Open story-to-science and Eastern medicine ponderings (this post will be a thread for pasting research and considering science across cultural traditions):
In Ojibwe, the word for medicine--mashkiki--translates to "strength of the earth." [I'll post a video later on that]
Chinese and Vietnamese traditional medicine share a lot of similarities--often changes take an environmental approach over a longer periods of time rather than targeted at one particular ailment, and the effects are often gradual too.
i.e. eating bitter squash/melon a few times a month winds up preventing or flushing out parasitic infections. It's also used in the Philippines as a way to regulate insulin.
Or when ill, agitating the skin with a coin (called "coining" = think of a massage, dragging/scraping the edge of a coin with the force of an itch across your back+front etc. for boosting circulation--most medical pictures on the internet are horror stories of it done wrong) to promote circulation and menthol/peppermint oil + absorption (and maybe circulation too) is a traditional practice that I also grew up with and found useful especially whenever I had respiratory ailments, especially with the flu and fevers.
In the past decade, there's a growing body of Western research showing properties in menthol and peppermint oil that support the practice [will post NIH/other peer reviewed links below].
1) you're increasing circulation, and often decreasing inflammation
2) they have antiviral+antibacterial properties
As I think about the Chinese COVID-19 MediXchange cases, several hospitals noted that they also issued Traditional Chinese Medicine along side with conventional medical treatments that the U.S. is trying to test to confirm now. Vietnam is it's own country with some of its own practices but I wouldn't be surprised if coining with a menthol is part of the mix too. In retrospect, the fact that the most popular ointment I grew up with has Chinese characters all over it probably means that it's a Chinese practice too...
...
And yeah, some folks would consider Asians Eastern, and Native Americans in the "West" (excluding the folks who consider land-bridge migration and pre-colonial African migration part of the history).
But the Ojibwe creation story begins in the East, plus their maps would start with East on top too. So I'm drafting the Aanishinabek brothers and sisters back into the Eastern delegation as this season's top pick along with the Wu Tang Clan.
The good news is that you're not alone--there's probably a lot more folks who'd be labeled with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress "Disorder" around in high-functioning contexts than you'd think.
And at times like this, a lot of those behaviors actually aren't disorderly--they're necessary for survival, deeply human, and for better or worse always have been in our society given the context of experience many people endured.
But the more I learn about myself and others I've been privileged to know as friends and family-- veterans, returning citizens, refugees, domestic abuse survivors, friends from communities like Detroit that still suffer from legacies of racism and colonialism -- the arc of behaviors and healing from them are also fundamental to everyone's experience.
Dissociation and intrusive thoughts certainly have unpleasant directions--and I suspect they're also not too different from how people slip into daydreams. And literally as of 6 hours ago, I learned there are really sensible tools for changing that.
My friend Onyx Ashanti likes to say "the mind is the programmable conduit for intuition that exists between novelty and memory."
Managing chaos: information flow aka "news" The news was never
designed for empowerment beyond delivering [typically problematic]
information and I definitely know there are plenty of folks who set up
to capitalize on that--my recommendation is unless working on the front
lines, limit media intake to every 2-3 days rather than daily.
On
the flip side for medical professionals--since it's not something folks
were prepared to deal with, figuring out things like anticipated case
load, updates on medical developments, etc. are really important.
But
for medical professionals that means they have very few ways to "leave
work at work" and that's bound to lead to major mental health
challenges. So here's my parallel to nutrition:
You can limit screen time + set up a kind of media nutrition plan like you would with kids. During the pandemic, unless you're front-lining or the work/community depends on it once every 2-3 days will get you what you need to know with time to digest, discuss, and share.
Pre-pandemic,
I'd say once a week is enough to be up to date on current events since
you can start to track patterns and get summaries rather than ride
roller coaster theatrics.
It lets you identify patterns (trends across multiple articles), and manage the flow. It's the same reason why high-performing professionals often prioritize specific times of day for email/social media rather than being plugged in all the time (unless that's their job).
There's also something to be said about:
1) identifying what you can do,
2) what your community can do,
3) and what people in your "community*" can do.
(*whatever that means to you)
Everything else that's beyond your agency and only worth noting as part of the landscape but not engaging--and the landscape shifts periodically just as the earth does in real life if you learn how to watch it.
