The Freak

Hola mi gente,
Things are starting to get busy at work, but this is a good thing. LOL

The Freak and the Process

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When I talk about the work I do, you have to understand that the “I” I am referencing is a lot bigger than just me. I see my work as being a part of a process that’s larger and more powerful than I. In fact, I perceive who I am today to be the product of many people who have helped me along the way. In other words, who I am and what I do is the result of the work of too many people to count. Today, when I say “I” it is with the clear realization that I am connected on so many levels with so many people. Yeah, I’m freaky that way.

In fact, if you’re reading this, you have probably helped make me the human being I am today. No shit.

So! The other day, I was headed to a meeting when a woman stopped me and said, “You probably don’t remember me, but… ” Now, in a past life if a woman, or anyone for the matter, approached me with that line, it usually wasn’t positive. I was about to tell her, “Hey, it’s not my baby,” or “If I owe you money… ” LOL But then I remembered that was the old Eddie.

In any case, she went on:

You changed my life. I remember that before I met you, the way I thought about incarcerated people was very narrow-minded, but working with you, and seeing the passion and intelligence you brought to the work and how people responded to you, changed the way I saw people. You changed the way I looked at the world in a very fundamental way and that’s why I’m here today. The funny thing is that when you first met me, you predicted you would change my life. Well, I never got the chance to tell you, but you did. You changed my life and I want to thank you.

Wow, she almost made me cry!

But here’s the thing: it wasn’t me, but the “process” that changed her. In fact, I’m constantly being changed by the process myself. What I try to do — on a daily basis — is to be a conduit for the process of change. Most of the time, that’s about me getting out of the way of the process and being able to channel something much more powerful than me.

So, I turned to her and told her:

“Thank you so much for saying this, it means a lot to me. But here’s the thing: now you have to become an agent for change and be part of that process.”

And the look in her eyes told me she understood everything I was saying. She was actually crying. My hairs are standing up as I write this. No, I’m no Jesus freak, but I know that all of us working together can bring about big change. We can make tremendous changes. This is why I get pissed off when I see people giving away their power to neoliberals. We are the change, not Her or Him. I know this because I have experienced it every day for the last 25 years.

This I know is true: You are more powerful than you give yourself credit for and together? Man, that story has yet to be told.

Who loves you?

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Skillful Living

Hola mi Gente,
When I facilitated workshops, I was always looking out for experiential exercises. This, in turn, kept me in a state of constant exploration and learning. So, in a very real sense, my workshop participants were actually my greatest teachers.

Alive

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Change your words into truth and then change that truth into love…
— Steveland Wonder, As

 

Ever consciously reflected on the fact that you are alive — right now? I mean really get into that? Try this, soften your belly and relax your jaw. Feel — feel don’t think — feel your heart beating deep inside your body, and feel the rhythm of your heart as it radiates outward, pulsing in your hands, feet, and neck. Feeling your heart in this way, relax and open as in an offering to the world.

While you are at it, take a moment and try to feel how you live your life. How do you spend your life’s moments? What did you or will do today or yesterday? What are your plans for tomorrow? Who do you love and do you love deeply?

The undeniable truth is that no matter what — no matter how much money you have made, how many Coach Bags you own — one day you will become numb and your heart will stop, you will stop breathing, and all this will disappear. In some moment just like this one, your life will end.

Period.

Are you ready for death? Are you ready for the death of your children and your loved ones?

Perhaps one day you will be friends and family celebrating, a gentle breeze, the sun caressing your face. Suddenly your heart stops. A final plea… and then fade to black…

Are you ready? I mean, are you truly ready? Have you loved and lived fully and given of your deepest gifts?

A life well lived is a life faced with an open heart in every moment. You can be wide open, holding nothing back and you will receive in return without pushing away. This is true whether you are living in a penthouse or the Big House (prison). The opening of your heart does not come from an analysis of some kind, it is not dependent on external factors, it does not come from “loving” in the normal sense that we conceptualize love. The opening of your heart comes from a deeply felt sense. You are openness, inseparable from this entire moment. The one truth is that everything comes and goes. Everything must change.

