We All Want to Change the World

There is no love lost between the boomers and me. I couldn’t explain it better than this, so I recommend the read if you care to understand my reasons. But I have to give them credit for one thing. When it came right down to it and the game was on the line, they put their money where their mouth is and changed the fucking world.

It might be why they did little to impress afterward. Maybe they figured they had triumphed, that the revolution was complete. Maybe they felt they had done their part and deserved the rest. It must have been incredibly taxing, altering the human narrative as they did. Perhaps it took it all out of them.

1968 was the single most pivotal year in modern history, comparable only to 1945, the year when the boom began. For the boomers, at least the cohort I’m referring to, although many of the principal actors in ’68 were actually born years before, it was their Midway, their Stalingrad, their Ardennes, literally their Khe Sahn. It was a turning point in the war.

The list of achievements that year is too long to do it justice here — 2001: A Space Odyssey, Apollo 8, ASC II, hypertext, The Beatles’ White Album — a litany of innovations that defined the next 50 years. But none of them hold a candle to what was truly accomplished. For all of its subtext, Planet of the Apes doesn’t fully capture the political and social upheaval that marked 1968.

It’s telling that current Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s father, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, was sworn into that same office in 1968. The corollaries between that year and this — a conservative political climate committed to the restoration of “law and order”, black athletes protesting entrenched racism, a long standing American military occupation of foreign soil, nationalist politicians speaking out against immigration — are numerous enough to give pause. There is one marked difference, however. When the powers seeking to maintain the cultural and economic establishment they aimed to dismantle came out to crush them, rather than sit around and complain about the status quo, the boomers actually took to the streets and did something about it.

And they had every reason not to. One by one, the leaders of their movement, beginning with JFK in 1963, had been assassinated, often right before their eyes. Their government, society at large, even their parents, were all aligned against them. They were literally attacked, jailed, beaten, shot. And still they struggled on.

Compare that to today, when, faced with levels of inequality and injustice that rival the days of serfs and emperors, the best we can muster is a hashtag campaign on social media. It’s sad really. Every attempt at moving forward, at creating the level of fundamental shift such as the boomers achieved in 1968, is consumed from within, sold out before it can even begin to assume its true potential. Sure, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates went corporate, but only as a means for achieving their greater goal, that of enabling others. The money just followed. Gen X spent no time at all devolving the internet into a commodified caricature of its original intent. Those attending the current analogue, cryptocurrency and blockchain, with their arguably greater capacity for moving humanity into the next epoch of prosperity and enlightenment, didn’t even wait that long.

Could it be that we are incapable of such conviction? That this is one of those things, like so many others, that the boomers neglected to impart to us? Can we hope to regain the fortitude necessary to persist in the face of seemingly insurmountable social, economic and cultural forces, to endure suffering, almost certain failure, maybe death? Is it possible that, as they did in ’68, we need the boomers to take it to the streets, that we might actually need Joe Biden to show us the way?

The problem is, I don’t think they have it in them. And it’s not just my personal “hang-up” with the boomers, to borrow a term they popularized, that leads me to say this. They have told me so themselves.

“We really need the college students of today, and the Gen Xers of today, to take over the world, sooner rather than later,” climate scientist Dr. Steven Running informed me during a recent podcast interview. “Because I have to admit, my generation doesn’t have enough guts to make the changes, they’re too wed to the fossil fuel life, and I think we’re more of the problem then we’ll ever be the solution.”

Still, I wonder if we have the courage, or the skill set. Because, on this golden anniversary of the Year of Protests, the very same war rages on, and we’re not in the streets, and least not like the boomers were. We’re still wed to the same systems — political, social, economic — the majority of which are completely incongruous with our new global civilization, to say nothing of the ecosphere, and I see no indication that we’ll change. It’s clear that, as demonstrated by the successful memes of Brexit and MAGA, all we really want is for things to return to some romanticized vision of the past.

So now we’re putting it on the next generation to save us. But the trouble is, even if the college students of today were to heed Dr. Running’s exhortation, we’re asking them to do so while bound by a straitjacket. We make up the system, the framework, the infrastructure in which the millennials and their younger counterparts are forced to operate. Their generating the impulse necessary to change its momentum would be challenge enough even with our cooperation, let alone when half the available energy is either at rest or actively opposing it.

In other words, this is hard fucking work. No disrespect to Dr. Running, who is still in the trenches, but we’re going to need all hands on deck. Because, unlike the boomers, we’re not merely upending a prevailing culture. What we’re dealing with isn’t just a change in mindset, although that is still an important part of the equation. We literally have the entire apparatus supporting our existence to remake.

Prior to 1968, it was okay to treat people like second-class citizens. It was okay to exploit developing countries through imperialist policies and military action. Those practices were de rigueur. Post 1968, it’s no longer okay, but we continue doing so because our system requires it. And that system is what we have to change.