Focus on hyperlocal/things you can control/change/facilitate for everything else.
8 years later, and the lesson learned
from making this epic meal still applies:
it's possible to overdo the good stuff in one sitting.
You can't eat everything from a grocery store at once. Nor would you eat and drink 12 heavy meals over the course of 12 hours daily, would you?
There's a point when you can overdo the good stuff, and the "news" isn't always made with nor presented as good stuff even when starting with raw ingredients like actual data.
The difference here is that "news" is almost constantly being "fed", if not force-fed to you through your news feed.
Given how most of us in the U.S. haven't been taught how to manage media intake, or even portion sizes for nourishing nutrition, it's not a surprise a lot of people might feel fatigued and overwhelmed.
[Below: a previous writing/response for someone who asked "how do you handle all this news?!?]
The best bet for staving media fatigue is to:
1) if your work+community doesn't rely on 24/7 updates, create structure for yourself--a media diet/regimen that's about 2-3 days.
This is often enough to stay on top of an evolving situation while providing sense of structure, time to digest and recognize patterns or areas to discuss conflicting information..
2) Reverse-engineer and create our own public health and community strategy. Localize how we can make a difference with it.
What's our own roadmap for getting our needs met as a community (or block/family/myself)?
Am I interested and with capacity to influence what happens between neighbors?
my block?
the city?
region? etc.
Who else is doing this and how will we support each other without or even more useful, with strain?
What does straining ourselves look like as a community?
So for #1:
I've started a nascent group of folks across 5 states (CA, IN, MI, NY, VT but mostly Detroit area) who've kept their finger on the pulse of news+education about the pandemic and typically have some background in science or organizing.
As I've seen things, here are our priorities:
0) Stay inside when you can to slow the spread/reduce the risk of spreading -- CDC's social distance and mask guidelines aren't enough
1)Educate, prepare, and hold each other accountable for how to navigate the pandemic with credible information
2) Support Health Care workers (advocate for PPE coordination+delivery, food, mental health, making opportunities for life to exist away from the workplace--celebrate, talk about sports, whatever with them)
3) Support ongoing efforts for improving/supporting existing community priorities and crises like water shutoffs, elder care, incarcerated + detainees and returning citizens, advance collective and cooperative responsibility and economics
[Despite being around since 1970 for people, folks were still not really sure how it works in 2011 but hypothesize it drives parasites deeper making it easier for the body's immune system to reach and handle them.]
.....
If you read enough about medicine (Western and some traditional Eastern + indigenous), eventually you learn:
1) A lot of commercial drug names "Lopinavir", "Duranovir" look like they came straight outta Lord of the Rings
2) There are common pharmaceutical strategies for halting/killing an illness; complex treatments tend to combine some of them:
I. halt the spread until it can't reproduce any more thus die off [most anti-fungal cremes like for athlete's foot];
II. make it easier for white blood cells to find and eat the offender [vaccines]
III. directly break/puncture the offending/intruding/infecting thing [emerging research for turmeric, lemon grass oils, etc.];
IV. create a bad environment for it (and sometimes everything else) [i.e. dietary restrictions for fungal infections; eating bitter squash/melon regularly as an anti-parasitic treatment]
3) The pharmaceutical industry will spend a lot on one drug, wants to find as many uses for the same medication as possible, and sometimes spend a lot more to market its uses elsewhere, literally by trying to selling their drugs to doctors
i.e. heart medicines turned into viagara-like recreational medicines or in this case, anti-parasitic medication tested for treatment against viral infections (and maybe cancer in a different study I've yet to find)
4) sometimes #3 limits research for taking different approaches to solving the problem, so some researchers need to also make the business case for what they're studying and why it matters, and you've got to watch with some skepticism
5) science and the medical systems focus on systems + how things happen without necessarily heeding the who that makes humanity and personal stories important to understand
I'm no pharmacist or doctor. So here's an armchair analysis that could be really wrong:
Ivermectin is sometimes used for removing parasites de-worming dogs and horses, but among people it's been effective and also pretty safe and easy to apply for similar purposes.
In more recent research, it's suspected to slow or stop the growth/reproduction of cells. An online forum anecdote with obscure research reference (I've yet to find the paper) from a few years ago apparently suggests that it also stops some forms of cancer from developing.