Your child’s smile: precious but temporary and already dissolving.

Your lover’s tender embrace: already disentangling.

Life often resembles the ocean in that, try as we may, we are essentially helpless to stop the waves — they come and go, no matter how much we rail against them. Yet, while it is true that we cannot stop the waves, we can still learn how to surf. Every moment is a miracle and already disappearing. Every experience is at the same time full and empty — both.

A life lived merely for the sake of experience is a cheated life full of tension, insecurity, loneliness, and a deep sense of emptiness. Your Coach bag cannot fulfill you because, at some point in time, it will fade. It will break, or get lost, stolen, or worse: it will fall out of fashion. Your experience cannot fulfill you because as soon as it comes, it is already gone. Like the addict’s obsession/ compulsion for a fix, it’s an illusion, just out of reach.

If we stop the grasping, life becomes free and full of light. Surrendering is opening. That’s how you open — you surrender, opening full and bright, breathing deeply. Offering your heart of hearts, you are reborn in this moment. Believe me, when the end comes the only questions that will matter is whether you loved deeply and lived fully. But do not wait, death gives us the permission to live freely and love openly this very moment.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

No One is a Criminal

Hola mi gente,
As if you needed more proof that the war on drugs was just another way to lock up Blacks and Latinx and radicals, more and more key players at the center of the CIA-crack cocaine scandal continue to come forward.

On another note, I am disgusted by the faux outrage of so-called liberals whose silence during the brutal Obama years made Trump a reality. Today, they’re all outraged. Kiss my ass with that bullshit.

Seeing the Human

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Not too long ago, a high ranking correctional officer admonished me for missing a workshop at this facility. I took the day off. It seems that my workshop participants, thinking I had been replaced, expressed their disapproval so vehemently, they had to call in reinforcements. I facilitated workshops on Rikers Island, one of the most infamous penal colonies in the world at one of their most problematic facilities, Anne M Kross (“AMKC”). The captain asked me what was I did that created such loyalty. I just shrugged and said, “I treat them like with respect.”

Saying shit like that always gets me in trouble.

I considered it a compliment, especially considering that the NYC Dept. of Corrections (DOC) bureaucrats who run these programs had huge problems with how I facilitated my workshops. The greatest compliment, however, is whenever I run into a brother or sister on the outside and they come up to me to hug me. I remember being in an isolation ward and telling one the brothers there, “You don’t belong here.” He said he would come see me when he got released and he did. He’s now involved in a campaign to do away with the torture of solitary confinement.

Still, as I further reflected about my workshop participants’ “mutiny” I was reminded of the thing I do that perhaps others don’t: I refuse to see them as criminals. I see them first as human beings. I believe that all people, regardless of their criminal justice status, have the right, as we all do, to live with dignity and their humanity respected and valued.

At many immigrant rights rallies, one is confronted with the message, “No One is Illegal,” or “No One is a Criminal.” This is a great strategy — a strategy that prison reform and prison abolitionists should adopt. Once you see the human and not just the crime, then the opportunity for real change, for real justice, for human justice emerges.

I have seen and worked with many people who had committed murder, but I have never seen a murderer. I have seen many people who had stolen from others, but I have never seen a thief. And here’s the hardest one for me. I have even seen and worked with people who had committed terrible sex crimes, but I have never seen a sex offender. Throughout the years, I have evolved enough to realize than any one person is more than a crime.

It is irrational to define people by their worst act or acts. It denies the existence of all the other deeds they have committed, the many good or even noble, acts. I recognize those other deeds, the other, good aspects of their personalities. I see people who had done a crime, not criminals, or inmates, detainees, or cons, or animals.

When I began to see the people instead of just their crimes, they also saw the good parts of themselves. In giving respect, they respected me, and consequently, respected themselves. They began to have self-respect without denying their crime.