For all my personal animosity toward the boomers, I readily admit we’re indebted to them, and not just because they gave me life. They spawned an entirely new breed of idealism, one that advanced the notion of equality beyond de facto to make it a priori and then extended it to the rest of the living and non-living systems as well. They altered our very expectation of how the world should be. Quite unlike the virtual nihilism we practice today, the boomers actually believed they could make a difference, and, in 1968, did everything in their power to see that occur.

But this is 2018, not 1968, and it’s high time we manifest that expectation in reality and make incarnate the ideals that the boomers fought to enshrine. Arguments that these things take time or that we must work within the constraints of the current system are worse than denial or outright refusal, only serving to highlight the fact that, while we recognize the need for action, we intend to do nothing about it. Largely because doing something quite likely means enduring the personal discomfort, hardship, and pain that we are currently externalizing to someone else.

Our predicament only becomes all the more vexatious with the realization that there is no one to turn our anger on, no establishment to rail against, no others. In 1968, the battle lines were clear — a new and progressive counterculture united against the forces of an old guard overtly and conspicuously intent upon ensuring the continuation of its ways. Today, we are the establishment, begrudgingly upholding the status quo through a mix of fatalism, apathy, and the understanding that the only confrontation we can expect to have is with ourselves.

That is not to say there is not an established order, a prevailing modality that shouldn’t be assailed and dismantled with the same ardent fervor and resolve as the boomers afforded segregation. There is. It just isn’t going to present itself in the form of us against them. This time around, it is us against ourselves.

Still, we shouldn’t fear the fight, if only to prove to the boomers that we are as capable of driving change in 2018 as they were in 1968. That the generation who tore down the Berlin Wall isn’t about to let another go up. That our policy of non-participation really was a calculated strategy, not a mere attempt at avoidance.

So what does the fight of 2018 look like in real terms? At its core, it revolves around our putting outcome and purpose back in the driver seat and relegating the pursuit of profit to an impetus, rather than an end unto itself. More concretely, it’s about devising solutions to fundamental problems rather than those created by our failure to do so or our desire for distraction. And it means coming to terms with the fact that we really are one unified global community, no matter if we want to be or not.

There is absolutely no chance that we are not moving beyond this present state. It is inevitable and, at the current rate of change, will happen sooner than we think. The only matter up for debate is whether we want that future to resemble a scene from Star Trek: The Next Generation or one from Soylent Green. It’s a catechism we cannot avoid, and, it fact, the question has already been posed. About that, there is nothing we can do. Determining the answer, however, is entirely up to us.

The Mouse and Old El Paso

It was a dark and stormy night when Pablo the mouse stuck his whiskers past the gnawed edges of his mousehole and surveyed the old wooden dock that jutted out into the harbor.  The fishing boats were tied up alongside, as they always were on a dark stormy night, unless one of them didn’t make it home, which had only happened once in Pablo’s lifetime here on the wharf.  Pablo’s family had always lived on the docks; they were mostly gone now.  Only Pablo remained, and that was because he never went on the boats.  There were all kinds of wonderful treats on the boats, he knew, delicious tidbits just waiting for a brave mouse to nibble upon.  But Pablo wasn’t a brave mouse.  He was an old one.

The rain was coming down in sheets and lightning flashed across the sky.  A lantern burned on a post beside the boat belonging to the old Swede, and light poured out of the wheelhouse as well.   The Swede’s boat always smelled the best to Pablo.  Even when the Mexican deckhands stopped mending the nets to eat it didn’t smell as good as the Swede’s boat.   If I were to go on a boat, thought Pablo, I would go on the Swede’s.

Strange sound came from the Swede’s boat, enticing the mouse nearly as much as the smell.  He could barely hear it over the wind and the rain, but he liked it.  His whiskers poked a bit further out of his hole.  He tried to retreat, but the smell made his little pink nose twitch, and his whiskers shook in delight.  He edged down the dock towards the old Swede’s boat.

Never had Pablo been so far out on the dock.  Before he knew it, he was alongside the old Swede’s boat.  A rope held the boat fast to the dock, and the wind whistling thru the masts made the old trawler tug at the line.  Pablo looked behind him at his mousehole longingly.  He wanted to go back, but he couldn’t.  The strange sound drifted past his tiny ears.

He was on the rope now, scurrying across it as quick as a mouse.  The boat now, and the fear so strong in him he could barely walk.  He skittered towards the wheelhouse, the bright light, the delicious smell, and the strange sound.  His whiskers twitched as he poked his head across the threshold.

“Out in the west Texas town of El Paso,” Marty Robbins sang.

The old Swede was having a party.  He had been ahead of the storm, ahead of the others, and the bad weather had pushed the fish into his nets by the ton.  Some fresh Limburger cheese sat on the table near his hand, his knife stuck in it at an awkward angle.  He turned his head and eyed the cautious mouse.