So if it's effective against a virus like COVID-19, the idea is that it probably reduces the number of vulnerable cells from replicating -- thus there are fewer cells for the virus to hijack and infect/multiply off of.
As a treatment that inhibits cell reproduction, it probably depends on how soon it's used for it to be effective.
I suspect early on it could be useful: sounds like the medication acts like a "stay at home"/social distancing order by slowing down the exposure of how many cells are vulnerable to getting hijacked by the virus and therefore spreading infection/reproducing more viral RNA.
But like some peoples' concerns, there's probably a very delicate and critical tipping point on how advanced the infection might get where eventually the body's everything else would be too weakened/compromised for it to be helpful.
For the sake of playing out the existing current event metaphor:
That's like forcing a stay-at-home when folks are already infected and need medical care but the health care providers are already sick too.
In high school, I briefly joined the our high school [U.S.] football team because, among the un-cut sports, it seemed like one of the most well-balanced for conditioning and teaching someone how to get started with intensive fitness.
While I joined too late to really grasp and take part in critical parts of it (especially camp and scrimmages) that probably would have given the best of the applied fundamentals, I enjoyed what I learned during off-season conditioning in the weight room (mostly thanks to a handful of hilarious and goofy Junior Varsity (JV) and Varsity teammates who’d blast “Coach’s 80s [Music] Favorites” between sets), defense and hitting drills on the blocking sled (basically a big padded dummy for you to run up to, block and push).
Of course there were things that come to mind when you’re very inexperienced in the middle of a sport that has an aggressive reputation — some are reasonable like how to tackle properly (I missed the chance to do a lot of that by joining late and missing the camp) and build confidence on the field, people get bigger and more lethal with their hits as they progress beyond freshman year into JV and Varsity teams.
But what spooked me most after the season was over was a dream where my actions crossed into the real world: I’m at practice doing drills with the blocking sled, hitting it, driving forward, and hearing the coach say “Good hit.” and running back into position before waking up to realize I shoved my pillow from across my bed into a wall at the side of my bed.
I’ve been reluctant to deeply train in a lot of striking combat sports because of that event: The muscle memory and actions in my subconscious were real, and I realized if I wasn’t able to keep a simple motion like basic blocking, doing a more aggressive push or hit could potentially injure other people too.
Would that stay with me forever? What if stayed with a girlfriend and when a dream or nightmare like that comes up and I wind up attacking her without knowing what I was doing?
Recently I’ve been focused on how to cohere the sounds that come from working on practical tasks — construction for example — into something that people can approach, engage, enjoy, and celebrate from the perspective of music.
If you’ve heard or partaken in some of my participatory pieces before, Watershed (using “raindrops” from clapping, etc. like you might have heard elsewhere), or Breathing (breath and wind-aesthetic noises), there are ways to cohere random noises that
On a spectrum starting from the precise control a composer might have with a traditional instrumental or symphony vs. what happens when embracing random (the musical term is aleatory) events in music like John Cage’s 4 minutes and 33 seconds or Pauline Oliveros’s games for deep listening, there’s an in-between place where you can facilitate noise and “frame it” that’s especially interesting to me in music that can have a role in accelerating the way a community takes care of its basic needs while giving room for people to explore and build their own skills (again, construction in Detroit neighborhoods and a dream that inspired ways to merge both concerts and construction into the same event).
Which brings us back to percussive hitting motions.
Returning to a classic* (at least, classic for dating back to 1997 haha) video of a shamisen and Taiko drum duo, I realized that building the stamina and coordination involved with striking a large drum might actually be very similar to the kind of practice that goes into learning how to strike and build up the basic form and endurance that’s conducive to (though definitely not a substitute) learning the basics in some combat sports/martial arts like boxing.
This isn’t as big a leap as one might think. Johnny Nguyen ( I like to imagine him as my big brother or cousin as we share LA-Vietnamese roots ) stakes much of his professional image in teaching about boxing, his website is titled Expert Boxing, and at the same time, he swears by the role dance had in transforming his ability to move and work the ring as a better fighter.