Unless you have been living under a rock, you most know by now that as a nation, The United States incarcerates more people than any other nation on the planet. We’re in the midst of a brutal social experiment in which we have enslaved black and brown people and poor people. We’re so hell-bent on retribution and punishment that we have lost sight of the humanity of our brothers and sisters and in the process, we have lost our souls.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

La Llorona

Hola mi gente,
I’m so sick the liberal hypocrites who have all of sudden gown a backbone and sense of morality. While neocons like Trump and his henchmen have “alternate facts,” so-called liberals live in an alternate reality. They can kiss my ass.

The following legend, La Llorona (the Weeping woman), can be viewed from multiple perspectives. Speaking directly about La Llorona and her impact upon the Chicana culture, Orquidea Morales writes, “For Chianas, La Llorona is a cultural icon, descendant of La Malinche and Aztec Goodess Cihucotal, who represents women’s voice and agency.”

This is one positive perspective one may take when viewing folktale: La Llorona represents a rebellious woman, refusing to be forced into subservience and treated lesser simply because of her upbringing. Morales speaks of how Chicana’s and Chicana feminists have re-theorized the myth of La Llorona to view the tale as an empowering episode of revolution and the demand for equality. Other women view the tale as a paradigm for being a bad mother — the examples of being weak, abandoning one’s children in times of crisis, being beaten by emotions and unable to control oneself.

La Llorona

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This is a story that the ancient ones have been telling to children for hundreds of years. It is a sad tale, but it lives strong in the memories of the people, and there are many who swear that it is true.

Long years ago in a humble little village there lived a beautiful young woman named Maria. Some say she was the most beautiful girl in the world. And because she was so beautiful, Maria thought she was better than everyone else.

As Maria grew older, her beauty increased and her pride in her beauty grew as well. She would not even look at the young men from her village. They weren’t good enough for her.

“When I marry,” Maria would say. “I will marry the most handsome man in the world.”

And then one day, a man who seemed to be just the one she had been talking about rode into Maria’s village. He was a dashing young ranchero, the son of a wealthy rancher from the southern plains. He could ride like a Comanche. In fact, if he owned a horse, and it grew tame, he would give it away and go rope a wild horse from the plains. He thought it wasn’t manly to ride a horse if it wasn’t half wild. He was handsome and he could play the guitar and sing beautifully. Maria made up her mind — that was the man for her. She knew just the tricks to win his attention.

If the ranchero spoke when they met on the pathway, she would turn her head away. When he came to her house in the evening to play his guitar and serenade her, she refused to come to the window. She rejected all his costly gifts. The young man fell for her tricks.

“That haughty girl, Maria, Maria!” he said to himself. “I know I can win her heart. I swear I’ll marry that girl.”

And so everything turned out as Maria planned. Before long, she and the ranchero became engaged and soon they were married. At first, things were fine. They had two children and they seemed to be a happy family together. But after a few years, the ranchero went back to the wild life of the prairies. He would leave town and be gone for months at a time. And when he returned home, it was only to visit his children. He seemed to care nothing for the beautiful Maria. He even talked of setting Maria aside and marrying a woman of his own class.

As proud as Maria was, she became very angry with the ranchero. She also began to feel anger toward her children, because he paid attention to them, but just ignored her.

One evening, as Maria was strolling with her two children on the shady pathway near the river, the ranchero came by in a carriage. An elegant lady sat on the seat beside him. He stopped and spoke to his children, but he didn’t even look at Maria. Then he whipped the horses on up the street.

When she saw that, a terrible rage filled Maria, and it all turned against her children. And although it is sad to tell, the story says that in her anger Maria seized her two children and threw them into the river. But as they disappeared down the stream, she realized what she had done and she ran down the bank of the river, reaching out her arms to them. But they were long gone.

The next morning, a traveler brought word to the villagers that a beautiful woman lay dead on the bank of the river. That is where they found Maria, and they laid her to rest where she had fallen.

But the first night Maria was in the grave, the villagers heard the sound of crying down by the river. It was not the wind, it was La Llorona crying. “Where are my children?” And they saw a woman walking up and down the bank of the river, dressed in a long white robe, the way they had dressed Maria for burial. On many a dark night they saw her walk the river bank and cry for her children. And so they no longer spoke of her as Maria. They called her La Llorona, the weeping woman. And by that name she is known to this day. Children are warned not to go out in the dark, for, La Llorona might snatch them and never return them.

