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March 29, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty Four
“IN PURSUIT OF RELEVANCE”
The ring of the word is as clear to me now as it was at the end of the turbulent 1960s. The Institute for Black Studies was chugging along; and along with a host of other notions I eagerly entertained at the time, Relevance was a key concept. I put it this way: any given action could be deemed as relevant to the extent that it (the action) either more clearly defined/explained or played a part in resolving the plight of Black people in America. Obvious I considered the existence and activities of the Institute as unquestionably relevant. Well, the Institute is now long gone, but my clinging to the definition hasn’t. One major difference is my more general application. For example, a few months ago I happened to stop by the re-located Lucy Florence Coffee House in Leimert Park. I hadn’t been in quite some time so I hung out for longer than it took to drink a cup of their famous Monks coffee and a snack. The snack was provided by the owners (Richard and Ron) for folks who showed up for the weekly Urban Forum. While scooping up the greeze, I could overhear some of the conversation. It was decidedly upbeat and it was focused on some “bad time” one of the guys there had had with a policeman somewhere on Crenshaw. For me, the subject matter wasn’t new nor was the tough guy stance of the speaker. Others there offered up approving “Right On’s” or something like that. I just smiled, loaded the small plate and headed back to my table. As I reflected on what I had just “witnessed” it stuck me as both necessary and irrelevant. I would never blame any person for venting what to them was/is intense and personal; but making the connection between that expression and meaningful change is a real stretch. Personalizing, I knew that at an earlier time, I would have been in that same room. Now, the discussion seemed almost trivial
I had that same sense recently when considering the role of a certain person for whom I have maintained a high degree of respect and disagreement at the same time. I sent her a congratulatory note and card after her appointment and I have watched her high level career with interest and pride…and yet with that same remnant of disagreement: Ms Condi Rice remains a paragon of pride and professionalism. And that’s a good thing. Still Ms Condi Rice is not relevant to the cause of peace. And that’s not a good thing. It is anything but a character flaw on her part. She just happens to champion a cause or program that is decidedly antiquated, dangerous and…irrelevant. More to the point: She is an ardent supporter of a man who is the shining “star” of 21st Century irrelevance…George W. Bush, (present) President of the United States. Unbridled hubris is most assuredly a deeply entrenched character flaw of the president. There is nothing that is on this country’s drawing board –to the extent that the public is made aware the drawing board’s contents -- that will in fact lead toward a better (meaning more peaceful) world so long as national and international violence continues to receive high marks. George Bush and Condi Rice and Dick Cheney and ex-Donald Rumsfeld are distinctly irrelevant. But it doesn’t stop there. First, irrelevant people are the last ones to recognize that such is their plight. Second, once they become aware of that truth, they are the last ones to acknowledge it. And third, being irrelevant does not by any stretch diminish one’s humanity in the more inclusive sense of the word. It simply means that what one does and says has infinitely less importance than was once the case. It means that being quoted is less an honor and recognition of one’s positive impact on contemporary history than on giving further evidence as to why one should, in all fairness, be disregarded.
On a larger, more public scale there are two distinct advantages. First, one no longer has the need or desire to turn to that individual for anything of substance. Irrelevance confirms supports and perpetuates irrelevance. It’s that cold, it’s that simple. Secondly, the previous adherent or supporter now has time that is open to pay attention to people and events that are newly or historically relevant. It’s like purchasing something with a high rate of return as opposed to investing in stock that is traveling a downward spiral. I can’t say that anyone would want to spend a lifetime tracking people and situations that have dramatically or slowly shifted from one column or list to the other, viz., from relevance to irrelevance. That makes as little sense to me as tracking people who have moved from young to old or older. All the same, it is worthwhile to occasionally reflect and comment on the fact that many things (and people) aren’t what they used to be. Finally, Reverend Jesse Jackson and the present iteration of the NAACP are irrelevant; the mayor of Los Angeles, political to a fault, is relevant; Willie Brown remains relevant; Mother Teresa and St. Augustine are eternally relevant; al Sharpton leans more toward comedic than relevant or irrelevant; and Barack Obama is too much ahead of his time to find a place on The Bow Tie list.
~
“IT’S A WORLD OF NUMBERS AND WE’RE ALL COUNTING”
There was that crazy in-between mental space in which we scurry to decide which option we should choose. The positive one or the negative one? Our binary-trained brains and life experience “force” us to not only make a choice, but to do so quickly. Well, in this instance I resisted the urge and simply smiled to see son Bryan’s lanky frame in a Los Angeles Times photo. The occasion was a poorly attended gathering of people who met at the Zephyr Coffee House in Pasadena at the initial coming together of Pasadena for Obama. But STOP! Hold on…for a moment. Let’s look more critically at what I just said. “Poorly attended?” According to whom? A larger number had said they would be there but they didn’t show up. So……..???
