Loving Vegan

Duck and I made some delicious food…below are grilled eggplant from the farm, quinoa, and homemade pickled turnips. It felt like a good time to reflect on my food choices in the wake of such a blessed meal.

Before I became vegan, I basically thought that vegans were a little crazy. There was threshold of sanity, that I felt like I was on with my vegetarian diet and liberal views. And then there were vegans, who, in my firm beliefs, could never have a healthy diet, disciplined themselves too much, and were just a little off.
Then, I lead a weeklong training, our group began a food justice workshop. One of the coordinators lead a discussion and reflection from an article we had read about food. Her passionate, heartfelt rsponse and expression shook me. I’d heard the statistics hundreds of times, heck, I helping to  lead a workshop on them. I’d been around the vengeful vegans, who preached about the horrors, with spittle flicking out of their mouths, images of  beakless chickens in battery cages.
Then I heard things from the heart, and my heart in response, opened. In Pali, language of Buddhist scriptures, the word for compassion literally translates to “the fluttering of the heart.” This is what happened for me.
That evening, I ate a cookie, and I sipped some milk. It tasted sour to me. That was all. No intense discipline, no firey anger, just a shift.
It’s been over a year now since I became vegan. It is really hard to find a lot of easy snacks to eat. I get frustrated sometimes, just wanting a rich, butter food. I miss easeful meals sometimes, and not having to pick together scraps from meaty menus.
And, I feel more connected to my food than I ever have. When I pray before I eat, I feel closer and closer to where my food comes from. Especially when my veggies come from the People’s Grocery farm—sometimes I’ve harvested almost all of what’s on my plate!
Once in a while, I’ll eat dairy. After a hot day on the farm, I had an ice cream. Lailah gets her eggs from Eatwell Farms, and, though I feel conflicted about their hen-raising practices, sometimes I eat the eggs from there. I am not pure, or perfect—but even if I never ate a single drop of dairy or animal product, I wouldn’t be pure or perfect. Since my practice of veganism came from a stirring of my heart, I’ve promised myself to keep it there, rooted in where my heart is, where my joy is. Over and over again, my heart is inclined to food that I can feel easeful eating. In my practice of following my instict, and not forcing a narrative of how to be good for the world or myself, I follow my veganism as far as my heart takes me. Today, my practice feels like an invitation, so that every time I eat something, I am also asking . . . is this right for me? For my heart? For the world? And sometimes it is, and sometimes things are complicated.

Food Justice Reflection

One thing I’ve been doing as of late is volunteering with People’s Grocery. They’re a food justice organization committed to providing produce to West Oakland residence—a a district of Oakland with well-documented 55 liquor stores and no groceries. As usual, lack of access to healthy, fresh food predominantly affects low-income folks of color, and West Oakland is definitely an area with majority low income folks of color. People’s Grocery has the challenge of being a grassroots, community organization while not having complete leadership by community members. PG strives to put the leadership in the hands of West Oakland residents, but the intention to have the organization run by West Oakland residents is still an intention as opposed to a reality.

Some thoughts about food justice: what does that term even mean? One definition I’ve seen is the idea that there is enough food for those who need it—here and abroad—but that access to resources, racism, classism and imperialism have meant that food is a privilege, and healthy, sustainable food is a luxury.

To me, food justice also involves the understanding that food is a weapon. The ability to regulate, confine, and distribute food has become a completely accepted institution, but is also a fiarly new and unreasonable one. In non-capitalist forms, many communities practice food sharing and distribution, and food is not a commodity to be locked and guarded. Food can be traded, shared, or specialized, but the regulation and security of food, and the view of crops as commodities and not as a relationship to land, plants, and humans, has plagued capitalist since Jamestown colonies almost starved in the shadow of their acres of tobacco plantations.

In my life, food justice means supporting organic, but more importantly, local food organizations that support small farms. The integrity of a small farm is something that I trust, and the value of my local economy is something on which I depend. Growing food in my own yard, supporting organizations like People’s Grocery in an accountable way that doesn’t interrupt community involvement, and giving my food to small, homegrown farms is my way of bringing justice and liberation to a world, and undoing the chains around the food I eat and the people who eat with me.

Real Green: Why Chevron Ain’t The Same Color as Me

Chevron Loves the Environment??