You know how after working out, you feel pretty good as the endorphins release, and then your capacity to be present with or navigate past lots of silly and otherwise petty events magically goes up? I’m pretty sure being a taiko drummer would do that on a lot of levels. Even in my brief experience with playing in the University of Michigan-Dearborn’s West African Drum Ensemble, the joy and mental clarity that came from playing on the sanban (a medium sized laundry hamper-sized drum often heard in West Gunean drum ensembles) or dunnun (the largest drum, think of an extra long barrel) was second to none.
Unlike playing a stringed instrument, where you’re suddenly met with countless variables plus the risk of carpel tunnel, there’s a kind of peace that comes from the simplicity of being very physically engaged as a drummer.
So seeing the drummer in this taiko video swinging giant drum sticks to literally (albeit rhythmically in an artful sense) and noting that he looks as fit as someone who does lots of pushups and chinups on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be too far off to look at learning an endeavor like boxing with the same attitude: there’s an art and rhythm that comes with striking the bag (or opponent, though whether one chooses to engage another person is a different case), and when sparring with an opponent, there’s an element of improvisation and pacing that comes in which is very similar if not the same as learning to improvise with another musician during a jam — albeit the outcomes and goals might differ greatly.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_M4K5wk9DCM
[Feel free to ignore my comments -- rarely in spaces where talking about this stuff with people who interface with symphonic/orchestral music at an analytical level so I'm taking the opportunity to ramble reflections out loud]
Listening again to Orient and Occident all the way through for the first time in probably over a decade, I'm starting to appreciate some new layers to the piece. There are the overt elements of counterpoint in the call/response which strike us right away, and then there's a subtler dimension of stylistic counterpoint too -- a lot of unison voicings (akin to what's heard in traditional Turkish/Arab orchestras) and some embedded octaves/artificial harmonics but also harmonies and chords (presumably on the occidental side) in a way that drastically go against the "oriental" traditions. A Turkish friend once scolded me for adding drone notes during an improvisation on a melody that reminded him of traditional Turkish music. I'm shuddering from the recollection now that I can listen closely with more seasoned ears than my high-school self would have ever known haha
When farmers plant new crops, it's often wise to rely on other crops or food sources rather than hope to reap from the first harvest. Why? Because the first few seasons often amount to learning, conditioning, and stewarding the soil's community of micro and macrobiota--you're prepping for the magic to happen, you're not going to see it finished until much later.
[By the way, some vocabulary for non-ecologists:
microbiota = all the microorganisms like fungi and
macrobiota = the larger than microscopic organisms like worms, etc. that help plants access nutrients, "communicate", and rotate/circulate soil nutrients and humus in the topsoil.]
And swinging around to reflections about music and creative processes from the lens of a gardener or a farmer (but mostly as a gardener), I'm starting to appreciate the development of one of my recurring groove-tunes as a creative demonstration of the above metaphor.
Years ago (about 3 to be specific) on a soggy winter/spring evening, I jammed out an idea for a tune I called the "Balkan Groove Thang" at about 1:15am while I was working through a fever (and no, not the kind of fever that's conducive for disco). It was fun to play even when my energy was down, and hearkened to the possibility of bridging one's heritage with more "modern" aesthetics while still representing a little bit of both, plus I figured out I could add a Mongolian exclamation ("Tuh!") in substitution for the traditional James-Brown-esque "Ungh!" and "Ow!" shouts:
Without a doubt, this tune was inspired by the existence and performances of an Ann Arbor "Balkan Funk" band called (at the time East, later Ornamatik, and later still Rhyta Musik -- which I think is the band's current name). In fact, the melody's rhythm is based on the second part of the Gankino Hora, a Bulgarian tune.
. . .
A few years later, likely toward the winter of 2017 though I unfortunately forget when at this moment as I type, I started to practice and improvise with a blend of the musical modes.
For non-music readers, modes are basically knowing what part of a word you'd want to emphasize when speaking with a different accent or in a different language. In the music world, the scales are the "accent" of a dialect or language--the bunch of pitches that make the notes you hear which often distinguish various kinds of folk tunes; while rhythm and the emphasis we hear on the words (in speech, elocution and cadence; in music they call these accents--very convoluted reuse of words but that's what it is) is a lot like learning the grammar found in a language
So we already combined notes you often hear with the blues and funk to couple with the Balkan style, and found adding a few notes onto the blues scale suddenly turns it into a traditional Japanese scale called Miyako-Bushi -- which has notes common enough that similar scales can be found in other cultures too, but it's very distinct in a lot of famous traditional Japanese folk tunes like Sakura Sakura (often on the Koto string instrument or Shakuhachi flute), Tsugaru Jonkara Bushi (often on shamisen), etc. -- which brings us a fairly nice melting pot of traditions into one Groovy Thang.