Historically, it has taken me a long time to “get it” when thinking about and living with the reality of what I call harsh human numbers. And “harsh” is not a negative word in this context. When working in community relations with the L.A. County Health Department, I attended countless meetings, some focused and productive, others raucous and time-wasters by anyone’s definition. I recall a particular meeting that had been well planned and should have included a cast of thousands…or at least many more than those who did come. The woman who would prove to be my “guardian mentor” wisely informed me that the people who were there were the ones who were supposed to be there. The others (those who were not there) were where they were supposed to be. (Conversely) if they were supposed to be at this meeting, they’d be here….It was so clear, so simple as to be almost scary. Many years later, the same issue came up regarding the number of people who came to a particular church meeting. A dear friend and confidante calmed the nerves of the anxious with his observation went something like this: “Jesus only had show up12 and they were all jive dudes!”
When Bryan remarked some time ago that he was concerned that some of the people he had invited to join with him for a trek to the local mountains, I found myself on the dad-passes-along-wisdom train by sharing with him some of the above. Those who come to hike are the hikers. The others may be hikers as well…but not this time. Life and hikes must move on unimpeded by a paucity of numbers (people). So, the gathering at the Zephyr was a success and could only have inarguably be a failure if nobody arrived. In and of itself, it is not just about “the count.” Rather the question – if there is one – is “Can I be counted on?”
At Antioch, I say this to students who might be giving some thought to arriving late for class expecting to have material already covered reviewed for them: “Two (including me) is company, three’s a class.” And…drats!..with that approach I didn’t even get my picture in the Los Angeles Times!
~
“The (relatively) old order changeth…” with this in mind, I decided to include more photos in The Bow Tie realizing that even I get tired of endless streams of words. So a new feature will be the inclusion of recent photos with minimal captions:
Accident on Crenshaw Apple Hill’s Rupert Thompson Happy Sisters
Posted by mbowen at 07:56 AM | Comments (0)
March 26, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty Three
“IF MUSIC BE THE FOOD
OF LOVE… EAT UP!!
There is a strange and almost dangerous fabricated conversation floating around that goes something like this: Person #1 (Reflective) “Oh, for the good old days.” Person #2 (Incredulous and emphatic) “What ‘good old days?’”). Many of us laugh when we hear this or are participants on either side of the exchange. Actually it is a modest put down of what used to be and a surrender to the harsh realities of a time (the present) which seems all but totally out of our control. A couple of days ago I heard a newscaster do a piece on a challenge to the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors for their alleged failure to take steps to bring the “Quality of Life” in this massive county up to the level of other California counties. Well, quiet as it’s kept, the issue of the quality of life is – thankfully – not solely in the hands of politicians, local or otherwise. At whom would any of us dare to point an accusative finger or fist when considering what has been happening to the expression of the gods…music?
In a crazy kind of way, I don’t care. That is, I find it infinitely more uplifting, less stressful and just plain pleasant to flood myself with the music I truly enjoy than to devote a lot of time and energy railing against the machine of musical mania. So, last Friday evening, at the invitation of a dear friend, Dr. Lou, I accepted an invitation to be treated to “dinner and performance” at Hollywood’s famed Catalina’s Bar and Grill. Also in the party was Greg, an aficionado of world music. [Note: Both men are indispensable members of the St. John’s Men’s Club.] It was a very special evening not only because we enjoyed each other’s company, but because Sir Ahmad Jamal lit the place up with sheer pianistic excellence. Other than for my regular radio and computer Windows Media Player – both feeble by comparison -- I had forgotten just how good live jazz piano sounds. It was nothing but an all too rare treat.
I don’t have the word skill to faithfully capture the joys of music or film or the dramatic arts. Since I try to “expose” myself to as much of the latter as I can, it bothers me not to be able to do so. That’s not a flaw; it’s just not my thing. The best I can do is attempt to convey what I felt or heard or saw. And so it was that night. I was immediately reminded of how skilled a broad range of jazz musicians are. Some have had formal training; others had natural talent without the experience of the music academy. But that hasn’t caused any loss or slippage. Hearing Ahmad Jamal that night made all critical journalistic/literary assessment less than superficial. I was dramatically reminded of the phenomenal contribution jazz artists have made and continue to make to the remaining sanity of a topsy-turvy world; how they continue to either pave new musical territory or revisit those delightful roads of assonance and dissonance already so well-traveled and (to be sure) mastered. Ahmad Jamal came prepared. As folks from the old school would put it, “He cooked.” And, along with my two buddies, I was glad to have been in the kitchen.
“RABBIT PROOF FENCE”
As movie titles go, this is one I would easily bypass without a second thought. But the larger lesson is that our conditioned way(s) of doing so much of what we automatically do (without question) may serve tradition well, but does nothing to help us grow as human beings. O.K. Philosophy notwithstanding, let me say here categorically that Rabbit Proof Fence is one of the best movies I have ever seen. And I know upfront that I definitely cannot do it justice in the space of this Bow Tie or in an endless string of accolades. Let me start by simply saying that if you, dear reader of The Bow Tie, haven’t seen it, do so at your earliest convenience. If fact, even if doing so is inconvenient, see it anyway.