I know I’m not the first, or only one who’s noticed that everyone is green these days. And I mean everyone. The ad above is published by Chevron as part of their “will you join us” campaign. I don’t think I need to expound too much on the idea that joining Chevron would really be joining in genocide, environmental devastation, and immense greed and corruption.This act, known as “greenwashing” is excellently described in Greenpeace’s greenwashing site. (Note that Greenpeace is not a shining example of a local, anti-racist organization, but their site is interesting).

Many folks argue that having large corporations pitching in to inspire the average Jose to do their part is admirable and a contribution to the green movement. I am conflicted. I’m definitely in the “it’s-about-damn-time” camp for the mainstream interest and popularity of being more environmentally friendly, but I have seen this beast before.

In a workshop I lead a while back, we had a big discussion about cultural misappropiation. Cultural misappropiation is really great topic that I couldn’t adequately touch on here, or in this format, but I do want to adapt a sliver of our discussion to apply here. An image we offered was that of a small community, separate from the mainstream. This community is usually separate from the mainstream because they have been ostracized, kicked out, or forced from the mainstream group with violence. Sometimes this community is outside of the mainstream by choice–they may disapprove or dislike mainstream values, hold themselves above it, etc. Now the tricky part here is that American culture loves not being part of the mainstream. Everyone wants to be their own special, subversive island. So, I will try to define the mainstream as folks who value and try to align themselves with what the larger culture rewards, appreciates, and admires. I’m not too interested in a semantics argument, but I think that most people feel like they have a good idea of mainstream means. I might even venture to offer the example of the white, middle-class, capitalist family as a pretty good place to start.

So, moving on! For a long time, “being green” was not a mainstream idea. In the sixties and seventies, especially during the energy crisis of the seventies and Jimmy Carter’s pro-environmental rhetoric (he famously installed solar panels on the White House–Nixon’s first act as successor was to remove them) there was some general popularity. But, after everyone forgot about that and moved on from the crisis, Americans rejoiced by buying SUV’s and consuming thirty percent of the worlds’ resources* in comparison to their 5% population. Not everyone did this though. Tireless efforts of organizations have risen and fallen, lost and won, and over all struggled hard during that time to protect world resources. Local organizations have made wins in their towns, lobbyist have worked at environmental protection acts. Most of this work was relegated to outside of the mainstream, and definitely with a higher proportion to folks with the privilege to choose what resources they wished to consume. Mainstream America continued living a life that was promised to make them happier, their country bustling, and their families love them: we consumed.

Then, Al Gore made a movie.

Right? I mean it does seem like that sometimes.

In short, mainstream America decided that being green was a good idea. It was good for the environment, it was good for the image, it was good for the ego. Mainstream media hosted their corporate bedfellows’ massive advertisements for “going green,” (that Chevron campaign was $15 million) every grocery store suddenly had 99 cent reusable shopping bags, and IKEA was suddenly an environmental saint for stopping the use of plastic bags (Europe thought of that a little earlier guys…try ten years ago). And, that small community outside of the circle of the mainstream became engulfed. The original green movement, splintered and diverse as it was, suddenly became a giant yellow billboard advertising CFL lightbulbs, and all of the small and significant causes were wrapped up in a neat little package called global warming.

And that neat little package was conveniently dropped in the lap of the average Jose, the individual consumer. Want to fight global warming? Buy a Prius! Never mind the fact that the enviornmental impact of building a Pruis is worse than a Hummer.

But, more importantly, it isn’t me or Jose who is going to stop this ecological downfall. American consumers contribute only 21% of the environmental devastation responsible for the U.S.’s impact on the environment. Corporations are responsible for the vast, vast ecological turmoil, and they have just won their first out. Blame it on the little guy.

I don’t speak about this reality nearly as beautifully as Derrick Jensen in As the World Burns, 50 Things You Can Do to Stay in Denial. Check it out. Through his graphic novel, he really nails it on how the idea of individual responsibility has been harnessed to completely shift the discourse on environmental responsibility away from those with the blood on their hands and in the hands of the individual.

Yet, it is not that I don’t deeply believe in individual power. I just think that it needs to be directed less towards buying more green stuff (as if that isn’t a terrible oxymoron) and focused on community-based local organizing that creates pockets of powerful resistance.

I’m burning out as I write this, especially since I stumbled on a page about peak oil and the imminent demise of the U.S. within two years (luckily it was written in 2004, so I feel a little less stressed out). In the end, I come back down to earth with the reminder that all I can do is be with my heart in every moment, to practice, to pray, and to have faith that I will be guided to do whatever is needed to bring about liberation for me, for the world, on the daily.