In this particular session late in August of 2018 I had just found another way to play with the clash between tri-tones (the notes that make the groove sound a bit more funky, rhythmic bow-chops aside) while taking a break at work in the Detroit Hispanic Development Corporation's immense back room/robotics area (imagine a warehouse with skylights, and fantastic graffiti from local Southwest Detroit youth on the walls in the middle of a community center--it has wonderful acoustics and it's an interesting space to play in).
Trying to make my way to a friend's harp concert in Ann Arbor, I ran out and didn't find the place until it was well done, but was able to enjoy the acoustics of this sort of arcade or alley (architects, feel free to take me to task on misnaming whatever this corridor might be called).
As I had recently returned from helping out family, I was still very well fed and fairly fit which made for good creative conditions, and the instrument I played on had an interesting alternative tuning which seemed to make the body of the violin resonate better too.
So all that backstory to share that 3 years later, we have this little jam that luckily didn't get deleted when my hard drive crashed.
One of the few times that I can promise this cat video is worth watching at work.
So for one, just enjoy the clip--even for the sake of good genuine play I even feel good seeing it happen. It's like seeing a fairly matched round of sparring with good sportsmanship on both sides unfold, and I love how the coyote plays at disadvantage to entice the cat. And lest we forget, this is still Year of the Dog -- and it's fair to assume that coyotes are part of the Canidae family, so we'll celebrate them here too.
On play, an overview:
In play, the process matters more than the outcome. Play, whether among people and/or other animals, gives us an opportunity to refine and hone skills necessary for survival. Whether hunting, stalking, evasion, or in conflict -- most evolutionary biologists tend to agree that it provides an opportunity to hone those behaviors in non-threatening settings.
On this video of a cat and coyote, a note about their play styles:
One of the things you'll note (and many other viewers noted) is that the coyote circles the cat--almost constantly--and often aims for the back legs (even if it's a playful headbutt) or just your legs (if you're bipedal).
Circling is probably among the most challenging and confusing forms of an engagement to work with, at least for us untrained and unskilled humans. We're used to confronting and engagements that take place forward and back, maybe side to side or an angle in between, but we're not adept at engaging with a rotating diagonal movement that's literally designed to nip at the rear of our flanks.
If anything, it's a tactic, not a strategy. From what I gather between lots of comments and watching a few videos (so by no means am I an expert, just thoughtful observer, and possible speculator), the the "longer-term goal" (probably strategy) is to tire out and draw the coyote's prey out to the rest of the pack to take more effective action on securing their meal -- or get the prey right away while they're not expecting it.
Coyotes are known for circling and tiring out their prey.
In the wild cats are ambushing predators.
To see what it's like as a human trying to handle a coyote:
As a random tangent: While the martial art aikido is often maligned for its complexity and the way it's taught (often non-intuitive motions that don't work in certain environments, as a reactive discipline it has no ways to spar therefore few ways to really test its fundamentals among fellow practitioners, etc.), one of the things it's known for looking good at are its circular motions. And in many martial arts, moving in ways that render the opponent's line of momentum harmless by shifting slightly out of the way is often the best choice. Used offensively, the same principle likely applies, but it feels challenging to to describe and grasp without doing a lot of kinesthetic arts like martial arts or dance for a bit longer. From a very practical standpoint, circular motions can also be useful as a way to recollect energy exerted after a strike--after indirectly punching through an opponent (so not a straight jab), knowing how to rebound and follow-through with the punch can spare you a lot of wasted energy. All of this stuff looks interesting and, to me at least, tends to appear a little more nuanced than what makes sense at first glance.
Maybe I'm seeing things under the influence of comment sections, you can see for yourself. Or better yet, try it out if you have a cat (dogs seem to navigate circular motions with greater ease and efficiency than cats though--unless laser pointers are present, then it's anyone's game) when it tries to play or snuggle up against you.