My general pattern is to stay away from “message” entertainment. That is, if there is an intentional design to bring to my already filled mind some deep-seated or superficial message, I tend to stay away. That doesn’t mean that I automatically reject messages, it just happens that I am extremely selective when I select the source of same. I seek enlightenment or even wisdom; but I use a rather selfish cafeteria style when doing so. When I am unexpectedly surprised, however, there is little that can top that! And so it was with this film. I rented it at the suggestion of a friend and the spin-off from the viewing remains quite strong. Not only did I fully dig the film (in and of itself) but, for the first time, I was equally rewarded by the special features section. What usually happens – or at least this has been my experience – is that the director and, at times, some of those who appear in the film – informally “chat” about what was going on at the time of the shooting. Sometimes this commentary borders on the ridiculous in that what is on screen very adequately speaks for itself. On occasion, the commentary is a rewarding reflection. With Fence the commentary is truly uplifting because I was able to “see” the director and the youthful characters as both capable artists and “regular” human beings. Noyce unapologetically acknowledges the hurdle of being a White man who was attempting to gain the trust and be able to deliver an important story about a people quite different from himself. And then, there was (and very well is) the normal gap that exists between children and adults…even when the latter are “linked” biologically and culturally.
Other tasks on my laundry list precluded me from watching the film more than once, and even that one time was done in bits and pieces. I had to take it back to the rental piece, appropriately called Vidiots (in Santa Monica). But I did the next best thing: went to Amazon.com and ordered it. When it arrives, I plan to put together a study guide of sorts – extracting the historical, contemporary and symbolic value of the film. I won’t get ahead of myself here and lay out the full range of “meaningful extracts” simply because by the time I look at Rabbit Proof Fence again, there may be more or fewer cinematic gems than I now find so significant. But I can say this: ALL of those adults with whom I have discussed the flick since I watched it a few days ago were equally albeit differently moved by it. And that’s encouraging. #
Posted by mbowen at 12:33 PM | Comments (0)
March 20, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty Two
“GETTING’ GORED, WARMED, ALL HOT AND BOTHERED ‘BOUT THE PLANET”
No…I am not intentionally or even casually a conspiracy theorist…BUT (ah, I just had to spoil it) I find it – what’s the best word for it – peculiar that there are emerging conversations suggesting that the best or logical choice for Democrats in 2008 is, Al “the Pal” Gore. Gimme a break!! The reasons are many but I’ll just touch on a few here. First, Al is a loser. Oh, I am fully aware of the harshness of saying that. We’ve all said it or have heard others say it: “I was robbed!” And in the case of Gore vs. Bush, the statement is totally credulous. In fact, America and the rest of the world is still paying for that political heist. All the same, most unfortunately, George Bush is this country’s president. Tsk tsk. Weep, weep.
Pal Al has done anything but find a quieter corner or quiet cause. He has instead dramatically, proudly and courageously taken on the very serious matter of global warming. I do indeed commend him for this crusade. He is and has been carrying and delivering no nonsense message that as inhabitants of planet Earth, we are all in trouble. That appreciation notwithstanding – to say nothing of Hollywood’s Oscar award, I found the film touted more generously that it deserved. So here I was looking at Gore on a screen; and there he was making his prophetic pitch talking to an audience that was (right!) looking at a screen. It reminded me of the endlessness of hold a mirror up to a mirror. Which was the real deal? Or, as those old enough to recall the expression, “Which twin has the Tony?” Then he does this about his son in the film which was a nice and sentimental touch but had nothing whatsoever to do with global anything. That, I suppose is Al or Hollywood or both.
The larger point is this. The democrats have 3 candidates of whom only one should be taken seriously enough to earn the nomination. And because that “message” is so obvious, so unbelievably simple, many will miss it. We are so heavily conditioned to look at or for the greater complexity in everything…even when there just ain’t none!
To his credit and to my knowledge, Gore has said nothing in the form of thanking those who have so ridiculously started this conversation. And beyond that, he hasn’t even hinted at an interest in running. And that silence is what makes my conspiratorial mind refuse to close down on this matter. It’s like all of a sudden, out of nowhere, big bang busto! More Gore! Another candidate! My hope is that he continue to get all of us to chill the planet as needed. That’s a tall order though I have no doubt that Al Gore is up to the assignment. But the book on the ups and downs and “almosts” of his of his political life is no longer on the best seller list.
#
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CHICO – TOO PROUD TO BE ARROGANT
What I usually do is make a note of topics I plan to write about for The Bow Tie. And in this particular instance I settled on the above. For a lot of reasons I have been thinking about Chico quite a bit of late. It could be because of 1) the reality of aging –a joyful reality, by the way and not a complaint – 2) the totally unmanageable flood of silly and stupid issues which continue to surface and secure attention amidst “public affairs and behavior, or 3) the desire of wanting to address a subject that is ever uplifting and inspirational. As the reader might well imagine, this certainly won’t be the last time I write about Chico.
A good starting point is what I see as the countless examples of plain and simple pride disappearing from all too many Black males…along the shaky continuum that runs from boys to man. Sadly, it is not always easy to say who’s out front, who’s “leading/directing.” One can argue that the fault lies with the media. Such a conclusion is not without some modicum of truth; but that same “answer” leaves much out. There has always been “the media” so at some point Black males like everyone else have to ‘fess up and realize that a pointed camera is as much an opportunity as it is a risk to be anything but a paragon of pride. Enter Chico. The consummate Teacher and the silent Preacher. If ever there was a man who walked the (non) talk, it was Chico. As much yakking as he did – oftentimes without having all the information – he is more of an example of a man who lived (i.e., represented himself) in a manner that was consistent with that pride thing.