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Notes to a Young Progressive

Hola mi Gente,
I plan to rest this weekend.

Nationalism

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I call him a patriot who rebukes his country for its sins and does not excuse them.
— Frederick Douglas

Many years ago, George Orwell wrote a prescient essay on the differences between nationalism and patriotism Orwell’s Notes on Nationalism, has as much relevance today as it did when it was written right before the lead up to WWII as nationalistic fervor fed the flames of Nazism and fascism.

Too many people confuse nationalism for patriotism. When I listen to the nationalistic fervor stoked by the likes of Trump and Hillary, for example, it is concerning because theirs is an appeal to fear to a white demographic feeling betrayed — a population looking for any excuse to explode. The successful Trump/ GOP’s campaign strategy is to create “the other” as different and unpatriotic. It’s been a one-note effort mostly because U.S. conservatives apparently do not know any other strategy.

Another reason political elites use this tactic because it works: tar and feather a candidate by coming up with the scary face of a black killer. At one time that face was the face of Willie Horton. Today, it is any black kid with a hood. Dismiss people who dare question the wisdom of our current foreign policies as “unpatriotic.” Paint the opposition as effeminate and ineffectual and deride them for having the courage to speak out against wars that kill tens of thousands of innocent women and children. And this is just the Democrats.

And it continues to work. It is working partly because the failures of decades of lunatic neoliberal economic policies have created global financial meltdowns and eroded the middle class.

Orwell defined patriotism as “devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be the best in the world but has no wish to force upon other people.” I have no argument with this definition

According to Orwell, nationalism is the tendency of identifying oneself with a single nation or an idea, and “placing it beyond good and evil and recognizing no other duty than that of advancing its interests.” In other words, nationalism doesn’t have to be based on an allegiance to a particular nation. This same fanaticism can be applied to any “ism”: neoliberalism or fundamentalism of any kind (religious or otherwise), for example. Whether it’s based on a country or an “ism,” nationalism always contains that dangerous combination of blind fanaticism and a lack of concern for reality.

In nationalism, thoughts “always turn on victories, defeats, triumphs and humiliations… Nationalism is power-hunger tempered by self-deception.” Moreover, its self-deception leads to catastrophic miscalculations based on delusions rather than facts. Orwell stated, foretelling the mental state of democrats today:

Political and military commentators, like astrologers, can survive almost any mistake, because their more devoted followers do not look to them for an appraisal of the facts but for the stimulation of nationalistic loyalties.

But to really appreciate Orwell and understand how he had our current foreign policy down pat, you only need to read this:

All nationalists have the power of not seeing resemblances between similar sets of facts. Actions are held to be good or bad, not on their own merits but according to who does them, and there is almost no kind of outrage — torture, the use of hostages, forced labor, mass deportations, imprisonment without trial, forgery, assassination, the bombing of civilians — which does not change its moral color when committed by ‘our’ side.… The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.

It was Georges Santayana who said “… those who refuse to remember the past, are condemned to relive it.”

Any of this sounds familiar?

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Naked is the Night

Hola Everybody,
Some of the worst, most atrocious examples of writing can be found in the social sciences. I think a large part of the reason is that social scientists try too hard to make their writing sound “scientific.”

Every once in a while, however, you run into some great writers who also happen to be great social scientists. Case in point, Luc Sante’s Low Life, the story of New York’s Lower East Side, circa 1840-1920. Sante may not be a social scientist in the strict sense of the word, but damn! his insights and how he brings to life the culture of the streets that continues to influence our contemporary popular culture, is a rare and wonderful fusion of art and science. Check this little gem of a paragraph…

The Naked Night

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The Naked Night, Ingmar Bergman

 

The night is the corridor of history, not the history of famous people, or great events, but that of the marginal, the ignored, the suppressed, the unacknowledged; the history of vice, error, of confusion, of fear, of want; the history of intoxication, of vainglory, of delusion, of dissipation, of delirium. It strips off the city’s veneer of progress and modernity and civilization and reveals the wilderness. In New York City it is an accultured wilderness that contains all the accumulated crime of past nights… and it is not an illusion. It is the daytime that is the chimera, that pretends New York is anyplace, maybe with bigger buildings, but just as workaday, with a population that goes about its business and then goes to sleep, a great machine humming away for the benefit of the world. Night reveals this to be a pantomime. In the streets at night, everything kept hidden comes forth, everyone is subject to the rules of chance, everyone is potentially both murderer and victim, everyone is afraid, just as anyone who sets his or her mind to it can inspire fear in others. At night, everyone is naked.