“A brave little mouse,” he said.  “Looking for his cheese.  God has been fine to me today, my small friend, and your courage delights me.  Do you like Marty Robbins?”

The Swede cut a small sliver of cheese with his knife.  Pablo’s whiskers twitched.  He scampered to and fro, uncertain what might come, but delighted despite himself.  The old fisherman tossed it to the mouse.

“I am a great fisherman,” the old Swede said, “but I have no friends, no family.  I like you mouse, and if it be to your liking, I invite you to stay with me here on my boat.”

Pablo didn’t understand the words, but he liked the cheese.  It was the finest meal he had ever enjoyed.  He ate it and sprinted for a small crack in the cupboards of the galley, squirming through it as fast as he could.  He poked his nose through the crack, and his whiskers twitched.  The old Swede smiled.

“I fell in love with a Mexican girl.”

finally

though I cannot do whatever I like, I will tell you about it. I wish to live in a quiet little village where everyone walks and I never have to be without my dogs. there I wish to husband plants & animals to our mutual benefit and live as simply as one can in this world. I would like a partner in this who also likes to fool around with a smile whenever the chance arises (for this desire is terribly strong in me unfortunately). in my free time I should like to romp & play and especially work at the arts, for they are the truest expression of what lies within the soul. if I could see both the sea and the mountains, that would be best, but I will take one or the other if I must. I wish there to be no cars, no disparity of wealth, and, most importantly, no dishonesty. here I will live solely to the advantage of others, and, by their doing likewise, we shall all prosper. my neighbor will police me, as I him, such that there will be no need for citizens on patrol or laws of any kind, and no doors will be closed to me behind which the evilest of action may be hidden. in all, I should like to reside in God’s dream during the day and rest my mind nightly, rather than be plagued, both awake and asleep, by nightmare.

The Long and Short of It

the long and short of it is, I got the fear.  the day will come. however, when I make the change, it will be across the board. I’m gonna dump everything and go underground. though you often call bullshit on me, I truly have no material desires, once I step away from the silly impulses of my body to procreate. what I want is revolution; I hate that what you have is more important than who you are. we are so advanced in civilization that those kinds of things should no longer matter, and I am sick of that kind of weakness. I am not free of it, as you are well aware, but I am truly tired of being a slave to it.

it is funny to me that you and I go round and round about this, without gaining any ground. and funnier that, though we seem to have our eyes on different horizons, we continue to tread the same path. I don’t think either of us is willing to really open our eyes to where it actually leads. this is my goal. I want to create a community where community is paramount, not competition. I truly believe that if we build it, they will come. in the end, it will like all things, destroy itself, but in doing so, like jesus on the cross, it will live forever in the souls of those who believe. I think that is my purpose in life, as self important as it may sound.

GAS WAR – an idea that WILL work

if you received the email GAS WAR – an idea that WILL work, consider this:
 
Saudi Arabia has 25% of the world’s oil. Iraq comes in second
 
While there are quite a few “oil companies” in the world, there are really only a handful of conglomerates who control distribution and pricing:  BP, Shell, Total, and ExxonMobil. All of the names you find on the pumps are subsidiaries of these umbrella companies. Of them, Shell is the most realistic about their role in the environment; their CEO admits that unless the world begins extracting carbon from the atmosphere and returning it to the subterrane, the outlook is grave.
 
CITGO is owned by the national oil company of Venezuela, who nationalized all oil related industry in 1977. Venezuela has the fifth largest reserves in the world, and is the fifth largest supplier of US oil, after Canada, Mexico, Saudi Arabia, and Nigeria. They currently are in negotiations with China, the fastest growing consumer market.
 
At current rates of consumption, only 40 years of oil reserves remain. 
 
Brazil is on the verge of announcing energy independence. The country already satisfies nearly half of its domestic passenger vehicle fuel demand with ethanol from sugar cane. The refineries that produce the ethanol are powered by waste from the ethanol production process. 

Corn is the only source of raw material for ethanol production in the US, and most studies indicate it takes nearly as much energy to produce the corn ethanol as the fuel provides. Ethanol accounts for approximately 4% of US fuel consumption.

As far as pricing goes, brand-name boycotting is an ineffective mechanism. These are wealthiest companies on the planet controlling the most valuable commodity on earth. If you boycott one company, they will purchase the name of the company you are buying. Get a clue!
 
And lastly, STOP YOUR WHINING, you lazy, self-absorbed imbeciles! You cannot have your cake and eat it too. Your grandchildren will pay the price of your indolence. 
 
Quit driving. Buy local. Grow your own foodstuffs. Reduce.

You must be the change you want to see in the world – Mahatma Gandhi

Happy Earth Day – April 22, 2006

Dear Mr. Tanner Thomas

I recently read your article in Teen World News. After reading it, I felt compelled to redress several points.