A simple parallel between strategy for swordsmanship and strategy for most endeavors. In brief, it roughly points out the need for vision and mission.
Distilled from early on in samurai and artist Miyamoto Musashi's book, go rin no sho(the Five Rings):
"It is not difficult to wield a sword in one hand; the Way to learn this is to train with two long swords, one in each hand. It will seem difficult at first, but everything is difficult at first. Bows are difficult to draw, halberds are difficult to wield; as you become accustomed to the bow so your pull will become stronger. When you become used to wielding the long sword, you will gain the power of the Way and wield the sword well.
...there is no fast way of wielding the long sword. The long sword should be wielded broadly, and the companion sword closely. This is the first thing to realize.
According to this Ichi school, you can win with a long weapon, and yet you can also win with a short weapon. In short, the Way of the Ichi school is the spirit of winning, whatever the weapon and whatever its size.
It is better to use two swords rather than one when you are fighting a crowd, and especially if you want to take a prisoner." - Miyamoto Musashi, in go rin no sho (the Five Rings) on one school, two swords
It's the same for developing and championing one's vision in any endeavor. We train and practice for the long-term. Engaged with the rest of the world however, we're mindful that our reaching and immediate needs--the long and short--alike are instrumental to success only when clarity of intention and purpose remains central to your actions. Carrying one's vision broadly for all to heed, and keeping tangible details close go hand in hand. We see this when making professional introductions and business pitches or making persuasive statements. What draws the attention of most people in any introduction comes from the bigger aspirations which take place in the initial introductions--that's the long sword to wield broadly. Skeptics are either repelled or drawn closer to you, for which you can share the details with greater detail.
Truths however, unlike swords, can be shared and work best when used without malice. I've no parallel to the line about taking prisoners as of yet though... perhaps captivating hearts happens when people discover meaning through both?
A revelation: The "take rice from the hand of a kung fu master" thing we see in movies is a really practical exercise for proper* fist formation in a punch. You must keep swift and relaxed, tighten your hand to a fist as you propel forward and immediately withdraw for a proper snap-punch. Taking the rice isn't the outcome where mastery lies, it's the practice of swiftly delivering and restoring oneself with elegant force, repose, and clarity of intention. Honing how to get what you need even in messy situations. *note: it's not the same a striking--there's a nuanced difference in distance and the exact moment for clenching the hand--but the essential motions and general timing approximate well to one another. A tangent on rice and the fist: Is anyone familiar with and able to explain the conflict between First Nation's rights to wild rice harvest and the DNRE's permitting for mining companies in Northern Michigan? Is this a regulatory outcome of environmental conservation which overlooks other aspects of our existence? It seems there's a double standard between the regulation for harvesting and how the State's departments permit mining and other activities that may/already harm the area. I overheard someone explain as I was signing out of the Michigan Environmental Justice Summit but wasn't able to catch the whole conversation. EDIT (!): In retrospect (and after a lot of googling to find where the idea/media inspiration for this post really came from), I guess I've never seen a kung fu movie where the student takes rice from the hand of their teacher. I'm guessing it's actually a pebble. Now that I found the clip below, I'm glad I didn't. Otherwise, I probably never would have made the connection between striking form and reaching for rice. I like my example better, but the advice in the clip on humility's nice to hear too.
"The hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who in time of great moral crises maintain their neutrality" -John F. Kennedy [*possibly attributed to Dante Alighieri]
Considering the above quote, moments of great moral crises are opportunities for us to live. Choose to maintain neutrality--in other words, choose indifference--and we forfeit an opportunity to live and exist to our fullest within the moment.
So in the spirit of keepin' it real: It is often in retrospect that we burn by flames of our own anger, shame, and unrest over those pivotal moments of crisis in life. It's a waking and living afterlife in itself.
For a few tangents, I'll pose a pseudo-scholar's conjecture: Perhaps Dante's inferno was also an early attempt at psychology--using heaven and hell as allegory to how we live our lives immediately as well as in his broader interpretation of religious afterlife. [disclaimer, last time I read Dante's Inferno was in high school, early 2000s]
I'm tempted to loosely ponder how other dimensions of reality and alternative universes can exist via physics too, but that's probably too much pseudo anything for today...