What I am certain I cannot take pride in is my memory of many of yesteryear’s details. (That’s Brother Ray’s area of expertise.) I don’t remember any conversations with Chico in which he outlined the benefits or other assorted goodies that come as a direct result of being a proud person. All the same, it was no coincidence that he was respected to a large measure because of the pride with which he carried himself…in either a family or public setting. If there was a line he drew in that respect, I wasn’t aware of it.
Arrogance takes another, a different, a much less appealing turn. It wants the world to know how terribly well it plays itself out in the midst of implicit underlings. Pride serves the uncertain or ever sorrowful needs of others whereas arrogance is, by its very sad definition, self-asserting, self-promoting and self-serving. The proud person says, “This is how I live my life and my unspoken hope is that something of what I do or say or think will benefit others.” Conversely, the arrogant one boasts loudly over the life-sounds of everyone and anyone within or beyond his (or her) reach. From the presence of the proud man, we learn much about our ever-striving selves. From the arrogant man, we learn more than we ever wanted or needed to know…about him.
Chico, I am certain, understood this; and my reflecting on him here tells me that I fall short of his pattern; but I am anything but impeded by that realization. What I know, more importantly is that I have been and continue to be blessed by the example of a Proud Black Man. Long live Chico.#
Posted by mbowen at 12:37 PM | Comments (0)
March 17, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty One
“I’M GOD AND… …YOU’RE NOT!”
I think it’s Roberts Rules of Order that has the statement, “Point of clarification.” So before you scratch your head in disbelief that I have really gone off the deep end this time with uncontrolled megalomania, let me clarify. First, in those Bow Ties in which I will be unabashedly opinionated (as opposed to more objectively sharing a personal experience) I will use the Woolsey Hall (wool off of eyes and mind) photo as appears at the left. An earlier Bow Tie shared the rationale. That can be seen as fair warning if you find off beat viewpoint unwelcome food for thought
Now, on to the more weighty subject. A few weeks ago I heard a most unusual “sign off” on NPR. It was during the annual fund drive and, at the end of this particular segment, the two announcers gave their names. Nothing special about that. I don’t remember the specific name but it went something like this: the man said, “I’m John Smith.” The woman said, “I’m Mary Adams and you’re not.” I had to do one of those double takes. What a different statement that was. Not only was she making her own identify known, but she was letting listeners know in a direct way that they (we) are not her! It can be taken as a light touch to the predictable pattern of signing off; or it can be viewed perhaps even existentially. Who one is and who one is not.
Unless I am over-reacting to what has always been the case, I find it pretty amazing that there is so much talk about God of late…to the simultaneous points of clarification, provocation and puking! I recognize the possibility of the “you’re just catching up” syndrome being in place here. That is, everything is always happening all the time but, you’re just catching up because this issue is only now important to you. Where have you been? Were I to “all of a sudden” become fascinated with the plight of the owl or the manufacture of staplers or the history of plastic containers, I would “find” an abundance of articles, conversations, etc. about these subjects. Turns out in this instance, I have always been interested in “God as subject” which, for me has been different from an interest in religion.
I will blindly speculate that the rise in interest can be attributed to: 1) the insertion of God into American politics, 2) the military conflict in the Middle East, 3) the military conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, 4) the “linkage” of God and science and 5) humankind’s abject boredom and frustration with itself. Now, literary protocol perhaps expects that I will now explore each of these items as so listed. Humbug! No way. Too timely, too boring; and, beside, I don’t have any solid data to make the case. So, off with the head of literary protocol here.
What I find to be utterly fascinating is the extent to which men and women not only act as if they were/are God, but talk about God as though they had/have a direct pipeline to God. So, everything and anything “happens” on this turbulent planet because “That’s the way God wants it.” “And how do I know?” “Because he whispered or shouted it to me” or “Because I read it in the ______.” For the most part, when confronted with my fellow believers or non-believers I remain mute. And it’s not because I agree or disagree. I find myself ignorant at a deep level within myself…caught up in tradition, the profound and ridiculous experiences of others and my own ups and downs, plusses and minuses in life. And, that’s all O.K. In doing the self-reflective or self-examining number, I learn that I am always learning; I find that I am ever-finding…and the dynamic of this seemingly endless roller coaster journey is not at all unsettling or, oddly, unstable. Perhaps by personal design, I remain pretty stable or (relatively)unmoved in both my beliefs and unbeliefs.
Point of clarification: I comfortably and consistently believe in (the) God of the Old Testament. In fact, while putting this Bow Tie together I came up with a phrase that best describes where I am theologically or spiritually. [And, in the future, I will be more exacting in properly differentiating these terms.]. The phrase is OTB and it doesn’t mean Off Track Betting…rather it dutifully stands for Old Testament Bob. Interestingly, I only recently learned that what countless millions of us take for granted with the designation, “Old Testament”, is somewhat offensive to Jews. It “positions” the Old (as in Testament) “against” or as being “replaced by” the New (as in Testament). To Jews, “Old Testament” is literally a play on a word and that word is Tanakh. But moving along in this direction puts me at increasing distance from the point I initially intended to make, Testaments notwithstanding. It is “simply” that God has countless “explainers” and “articulators” but no direct pipeline/spokespeople. Oh, I fully know the time-tested tenets of Christianity. That Jesus Christ is the one and only son of God and/or that Jesus Christ is God…in human form. That the essence of Christianity is the ever-repeated “God in three persons, blessed Trinity.” The latter, of course, incorporates Father (i.e., God), Son (Jesus) and Holy Spirit or Holy Ghost.