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Economic Apartheid

Hola Everybody,
If you’re fluent in Spanish and know the landscape of the reentry world in NYC, you should contact me.

I occasionally repost the following because I like it so much and because (oddly enough) I’m always trying to rework it.

The Ties that Bind Us

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Women and children are disproportionately the casualties of war

… And whoever controls the debt, controls everything. This is the essence of the banking industry to make us all slaves to the debt.
The International

 

As we lurch toward the second decade of the new millennium, I can’t help but reflect in amazement how we’ve been at it for all these thousands of years and we’re still here in spite of ourselves. Through the cruel elements, the countless plagues and wars, the lunatics, and perhaps human nature itself, we are still here, defiant, striving, still trying to make sense of it all.

We’re still alive… for now.

We’re still suffering and killing and hating each other. Diplomacy has risen to an art form because we have become masters of the art of war. I wake up today with the realization that we have defeated the democratic process and in its place we have put an economic system that depraves our efforts in order to create riches based on a subculture of poverty and crime, a system any other creature would rightfully see as barbaric.

We believe ourselves to be the most advanced species but we demonstrate very little understanding or respect for our bodies or the world we inhabit.

For over a hundred years, the practice of slavery has been outlawed here in the Land of the Snow, but people still slave. Technology has taken us to outer space, but not before we managed to eradicate millions in search of genetic purity; not before one of our greatest technological projects, harnessing the power of the atom, incinerated tens of thousands of innocent men, women, and children to shadows.

We wear the restraints of capitalism, the corruption of ideals, and our hatred, prejudice, and ignorance like shackles.

Our capacity for moral reasoning hasn’t caught up with our technological advances. On the richest nation on the planet, we have the power to end starvation, but children still go hungry. We celebrate our medical advances, but the medicines that slow the progress of AIDS are nowhere to be found as that very plague decimates the entire African continent. Our thinking gets the better of our actions. But before we begin to lay blame, please know that our actions are not truly ours to command. At least not any longer…

Today decisions are made by governments and the corporations that own them and are designed to increase profit, not to advance humanitarian ends. Children are starving because it has nothing to do with the bottom line. People are dying everywhere, but how can you try an international cartel for murder?

I awaken and I am appalled at the lack of moral responsibility and leadership. We all know something’s wrong, but we can’t seem to change because we’ve been hoodwinked — we’ve all been chained and made into commodities.

Reality TV is our pacifier and money is our drug of choice — the one habit we can’t kick without dying in the process. Money also forms the links that create our shackles. Our labor binds us to systems that see us only as units of value or expense.

And in this way we careen toward a future like a runaway train whose conductor and engineer have slain one another, its passengers asleep and blissfully unaware. Our lives are designed to maintain the values of our economy. A pound of coffee, an ounce of lead, a human life — all these things express value in our world. Not human values, but the values of a system that rules us. We drag along these values accepting their consequences: wars, the laws that maintain order (and their prisons), the weapons of mass destruction, and the delusional need for world dominance.

Through all this, we are told that there awaits a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But we know deep down inside that we’ll have to pay in sweat, blood, and sacrifice — our sacrifice alone — for such a future. Yes, boys and girls, the future may be bright, but we will be the beasts of burden hauling around the necessities to maintain that brilliance.

I wake up today and I am overcome by an overwhelming sense that nothing will save the masses from this tragic fate.

