your hands together, bow a bit and say Namaste.  A gracias, too, perhaps.

Kate’s home.  She had fun with the grandkids.  She’s really become a grandma and a good one.  A pleasure to see.  She cooked tonight.  Spaghetti squash, tomato cucumber and onion salad, fish.  All but the fish from our place.

This evening I plucked bubils from the leaf junctions of three of my lilium.  After dipping them in some root  hormone, I took a pair of pick-ups and slotted them into soil pellets.  The pellets went into small plastic six packs.  The whole went out to the garden to receive water and sun.  After they’ve grown a bit, I’ll transplant them to the second tier bed down by the patio.  I’ve never tried propagating lilies this way before, but it was common in the 19th century according to my lily culture book.

The Earth, a Sacred Place

79  bar falls 29.96  0mph NE  dew-point 56  sunrise 6:10 sunset 8:25  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon

I got this off the Permaculture listserv.

“(I find this is a good reminder to recite every morning.)
Diadra

A Prayer for Gaia by Rose Mary O’Malley

As I breathe in your air, eat your fruits and drink your water, let me be sustained and nourished so that I may serve.

As I use your resources for clothes, shelter and warmth, let me be strengthened so that I may give back more than I have taken.

As I drink in the beauty of your oceans, flowers, blue sky and stars, let me be so filled with beauty that I will bring only love and joy to your inhabitants.

As I am nourished, taught and loved by your inhabitants, let me so filled with love and knowledge that I joyfully work to assure a fair distribution of your treasures.”

It is an example what I believe to be true, that is, many many people consider the earth a sacred place and have the intention of reverence and worship toward her.  The whole neo-pagan movement with its mix and match invocation of Europe’s ancient pantheons and perhaps some Egyptian influence does not reflect the rootedness of this sentiment in American soil. (That is, the American manifestation of it.  I believe this is a global phenomenon.) It is also not the case that the Native American reverence for the earth is other than a salutary reminder since their experience is so different from that of us boat people.

We need a way of following the seasons that respects our American experience of this vast and wonderful land.  We need a way of honoring mother earth that borrows, yes, from other cultures, but does not presume to make their ways our ways.  We need, as Emerson said, a religion of revelation to us, not the history of theirs.   And that revelation comes from two sources:  our experience of the outer world–this land, its peoples and our experience of other peoples and other lands; and, our experience of our inner world and its own universe, added to our resonance with the outer world.

This is the pagan lovesong that I hear in the hearts of so many people, one that needs articulation and expansion.  This is like Brian Swimme’s work, too.

This faith, this reverence and worship of the earth, as in Ms. O’Malley’s prayer, is an ur-faith, or a proto-faith, a faith that comes prior to others,  a faith whose acceptance does not contradict the Mulism or the Buddhist, the Taoist or the Christian, but complements, supplements them.  For some, like me, it is an adequate faith, enough to sustain me on my journey and as I contemplate the life after this one, or others, it is not enough, but one that needs some salvation instrument or some philosophical cleanser.  That’s all right.

Remember The Sabbath Day And Keep It Holy

76  bar steady 29.97  0mph NEE dew-point 58  sunrise 6:10 sunset 8:25  Lughnasa

Waxing Gibbous Corn Moon    moonrise 1633 moonset 0040

Strange how I have to relearn, sometimes again and again, simple home truths.  A day of rest is good for the soul.  The Jews knew it.  The traditional Christian community knew it.  It may be a Western contribution to humanity.  I’ll have to check, but I don’t think the Asian communities have a similar notion.  Yes, they have festivals and holidays, that’s for sure shared, but the notion of a weekly day of rest?  I don’t know.  Those of you who read from Southeast Asia, what do you know?

Anyhow, I woke up today recharged and ready to go.  This in spite of my lingering doubts yesterday.  Remember the Sabbath Day and keep it holy.  Quite a while back I got interested in the idea of sacred time, my commitment to the Celtic calendar is an example.  I also observe a week long retreat at the end of each year thanks to the Mayan concept that the last five days of the year are best left alone in terms of work.

I took from the Spanish cultures, especially Colombia and Mexico, the siesta.  A nap a day continues to be a cornerstone of how I live daily.

The religious communities with whom I shared a vocation for a time convinced me of the value of regular retreats.  The retreats and the Sabbath day have been honored more in the breach than the observance, but I believe that is about to change.  Our body needs sleep, perchance to dream, and, it turns out, our mind does, too.  Recent research shows that the mind sifts, weighs, analyzes and interprets the days events while we sleep.  I suspect the same thing occurs when we take a regular caesura from the usual rhythms of our week and our year.

Please note I’m not talking about vacations here.  Those exist for a different reason, I believe.  Vacations allow us to vacate the norm and experience another world.  They are more for fun and for education seen as fun.

The holy rhythms of which I write here are different.  They focus on the spirit, the care and maintenance of our soul.  Our doubts about such a metaphysically evanescent idea may have contributed to our immersion in and the stickiness for us of the material, outer world.

Well, time to put this regathered energy to work.  See you on the flipside.