Friday, April 12, 2013
Last week I briefly attended an event held at the N'Namdi gallery by artist ____ fleur, who discussed how the future of Detroit's aesthetic will likely move from a grungy/gritty presentation to something brilliant and colorful--she pointed to traditional African aesthetics, and even the diversity of existing architecture in Detroit. I used to think about parallels between abuse and the Detroit aesthetic--its music, a lot of its art, the stories in the news. There's something about some people who experienced deep and sustained harms where we find an attitude that's a mix of resilience and a weary-worn frankness. Sometimes, an element of guarded shame stands as a likely possibility. It's often comfortable to recognize it. You know you're at peace in their company but there's a certain darkness to how they live--unanswered or seldom explored questions remain like mysterious gashes: no one can tell whether they're still wounds to be healed or closed scars, and we've either developed habits for moving in ways that don't aggravate them, or are too afraid to move any further. Knowing that a lot of media and negative imagery already exists for both, I never expressed it to anyone before.
However, I happen to know several people who endured sustained abuse, sometimes terrifying in its truest sense, who can embody the most vibrant aspects of life. They often define what's possible for living in a better world, or demonstrate how to carry on by living amid its realities. In spite of misfortune, they continue, we live well. I also had the privilege to know so many brilliant people who know Detroit as their home do brilliant things. Their actions and the communities they create exist as the tinder and fuel aflame--the growing feathers of a phoenix--through which the city finds itself amid its ashes. While I've been through gunshots on the East side, I've also been to the Alkebu-Lan Village which soon celebrates a 35 years of exceptional karate in Detroit and sustained community enrichment that's drawn the attention and admiration of companies known for their mid-town investment presence like Quicken Loans.
Going back to the idea of parallels in mental illness and community: In a lot of ways, the negative media and identity stigma that many Detroiters loath mirrors the same imposition of identity a person undergoing mental health challenges meets when labeled with a certain disorder/illness. Identity becomes objectified by another, opportunity for change is denied in the reality constructed by those who impose/accept it as such.
What happens when the solution which the world looks to science for really tells us we must be more responsible than ever imagined?
We tend to seek a quick fix through facts yielded by science. Perhaps someone in history asked: "What happens when we exploit a heavy element like Uranium?" With intent to answer a perceived need: "we need something to make us more powerful in this war".
The short term answer they sought was yes, atomic reactions can afford a user tremendous power. But the fundamental truth derived from it was an answer that asks the inquirer "are we responsible enough to consistently meet the challenges that emerge from consequences of this never-before imagined scale of magnitude?" Whenever we discover a new level of complexity, the responsible answer immediately resets to a decisive "no." Until everyone is capable of understanding complexity and the ethical implications of the system, it is irresponsible to engage such a system, especially when much of the world potentially has access to it or its potential impacts.
I gave a parallel example to a problem I've been thinking
about spurred by a domestic (well, domestic in a national sense) human
rights advocacy issue. It isn't nearly as destructive, but the
implications in the science are tremendous and unsettling. It's not information that you can broadcast to the world unless an established and thoughtful community dialogue of substantial reach is already in place to handle any unrest that may arise.
That said, the issue itself merits action, and countless people are already working on it out of ethical drive even without having all the "hard" empirical data at hand. This is the uncertainty of courage. Even if you have few or any reason for an optimistic outcome, it's better to act so that you least put forth the effort. It's an odd balance of ebb and flow: there comes a point when one may be the best acquainted and prepared to bring forth challenging and discomforting issues--you become the smartest person in the crowd simply because you know enough about the problem and its possible solution to manifest the transformation of reality. Therefore, you are responsible for bringing it to light.
Understanding this status incites dramatic shifts in the default attitudes enforced by most of society--we're used to delegating responsibility and may even draw from a sense of entitlement in attempt to justify doing so. It's ingrained into our elections, in our governmental agencies, and at almost any workplace. Any time you hear the phrase "it's not my job" in response to another person's problems, I challenge you to carefully reconsider the statement. What matters fundamentally is not the individual's job, it's their responsibility. Usually, a "job" is the prescribed objectification of an identity and its associated responsibilities. This beguiles many in becoming an excuse for them to deny their ability to discern and act on their own behalf. There exists privilege in being a dedicated audience: knowing what you do now from hearing--which may place you among a select few--you have the ability to focus your discernment and learn on a different level than others who create. In doing so, you may cultivate wisdom and act upon it from a different perspective. Yet bringing wisdom forward with persuasive authenticity requires a degree of courage that almost necessitates one to act beyond measured reasoning. You anticipate no favorable response from the people you interact with, but you reserve hope your assertions will find constructive reception.