So what does it come down or up to for purposes of this Bow Tie? Just this: That mankind has positioned itself in the most presumptuous stance of whipping equally grand or flawed brothers and sisters over the spiritual head with all manner of self-elevating blessings and curses motivated or generated by little more than a self-proclaimed affinity with the Divine. That preachers of all kith, kin and klan are never, ever more than unavoidably members of the same club of wanderers, fearful or fearless pilgrims on their (our!) way to “somewhere else.” And that’s fine and perhaps even noble. But no matter how lofty any of us assume ourselves to be, all efforts geared toward “better than” or “holier than” are both understandable and utterly futile. God remains God in spite of his creative creatures.
Finally, the irony of this Bow Tie is its very title. Bob Bowen has taken placed himself in the very position of quoting God! And that makes a point that is as much revealing as it is unforgivable. We humans do what we think we must, want or are inclined to do; but none of us ever have or ever will be able to speak as, in place of or for God. That’s what gives life its elusive meaning. And that’s better than good or great… Believe me! #
Posted by mbowen at 03:50 PM | Comments (0)
March 08, 2007
Bow Tie Twenty
“TAKING THE WOOLSEY OFF”
Ah, sweet memories. The photo accompanying today’s Bow Tie will mean nothing to anyone not from or familiar with the architecture of New Haven. It was taken some years ago behind Woolsey Hall. I have not been inside Woolsey Hall since June, 1954, for the pomp and circumstance of (Hillhouse) high school graduation. And, yes, that was a long time ago. As I usually do when I visit New Haven, I walked many places. Everything seems so close now. For this particular shot, I propped the camera on something – no, I don’t remember what it was – clicked on the timer and scooted over to this spot between the two massive pillars.
Initially, the photo was placed in an album along with countless, nameless others. But it took on special meaning when (bear with me) I gave some thought to the way I think. Not so much what I think about, but the way something works its way around in my head and, eventually, exits by way of writing or conversation. I have no innate need or desire to be different from others as regards thinking, but that is often what happens. Others may view the pattern as one of obstinacy or rebellion. There may be element of truth in the latter so I won’t dislodge that assessment totally. Still, thinking back to those always hectic “growing up years” I recall how important it was to fit in, to be and do like others were “being” and doing. Sometimes I achieved that joy of the non-descript, at other time (as in athletics) I flunked. Such was life. I don’t think compensating was on my mind at that time. I do know, however, what I liked then and what I like now.
The world of ideas had a special appeal because it was so vast, so limitless so…out of control. Ever moving into and out of something else, something often better but always something different. There was for me a youthful combination of joy, challenge and frustration. Chico had “tons” of books and seemed to have mastered each and every one of them. Would I ever catch up? Would I ever get to know even a smidgen of what he seemed to know?
Fast-forward a number of decades to something that occurred to me after having taught an urban studies course I designed and taught. Maybe it was after the 8th or 10th iteration that I thought about how I had been encouraging students to familiarize themselves with the established experts in urban studies: Delores Hayden, Mike Davis, David Harvey, Edward Soja, Michael Dear, William Whyte and Jane Jacobs. I had read their works and to be more than a little knowledgeable, they should do likewise. The mental wake-up call said that mastering someone else’s “thing” might well be impressive, but there was mental and experiential “territory” that would still be missing…although being “other-oriented” they (the students) wouldn’t know this territory. How could they? I had taught them otherwise.
Without giving it much serious consideration, I developed a concept called NUTS, meaning “New Urban Theorists.” The idea was to mentally or theoretically “position” themselves in between any experts of their choosing, to make the effort of understanding the latter as much as possible without agonizing over it [who, for example, really understands Foucault or Derrida?] Then inject or insert their own life experience. The result? What they live, breathe, think, do validates or challenges or even uproots the “masters” as opposed to the reverse being true automatically. Spatial determinists, for example, claim that the space which one occupies determines one’s thinking and behavior. At first glance this simplistic assertion seems harmless enough. Yet, it is out of such narrowing conscripted “wisdom” that people claim “Nothing good ever comes out of the ghetto.” And, were space the ultimate decider, how do we account for King’s Birmingham letters or Malcolm’s revelations or the works of Bonheoffer? For them jail was more of an inconvenience than the ultimate obstacle or impediment.
So, just as we “position” ourselves physically (or spatially), so too we position ourselves mentally, intellectually, spiritually. To be sure, there is the risk of being demonized or rejected or marginalized in some unpleasant manner. There is, on the other hand, the equal possibility of making new connections, disconnecting previous unquestioned linkages or plain and simply becoming wonderfully creative. [St. Teresa of Avila says “Always have courageous thoughts.”]