First, a war cannot be stupid. Ridiculous, yes. Absurd, certainly. But stupid describes a trait of the mind, and a war cannot be stupid any more than it could be boisterous or happy or intelligent. I grant that in modern English, stupid and meaningless are often utilized interchangeably, but I must note that a promising young writer such as yourself ought to get in the habit of using the words that truly capture the essence of what it is they are trying to express. As I am confident that you believe the war does have meaning, or at least some point, be it good or bad, I feel that a quick visit to the thesaurus would better allow me to grasp what it was you actually wanted me to comprehend.

Second, I must state that the reason we went to Iraq, and continue to remain in Iraq, is because you and I both want us there. Regardless of how you perceive your feelings over the matter to be, the facts of your actions, and the actions of all Americans, dictate that we invade and conquer Iraq. The deaths of Marines and Iraqi civilians to which you allude in your article are the direct result of your own daily choices, and mine. Every time I pull up to the gas pump and fill my tank with gasoline shipped here from Iraqi oil fields secured by American troops, I am stating explicitly that I want to be in Iraq. Every time you drive anywhere, you are supporting the foreign policy that provides the cheap oil products that get you there.   

I wholeheartedly agree that we should not be in Iraq. But I am tired of the hypocrisy of those who cry for peace while they continue to demand the lifestyle only war can ensure.

If you want to change the world, change yourself.

Thank you for the excellent article.

Sincerely,

Cobey Williamson

Poem (Untitled)

can’t find the source can’t find the sea closed system nothing gained nothing lost everything is constant just bounce along a stream is static and dynamic a single entity and a zillion individual molecules of hydrogen and oxygen all at once is it measured in an instant or over time why why not a crocodile in the kootenai but how does that relate to a billion people all concerned with immediate deliberations there’s no figuring it out it’s a circle or maybe a down around route coming back to a same beginning about food, status, reproduction, deduction of construction of this thing we call what is if I does for I and self for self what is love and why does it exist or does it exist at all do we know anything beyond words and chemical reactions refractions of light bend time and if a blind deaf dumb man with no sense of smell was floating in space would he even know if he existed and if he knew of self would he love is self-love innate if I don’t know what any word means how can I know what any other word means so do I know anything at all of course I do I don’t but how can a chinaman and I both know a rock will fall to the earth if neither of us has ever seen one another or a rock fall or would it even fall at all lofty goals are they really lofty and does lofty truly mean self-sacrificing?

Poem (Untitled)

You ever fasted
Outlasted
Physiological demands
Become the master of the outcome
Of any given span
Planned the future in a vision
Brought to fruition with the will
Focus your intention and faith can turn a hill
Into a mountain
Or a mountain to the sea
Remove all reservation
And the truth will simply be

29 April, 1992

The brothers got mad
they had a right to
having seen years of struggle
nullified in twenty-three minutes
of brutality
and nineteen minutes
of deliberation

Suddenly Rosa Parks' sacrifice
was rendered inconsequential
for segregation was self-imposed
and they stood together
a tight mob, monochrome
exhaling an air of violence
poised, guarded
and whereas before
they would beckon me to join them
to laugh and stomp
today there would be no revelry

And when I approached
they shifted uneasily in their places
averting their eyes from the Devil's gaze
as Perseus from Medusa
and only after I lingered on
at the edge of that seething mass
did the one best known to me
step forward and say
"we cannot speak to you today"
and although I had known I was white
every day of my life
I had never before then realized
what that looked like
through the eyes of someone who wasn't

Black Socialist Rappers of America

I preach M.L.K. every day
Brother Malcolm knew the way
is that all u got 2 say
talkin' violence 4 your pay
that ain't y I came 2 play
ain't y I joined the fray
ain't y I mosh the stage
write rhymz across the page
damn straight I share your rage
we grip the bars of the same cage

if u ain't wit me ur against me
ain't that how the story goes
and these beatz preach the same message
treble hookin' bass straight 2 the flowz

     Brotherz ... come together
     Sisterz  ... show us the way
     Motherz  ... teach your children
     Fatherz  ... what can I say

I don't find glamour in a gun
though I once thought I might
saw Boyz in the Hood and Menace
try relate 2 the plight
but folx keep killin' their own people
with the crak rok and such
leanin' on what's (his)tory
like itz sum kind of crutch
never been above impoverished
in the Great Income Poll
but that has never kept me
from achievin' my goalz
sure I slung a little ganja
try 2 make my endz meet
but my friendz slung sax bak @ me
so it in essence came free
point is us poh'z in this 2gether
we're @ odds with the Man
and we'll all B slavez 4 ever
in their bourgeoisie plan

friendz
2day it is no different
then it waz in the past
poh sellin' out each other
2 the dominant class