Thursday November 17th marked what would have been (and I suppose still is) the 2 month anniversary of Zucotti. In commemoration QC had a Teach – In event which I was not too thrilled about, considering the huge day of action that was unfurling in the city. I was somehow hardcore recruited to speak by the organizing board of the teach in, a body I was somehow drafted into.. And to top all this off, the speech actually went well; got some laughter from my cynicism which is more than I can say for myself sometimes.. SO here it is.
My scene opens dogmatically, in a stuffy room, as it often does. Fingers hypnotically type to reach already checked email. As if there will be new developments, as if people cared. Or something sparked the revolution while I was temporarily unavailable… No doubt.
When the bottom of your (sales) receipt at the library beckons you to donate via the Queens County Bank, is when the bigger picture of public services suddenly becomes clear. It’s usually something simple that triggers the reality that you’re in it for the long haul.
I am a student, first and foremost but it often times feels as if I am a worker, one in the same, in a monotonous 9 to 5. Or a retail clerk counting the minutes until the shift change. Why is education setup this way? Why are political premises only feasible through pristine channels?
The system has this propensity to administer multiple choice tests. A B or C. Either you are bound by the morality of your legislator, set to a life of immobility, or preyed upon by opportunists seeking to LEAD YOU to the revolution. Rarely is there a monumental choice to fill in the blank, to effect.
There are choices to make but why are we so intent on choosing one based on pre-calculated, alien, terms? To get the grade, make the cut – to make a decision that will supposedly affect the rest of our lives and then some. In order to get on with life we choose, often rashly. But what if I told you there was more to it… what if I suggested you nix the multiple choice exam and enter the realm of your contemplations.
That may be terrifying. For once you’re not being asked to regurgitate another’s POV. For once there’s little need to look around and see to what ends the sea your frustrated peers have been swept into… It’s about time to give yourself some time, don’t ya think?
OWS is a movement. Mental picture of movement: the opposite of stagnancy, a dynamic and multi faceted – monstrous force of emotion that happened to sweep not just our city but many others as well. In the one enemy – one fight rhetoric it’s crucial to remember that each city has their own issues; shortcomings that are usually transmitted through tight knit grapevines, never mainstream networks.
This era marks a new chapter of neo-liberalism not just for NYC, even the U.S. but the regions of the world that we affect in drastic ways. By living through this, we are all a part of this, but the blame game, a tactic born of anti-unionism, is a wave pool of frustrations that perpetuate riffs in any movement.
During the Great Strike Wave of 1945-46 thousands walked off the job. The idea of crossing a picket line, despite personal gripes, was sacrilege; the action of strike was in itself a REASON. Unified, people followed through because they were already victims of being slighted by the flow of things. They knew that their presence had to be rekindled so as not to be abetted by concessions. There was a general consensus that communities would ensure the tides of hunger were not welcome in times of uncertainty.
But what is this movement now? Could such personal sacrifices be worth it or even feasible to ask of those living frugally as it is? Zucotti, in its capacity, could not include those slaving to make due our insane standard of living here. Occupy any American City could not open its doors for those undocumented persons, for those who spend their nights sipping black coffee to catch up with academia after their ten hour shift at Walgreens, even if they actually HAD doors. But just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they are less a part of this.
I remember the days when chains and baggy pants were enough to prove one’s anger. In an environment of pure frustration, the high school, the dots left unfiltered at the top of the BRITA pitcher are quite obvious. The relentlessly insecure student body obliviously insists upon this. Some say it’s the cruelest days of our lives, but I wonder how different this mini society was in comparison to the more encompassing one. After all if they lied to us about the peaceful discovery of America, what else could be left out, unfiltered?
Adversity is something I’d venture to say we all share, in some way or another – whether it is superficially or otherwise. Surely we can at least relate on feeling like an oddity at times.
Upon seeing an old friend; relighting candles that have long gone out – candles that have been stowed away, as memories, to help us through dark times. Our encounter ends on yet another sour note.
“Let’s keep in touch” they say- do you have a facebook? Whatever happened to old fashioned email messages, phone calls? The more detached we are the longer it takes for a real connective spark to pop off.
The movement doesn’t stop after we go to sleep, it continues through the night in a twisted scope of happenstance, dancing in a beautiful phenomenon known as dialectics. “Aye” does not lead to “Bee” so cleanly, the movement was not chiseled with a wet saw, like a slab of marble. It’s not rare, not even new. It has existed for quite some time now, mostly in condemnation. By those that fear the change; in reservation of their class interests or in fear of fear itself as FDR said during a similar crisis close to 80 years ago.
My relatives made sure to impress upon me the precarious times they grew up within and now I wonder if it was a premonition, a mental note to prepare for things to come.
An infamous political theorist once allotted society to a machine, one that spewed not just infinite commodities but a seamless product of human subordination as well. Today we find ourselves begging for jobs; ones that will “pay the bills”; occupations that will not sustain potentials for ACTUAL growth. As far as I know there exists no survey inquiring upon how much per capita SANITY you have reported losing this year. And so be it. It’s high time we survey each other instead.
In part I think that’s what OWS has attempted. To me it has been an epic journey of solicitations, unsafe spaces, and solidarity, a journey that is for sure not over. Through the haze of headlines beckoning NO demands, motives or core organizers something beautiful has emerged:
An idea that perhaps we don’t have to take subtle changes, turned monstrous, as business as usual. Just as those who came before of us realized, we don’t have to take this.
While there will always be the insecure – the fidgety searching for “THEE answers”; those intent on hashing out life like a middle school current events assignment; scavenging for our Whos, Whats, Wheres, Whens, our WHYS before we even have.
I venture that instead, imagine a world where options are endless, then step into it.