*Ehlrich, Paul: The Population Boom

Urban Gardening-Part II

Image courtesy of MyFarm

With the exciting financial times, Duck and I have been thinking about ways to both secure our own sense of safety and invest in our community. Since I’ve been feeling the food production thing, we decided to check out My Farm, which I found awhile ago poking around the web. My Farm is a great organization in San Francisco that builds a network of urban gardens and provides a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) box for members and other subscribers. My Farm installs a vegetable garden, and then maintains it weekly in exchange for harvesting and distributing your fruits and veggies to members. Or, you can choose to have a personal garden and pay for maintenance.I read a San Francisco Chronicle article about My Farm flush with lots of comments from folks about the bougie (or dispicable, depending on the commenter) aspect of paying someone to create a farm for you. I had conflict with this format also, recognizing the deep and complex intricacies of access to produce; it seemed an irresponsible use of resources and privilege to pay someone to create an urban garden when so many folks don’t even have access to a grocery in their neighborhood. One of the reasons we began looking into this was to consider responsible and accountable ways to distribute wealth and resources, investing in community instead of institutions as well as preparing a sustainable and responsible space in our home. I looked at a couple of different garden/farm resources, including Victory Gardens and City Slickers, and I am currently interning with People’s Grocery. All three are limited to  specific and criticially deserving communties in San Francisco and West Oakland, so we didn’t fit the bill. I found My Farm, and was a little hesitant about the use of privilege and resources, but wanted to learn more.

Today we met with Trevor from My Farm to do an assessment of our garden. It was quite a funny interaction, as Duck and I had a different idea of how it worked. We thought it was more like a farm installation like a landscape business, except for food,  with an option to participate in the CSA instead of the network of small SF farms.  After we met with Trevor, we realized it was exactly what we were looking for—we just didn’t know it. My Farm creates a link of urban gardens in San Francisco and distributes the produce locally, allowing for it to be cost-effective for their organization and the participants. This allows local and organic food to be the mainstay of our consumption, and it supports local farming in a new and innovative way. Since the possibility of living on my own farm is not in the picture right now, this is a perfect chance to participate and support this vital community in San Francisco. Though it is not without our privilege that we are able to participate, I do feel much more grounded in our decision to support a small local organization, my San Francisco community, and ourselves in the decision to have an urban farm.

Urban Gardening-Part I

homegrown tomato with homespun irrigation

Much of my desire to become self-sustaining has been in the aftermath of some of the current crises of the times. Though in many ways I believe the fall of the State may be beneficial in the end, I do not predict the interim to be peaceful. I don’t have any steadfast views on what the future may hold, but I do find my path to be guided toward preparedness for a future that is not like my parents during the era of white-segregated wealth-building, homesteading, and military benefits, but more like my grandparents who lived through the Holocaust and Depression. I wish I were lucky enough to have their wisdom and experience to offer me reflections on the fear and questioning I have, but I trust that I can access that wisdom regardless of their physical presence.

But, in a more tangible sense, I want to build a food garden! I have seriously considered investing in land, preparing a cooperative living space, and working to have a nonviolent and right livelihood environment be my whole life (especially with such a profound example as my dear friend Kavitha Rao at Common Fire). I have not been guided to that path, and instead, continue to be directed to a householding life (as much as my ego resists it) for the time being. So, my garden will hopefully flourish in our backyard, a fair-sized city yard that currently sprouts crabgrass, pine needles, and the odd slug or snail.

My two tomato plants (above) had been potted, and were the first transplants.  There were three, but one died. Sorry, tomato plant. I think it was a little gray when I bought it, so I don’t take entire responsibility, but, it did go in my hands. I set up cheap irrigation, consisting of water bottles dug into the base, then punctured with a pinhole so that they may provide drip water.Then, I’ll be setting up a combination of square-foot and lasagna gardening styles to get some greens going. Those last links are about the basics, but for a beautiful tutorial, visit Frugal Dad’s page on square-footing.

my bookcase full o' greens

After a typical weekend of picking up free stuff on the sidewalk and rearranging my entire house, I had a spare bookcase in my hallway. I decided this would be my box for layering, even though it is really best not to have laminated particle board. Sometimes I cut corners. I have set up the layers of  wet newspaper (to smother the grass), mulch, soil, mulch, and soil, watered it, and covered it with garbage bags. This creates a quick-and-dirty composting site, where the layers begin to decompose and create a rich planting bed. I’ll be transplanting some organic kale and collard seedlings I got from the spectacular Oakland farmer’s market.