I don’t give as much though to the outcome as I do to the process. I “allow” the latter to do its own sometimes reckless thing. I worry less about acceptability than I do about the integrity of the journey. Although it may happen, for me it is never about inflicting harm, but rather interjecting another, hopefully provocative and meaningful dimension. Am I ever wrong? Well, gee, I certainly hope so. My learning is as much about my own often ill-defined pursuits as it is about feedback from those with whom I share. And, the best part: more often than not, it is FUN. And none of this is possible unless I “take the wool(sey) off my eyes and mind.”
~
Now, I’m gonna talk about Church. Less about religion than Church. But, of course, I can’t just jump into the subject without giving a small bit of background information about an original plan. A couple of years ago, I got started on a project titled, Way Up In the Middle of Da Air. I wanted to explore my own “religious” background thereby laying the foundation for a number of reflections on the lesser known triumphs and blatant failings of “dis”organized religion. The fact that it never happens tells me how bored I became with the idea of tracking through irrelevance and mediocrity. In its place, I decided to be less lofty and more specific, using as subject matter a series of personal experiences. And I’ll start with one as recent as Sunday, March 4th…just a few days ago.
Well, with the arrival of its (our) new rector, Rev. Canon Mark Kowaleski, St. John’s has taken on a new title. We are now St. John’s Downtown. As might be expected, some parishioners objected to the change. It sounds to “citified” and there is no denominational reference. I like it because of my feeling about large and chaotic cities which, by definition, remain open to new people, new ideas and new challenges. So here it was Los Angeles Marathon Sunday. And what (pray tell) did the good reverend do? Well, he simply moved the service outside thereby really giving substance to the single provocative word, “downtown.” St. John’s got down with the town! That’s Church!
What I find to be rewarding are the surprises in looking more closely at pictures after I’ve taken them. The one included here says more than I had intended. My plan was to have it reflect the chaos of the race – which, by the way, came east to west along Adams Boulevard where the church is located – and the outdoor service. I realize that the picture included here is significantly reduced in size; but with a magnifying glass or some other make-the flick-bigger device, you will see 12 humans, 9 parishioners and 3 clergy. At last count, 9 plus 3 equals 12. Hmmm. For embattled, smug or tepid Christians, the number 12 is…well, cool. And, to my even greater delight, I find in the photograph humans who are Black, White, Latino married, divorced, single by choice, senior, child, gay, straight, regular (i.e., pledging) member, drop-in; and, of course, there’s some overlap and a star-studded photographer! That’s Los Angeles and, I have to proudly say, on Marathon Sunday morning that was St. John’s.
and it is more than just the smugness that too often accompanies being an Episcopalian. In and of itself, that means little to me despite a lifelong entrapment to smells and bells and Chico’s “You will go to church every Sunday!” insistence. As an adult I have become solidly convinced that ritual and tradition range from enriching and uplifting to bizarre and irrelevant; but if the (right at your doorstep or a few blocks away) hungry are not fed – literally – and the naked or near-naked are not given (not sold or exchanged) clothes, then religion has invaded the structure and Church has moved out. The latter isn’t anywhere if it finds no manifestation outside the structure, beyond the rote-ranting of capable and effective Bible quoters. Their role is impressive and even magnetic. But their role is also suspect. So, for St. John’s to open its doors and walk its talk gave the church a real high 5 as it most dramatically moves more meaningfully into the fantastic (non-denominational and ALL inclusive) legions of Church. #
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March 05, 2007
Bow Tie Nineteen
“WHAT STANLEY ALSO SAID THAT NIGHT”
Sir Crouch himself is nobody’s fool. And, in between the earlier mentioned n word references he made that caused me to wince, he made two particular observations which I found to be nothing short of astute. The first had to do with an actual New York subway experience. It went something like this. Crouch got on a subway and saw 4 young Black dudes – high school age. They sported the menacing (“Don’t you say nuthin’ to me”) look and literally sported the outward trappings of “thugdumb” – the big/baggy pants, over-sized tee (as in “taunting”) shirts, the hooded whatever they call it, etc. They slid onto the seats and…just glared and waited (for Godot?), piercing the air with occasional stabs of verbal bad assness. Several stops later some real same age Black thugs got on. For reasons best known to those who have the good fortune of living in NYC, these late arriving dudes were immediately recognized as the real deal. After the subway door closed, one of them sealed the mechanical closure by spitting on the door. For the First Quartet, it was a sudden awakening, a moment of harsh urban revelation. An “aww shit” uncovering, a hastily constructed survivalist wall between the heretofore seeking-searching wannabees and the “I’ll stomp yo’ ass even if you don’t look at me!” dudes. Lions and tigers and subway riding bears. Oh, my!
As if by magic, the first invaders became straight-sitting, clean (as opposed to mean) citizens of the city who had only accidentally put on this silly wardrobe in their haste to get out of the tidy house and arrive at school on time or even early. The farce was brought home when one of this suddenly transformed new breed dutifully looked over to his now very alert colleague and said in a nervously loud voice, “Now what page did Miss Johnson want us to read for homework?” The audience cracked up! Lesson Learned: Separate and Unequal may not be such a bad idea.