Unless we free ourselves from those old chains of ignorance of the past two-hundred years or more. In order to free ourselves we must stop fooling ourselves into continuing to believe that our chains are jewelry. We must begin to consider the nature of our chains. Understanding something about how we became enslaved (again) might allow us the ability break free of those chains. Once freed, we might bring on a new consciousness that will help us realize that the dreams we had for a bright future pale in comparison to the reality that lies quiescent within each and every one of us.

I once thought that the latest economic devastation would have forced white working-class Americans to stop heeding the demagoguery of right-wing talk show hosts; that they would come to realization that they too are part of the insanity of mass oppression for mass production. Unfortunatley, this is not true. today white identity politics, better expressed as white supremacy, continues to be the norm. This current economic mess, brought upon by decades of conservative ideology, will not just go away. This is not an economic hiccup and the white middle class has been hoodwinked into believing that same actions will bring different results.

I believed that after the last economic shockwave would have made it harder to segregate people of color from whites, as we all endure the hardships. And to be sure, even if people do not want to see — or admit — the fact that we’re all in the same boat, reality has come knocking. Maybe, finally, as we all continue to suffer from the ravages of an economic shit storm, people will be less prone to heed the propaganda of racial superiority.

Poor or nonexistent medical care, job insecurity, lack of education — these issues affect every cultural group, creed, and race to differing degrees.

Do not misunderstand me: I cannot abide the idiots who caterwaul that it is not race, but economics that matter. That’s bullshit. You cannot skip to class struggles without addressing the structural racism that is the foundation of that class structure.

Yet, while the runaway juggernaut of capitalism may not extract its pound of flesh in an equal opportunity manner, it does extract it from all of us. It is the nature of capitalism to apply its value system to everything. Within this system, all values are interchangeable. Not only are these values interchangeable, but they also rise and fall according to market forces. Your whole sense of identity and belonging can come tumbling down the moment the cost of a barrel of crude oil, for example, skyrockets. Price competition could well affect the cost of production and one of the major production costs is labor — your labor. In this way, the value of life itself rises and falls according to the cost of production.

Contrary to what the well-groomed media presstitutes tell you, the economic system that rules so much of our lives cannot value human labor above any other commodity or resource. Under the crushing weight of this system, your humanity is no more valuable than its equivalent cost of a sack of potatoes. Capitalism has no humanity, something even the talking heads admit even while they tell you it’s the ultimate solution to all our social ills. All that exists in the capitalist bible is the margin of profit, the market share. We are all part of the machine, and those elements — those idiosyncrasies of individualism — must be dealt with in the same way any mechanic deals with a “faulty” part: removal or replacement.

We are all part of an economic machine. Some of us are cogs, others ghosts, but it is the machine, not our differences, that drive us.

Whites will experience what people of color have been experiencing for centuries and my hope is that, as they experience alienation and isolation from the full participation of the democratic process, they will begin to learn what it feels to be marginalized and in that way, we can all somehow create a coalition founded on our common experiences. As whites, you might feel identification with groups or power, but what does that identification mean on the unemployment line?

But I fear whites will never learn…

In our current reality, we are all a unit of labor. Sure, each individual may use his or her labor as he or she wishes, but in most cases, this power is extremely limited. Make no mistake: the advantage of supply and demand is in the favor of the corporations, not ours. While this is indeed depressing, I take heart in knowing that the experience that can marshal a new era — a new consciousness — in our shared history.

The history of African Americans and Latinx is an integral and important part of the history of the United States. Rebellion, it is said, is the essential movement of understanding. Violence and oppression rob us of the ability to understand. Without understanding, there can be no growth, no appreciation of truth, and no tomorrow — only a never-ending repetition of the daily act of humiliation that has become definition of our existence.

You may judge my words depressing, but I say that there can be no healing until recognition of the disease has evolved. With that, we are well on our way. I also realize that some of you despair that there aren’t enough of us, that the machine will chew us like so much grist for the mill. My first response is almost theoretical: allow me to point you to the power of karma. Your actions, no matter how seemingly insignificant, fan out, creating psychic ripples of consequences and actions. My second response is pragmatic. For those who would despair, I leave you with the following knowledge passed down to us by the anthropologist Margaret Meade:

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.