I'll add a slew of paraphrased quotes that reinforced several of my convictions in late February (the 20th) of this year: The Honorable Representative Shanelle Jackson of Detroit came to the University of Michigan-Dearborn to share her experience as a grassroots elected representative. She urged everyone to "be an ambassador... [despite knowing a lot of people who love their city], they don't have that Detroit fire-hunger... The people here now need to vest and be an example, ultimately that will draw the new Detroiters".
She also reaffirmed my belief that apathy and complacency only serve to perpetuate injustice. In response to a question regarding disenchantment with elected officials and Detroit's municipal government: "When people get apathetic and step away, aren't you endorsing that corruption? By doing that, you take away your positive energy--the only checks and balance for the desired status quo."
Jackson followed up by saying: "local safety, clean neighborhoods, some problems are too big for government to solve--that's one on one, hand to hand community work that must be done." [I have 80% confidence in retention of original words in this last one as I wrote them down in shorthand at the event.]
I'm convinced I need to act swiftly. I cannot un-learn what I've discovered in the research, and it would be irresponsible to leave the issue of concern as is. Yet without proper educational and community context, I'm definitely concerned about disclosing all of the details to people whom I cannot maintain a face-to-face dialogue with at this time.
How frequently do we contemplate what we find sacred among each other? Does the notion of "sacred" need to be reserved to a religious deity? At what point do we treat events in our lives and gatherings with one another as sacred encounters?
Considering life as an ongoing process, I imagine the life and death of an individual or community alike are sacred. One can find sublime mystery in the reality of our existence, if we look or perhaps listen carefully enough. In this photo, I played a then-incomplete tune of mine called "Lament of the Virtues" for the 2007 Virginia Tech Vigil (photo credit to the Dearborn Press and Guide). I used this photo as my profile picture on September 11th too because to me, they categorically reflect the same kind of problem: Some of the perpetrators who caused harm did so with fervor probably because they believed they had good reason to do so and a sense of greater purpose. But by acting in isolation or with people of similarly narrow interests, did they really know what they were doing?
Lament of The Virtues is a sacred piece. It's a call for sustained ethical action that starts and ends in the silence beyond the music:
Traumatic and tragic events can consume our reality, but if you're fortunate to survive, there's more to life than crisis—as far as I can tell, do your best to mindfully acknowledge their significance and keep moving.
There comes a point when one grapples with conflicting virtues. Strive to be good and righteous, but what happens when all your choices for ethical action compromise other ethical values of equal significance—which value inflicts the least harm? We’re forced to triage. These proximal problems yield no completely satisfying resolve. Complex as they are, hot-button political issues in the media like war, abortion, euthanasia, and almost anything else I can think of that leads to vehement entrenchment are proximal problems on a societal scale. Murders and massacres perpetrated by individuals reflect proximal problems on an individual level.
I believe these problems are a symptom of something bigger. Complex systems scientists might refer to them as part of a “wicked problem”—they’re integral to a system that’s challenging to define, and the system changes in ways that escape definition and perception as you interact with it.
The best solution to them emerges through prevention. At the least, reliable crisis prevention necessitates thoughtfully informed, authentically understood, creative, compassionate, and constructive vision and action. I suspect glimpses of love and joy emerge from an environment of this sort--it's a fleeting visionary ideal for living in a way that embraces the spectre of death and defies terrorism. In any event, to make that happen with some measurable impact, you must bring your best to every day and act upon the opportunities that matter. Somewhere between your individual actions and those of other people through community cognizance, making that vision a more tangible reality is possible. That's the quiet pause between each pulse: it's the silence between the music.
[Edit August 2013: I've linked to a guide I created for embracing/navigating complex systems and wicked problems based on my research on complex systems and risk governance between 2012 to early 2013.]