Then there was this: To my delight, Crouch took issue with the cries for Barack Obama to establish his authenticity. He used a pithy example to make a point that required no prolonged explanation then or now. Stanley Crouch simply said in effect. “50 Cent is authentic, but questions are raised about Obama.” The joy of the mud continues to reign…and if not supreme, then pretty darn close to it.
~
Monkeys and Mountains Don’t Play
First off let be declare without reservation that I have nothing dramatic against monkeys. I always found them to be noisy and unabashedly cantankerous, but their Homo sapiens counterparts are not indistinguishable in the department. But monkeys remain monkeys ‘cause that’s what they were created, formed or just plain born to be. Once a monkey, always…I mention them here only to make a larger point. That maybe we should just do away with all professional animal trainers! Now here’s the irony about these same trainers. Part one is that they are very good at what they do. Years of study, direct observation and interaction gives them a great deal of knowledge and insight into animal behavior. Presumably they, like no other humans, know about a particular animal’s regular (i.e., normal) habits and the beast’s peculiar quirks and misgivings. The irony, however, is that the general public has no such insight. And the dangerous assumption accompanying such innocent ignorance is that all monkeys or dolphins or horses or bears or plane non-plane riding snakes are just like the very congenial and responsive animals one sees on TV or in the movies or at the circus.
There is a report that was released in the last 2 weeks that warned those who need to be so warned that whales in captivity are prone to display unpredictable behavior. They might maim or kill someone. The predictable human response was one of diplomatically rejecting the report. Now all we can do is wait for the inevitable media story about a crushing or mauling
~
Despite the strange noises one hears late at night whilst camping, it is generally known or at least assumed that mountains are inanimate. For all the paralleled joy and inspiration one might secure simply from just being there, they are not human entities in the generally understood sense of the word. So, they seem to say: “Visit me, meditate, write, read or take pictures.” First, whatever one’s choice of activity might be, be careful. And when the mountainous regions look menacing, trust your instincts and, difficult and precedent-bending as it might be, trust the weatherman. Snow may well be fluffy and puffy, but not if you are buried under lots of it. And cold weather clothing is for in and out adventures, not for undetermined periods of fear and foreboding. Global warming and freezing your buns off with little or no food or water are not linked. Hey like, THE MOUNTAINS DON’T GIVE A HOOT!! (Even if we do pollute.) Ultimately, they win because they rule. It is never a contest but instead another example of human folly to think it is or could ever be otherwise.
The alternative is to understand the power and neutrality of natural forces and manifestations. To clarify: an earthquake and a tornado are powerful forces. A tornado does “care” whose house, town or city it devastates. An earthquake shakes, rattles and rolls everything and anything along or near its fault line….and never says, “Ooops. My bad or better yet, “My fault!”
It might seem that I am making a case for staying away from animals coupled with a plea to avoid the mountains. To borrow the cliché, “Nothing could be farther from the truth.” I am instead saying that all animals are not the same, but all animals are animals. [People always have and always will kill more people than all animals combined!] And I unabashedly love the mountains…even though I know they don’t love me in return. I have gone “into” the mountains to regain “stuff” lost or misplaced in the urban or personal morass, or to gain a perspective not readily available elsewhere. Those journeys have said much about who I am or hope to be than they do about the mountain’s rugged passion for me as a human. But as for those perpetually chattering and squeaky monkeys, they belong in a zoo…or the jungle but certainly not in my backyard or in the mountains I hike to and through. So, there! #
Posted by mbowen at 12:36 PM | Comments (0)
March 01, 2007
Bow Tie Eighteen
“MA, DON’T LET YOUR SONS OR DAUGHTERS GROW UP TO BE NEGROES”
Because in the last few days I have watched 2 videos, I am more conscious than I usually am regarding the suitability ratings attached thereto. Of course all previews/trailers are O.K. for the general viewing audience. I note that here because what follows needs some kind of rating but I don’t know what letter to use. (Pause) O.K., I have decided to use “I.A.” and that’s not for Industrial Accident. Instead it stands for Intense Anger…and I do mean intense. So those thousands of Bow Tie readers who may have been inclined to share this publication with the kiddies may not choose to do so this time. [Note: There will soon be one of a similar nature which will be titled “Keeping Up with the Johnsons” having to do with continuing – make that pervasive – attitudes about what men do with their “thang.”]
Intro: “The Crew” has heard this before so they may choose to bypass it. In the 1960s I spent a lot of time hanging out at Alfred Ligon’s Aquarian Bookstore on Santa Barbara Avenue, now officially labeled Martin Luther King Boulevard here in Los Angeles. I’d buy anything and everything that was even remotely linked to Black history, pride and, of course “The Revolution.” I stumbled upon a book titled The Invention of the Negro by San Francisco writer, Earl Conrad. In my zeal I bought it but misread the title to say The Inventions of the Negro. I saw myself proudly thumbing through a laundry list of all kinds of inventions by the (then-called) Negro – in science, the arts, and who knows what else. It wasn’t until later that I learned what Conrad really had in mind. In a nutshell, it was this: As a direct part of chattel slavery, America created a new being, the Negro. That stripped of his/her religion, homeland, customs…or, summarily, African culture, the new person – albeit hardly viewed as such – was given a brand new set of (American) everthings.
Over these many years since first reading the book, I have not been successful in dismissing the notion. Sad or objectionable as it may be, it has more than a modest ring of truth. And, as I will soon explore, that’s too bad. I don’t venture into the murky territory of whether or not this new human entity was “better off” than if countless millions had remained on the African continent. That’s for someone with a broader historic perspective than I have to examine. What I am certain of is the truth in Malcolm’s observation that the chains that were eventually removed from the black body found a new “territory” in the mind or psyche of this unique American invention. The almost mysterious part is that the manifestations are often so subtle as to be virtually undetectable. The nuances so cleverly constructed that if one is not “careful” agreement with negro behavior and thinking becomes more than likely. (And, by the way, it was years later that I made switched. Now, “negro” is always lower-case!
I had a real bad experience on Monday, February 26th while listening to “Which Way L.A.” on KCRW, National Public Radio. Host Warren Olney was talking with a University of Maryland professor named Walters. I have heard Walters over the years and on occasion have read some newspaper pieces by him. I have found him to be intelligent although not especially provocative – a quality I usually look for in writers/thinkers -- men and women who “make” me think differently or who “give” me something that I didn’t have before the encounter – like Alice Walker’s admonition to “be nobody’s darling” or something Stanley Crouch said the other night and that I’ll get to later. The radio topic was the Strom Thurmond-Al Sharpton connection, a matter I consider to be of as much importance as Anna Nicole Smith’s eventual resting place or Britney’s new “do.” Olney segued into a question about Obama and the issue raised by Blacks about the linkage between the senator and African Americans given places in Obama’s background like Indonesia and Kenya. I suddenly became very interested in what Walters would say. I ended up screaming. I mean really screaming – something that could only have happened because I was in the relative soundproof environs of the Avalanche. Olney wanted to know if raising that kind of question vis a vis Obama is appropriate. Walter said yes, that it is all right to inquire about Obama’s not having shared the experience of African Americans. (SCREEEEEEEEAM!!!) What f---ing experience was he talking about? American slavery? Living in the project? The chosen or accidental “low life or nits, grits (as a non-food item) and deprivation?” Good f---ing grief! If that isn’t a classic negro response, I don’t know what is?
Has any (I say again) any White presidential or non-presidential seeker of political office ever been asked about what his family did to hold slaves in bondage or hasten their liberation? Clinton? Kennedy? Carter? Ike? FDR? And why not? Why is it O.K. to come after Obama’s “connection” and let everyone else go free? Is McCain really linked to the “White experience?” How ‘bout Gore or Edwards? Quite honestly, I feel more than a little stupid in even posing these inquiries…simply because they are so totally stupid and irrelevant. That is, for everyone and anyone except the home grown negro…and that, dear reader, is an “n word” if ever there was one.
There was a time –was it just last week? – when it was seen as an accomplishment (or source of true pride) for a person to have pulled (or gotten pushed) out of the muck and mire of poverty…by any means necessary or available. It was likewise seen as luck, good fortune or a blessing never to have had to scrape and scramble in life. To not have missed a meal, to have had both parents around during one’s formative years, to have had a decent or stellar public education (yeah, damn it, like me!), to having learned to read and write early in life…or else! But now, that pattern is subject to virtual slam and scandal. Obama is somehow a little less than the angels of thuggery because, well he doesn’t really have “the experience. Walters should be intellectually ashamed to not have responded that the issue was not a fitting one to be raised…unless it was being done across the political board.
On an almost daily basis I have learned that few “things” are as dangerous – or, if not dangerous, then sickening -- than those who see themselves as doing good with their slick undermining shit. The intellectuals, the community leaders, the preachers and teachers and the regular folks. Those who wouldn’t recognize an historic golden opportunity if it were gently or callously inserted up their dark place. negro is just such an anomaly. Long-suffering, historically rooted, and “effective.” This means that a negro (as a genre, a foolish “style”) does precisely (to say nothing about dutifully) that which negro was invented or designed to do. I don’t know if children still have wind-up toys; but metaphorically, negro can be likened to such an entity. negro has been wound up and putters and patters, sputters and splatters all over the place…doing, saying all kinds of stuff without thinking about its impact. Yet that is exactly the way it is suppose to be! negro is anything but a work in progress. That would be a contradiction because the effectiveness in this tragic instance precludes progress in the traditional sense – meaning “getting better” whereas the only thing that negro could possibly get better at is, you guessed it, being a better negro. And that is not progress. That is death!
But my ire notwithstanding, I ask, of what value is any given life experience if we cannot learn from it?…even if we do scream, in or out of a vehicle? Even if, as happened in my case, we end up shaking our heads with real tears exiting our weary eyes. Life is wonderfully bigger than any one or group of us; and as I gathered from a Forward Day-by-Day reading of a few months ago, “It (life) is not all about you.” And occasional bellowing that I do, I really both understand and accept the impact of life’s Humbling Hammer. I also find much comfort in the observation that it isn’t all about that f---ing empty-headed mechanical negro either!
Let’s just consider what follows to be Meditative Space ‘cause I ain’t got nuthin’ else to say…………………………….
See ya next time………………………………………………………………..#
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