An update will follow! Hopefully the slightly tumultous process of replanting these little guys won’t do much harm, and my little patch of greens and reds will begin to give me hope for a table full of food for the future.

Let No One Be Punished on my Behalf

Sh’nah tovah! It’s the head of the year for those of us Jews out there, and I just came back from a uninspired and disappointing service from my childhood congregation. A new rabbi replaced my dear one, and the service was rushed, flat, and small. But, it is a time for celebration so I’ll point to one thing that did land in me.

In the beginning of the service, we read a prayer on seeking forgiveness and letting go of grudges. Part of the new year is the ten-day period to seek guidance and clarity before we enter the time of atonement, on Yom Kippur.  One line from the prayer read, “May no one be punished on my behalf.” This struck me, especially having come from the recent Critical Resistance conference. What would it mean if no one was punished on my behalf?

It definitely means a radically different question for me as a white guy than it does for someone with less privilege and power than I have. But if it were just for me, can I take that into my heart and practice it truly? In my experience, a deep faith requires a belief in abolition; our heart cannot hold the imbalance of the racist, sexist, sweeping inhumanity of the policing and prison systems and the complexities and truths of other human beings. If no one were punished on my behalf, but I were asked to take my grievances into my hands and meditate on them, and on others, what might my world look like?

One thing I realized in a dialogue with a friend of mine on abolition and police “safety,” was that I wanted to be living a life where nothing I owned was more valuable than the life of someone I might sacrifice to the prison system. This becomes more complicated when possessions and property are not the sacrifice, but other people, sexual safety, and dignity are at risk.

This thought of no one being punished was particularly resonant for me in reflection of the Palestine/Israel genocide. Though many Israeli Jews have significantly different Jewish identity as Jews as American Jews do, it would be quite the practice if this prayer were to ripple across the Holy Land and actually become a thought among the many forces operating in the $7.7 billion “defense” budget. What a new year that would be!

I don’t have any answers now, but in reality, any ideas or narrative I create only hold up in theory. In practice, it is only me, my faith, and what arises in that moment. I trust that I’ll be guided then.

For those interested in some radical Jewish work in the Bay, please check out: The International Jewish Soladarity Network

On Faith

One way I’ve come to articulate my experience of God is that God is the arising feelings in my body and heart. God is the inclination to work, to clean, to ask, to rest. There is no arising feeling within me that is not God—none. That means my desire to lie, my desire to steal, my anger, all god. Does this mean I lie, steal and flip out often? Not really. With the full acceptance that all are welcome at my table, those things that I judge or disapprove of finally have a chance to be heard. My anger does not need to be denied, crushed, or hidden. I can hold it, look at it, see where its roots are, what it needs.

A powerful understanding for me is that having an arising feeling does not mean that action is connected to it. Fury may arise, but that does not mean I’m yelling at someone. Happiness can arise, and that does not mean I’m passing out gifts to randoms. The process of the feeling arising and awareness noticing is its own cycle. Once awareness comes, the feeling is passing. Awareness notices the feeling, then something new arises. It may be a feeling again, it may be an action, it may be a new experience, or a sense in the body. But then, awareness comes again, and again it all begins. Each time, a chance to listen to my heart, to listen to God.

A lot of the time, awareness doesn’t see the feeling, or notice what’s happening. Anger comes, action comes, and maybe ten minutes or ten days later, awareness notices. The only difference is that awareness has not been present. Being mindful of the arising feelings does not mean that only then God is there. It only means that another aspect of God, mindfulness, has arisen. If someone steps on my foot and I cuss them out, it’s still God. Maybe if they’d stepped on my foot and I’d noticed pain, taken in the look on their face, and compassion had arisen, my ego would’ve liked my response better—but just because my ego likes something doesn’t signify that that’s God.

When I talk to people about my experience of the Divine, I often get a lot of scared reactions. If everything is okay, then how do I not just become a giant slob smoking pot in my mom’s basement? How am I not just a violent, immoral jackass? Well, I’ll say this: I thought that would happen too. The reason I spent so much of my life controlling, structuring, and monitoring myself to be in alignment with what I decided was good, striving, striving, striving to reach that checklist of righteousness, is because there was part of me that really believed if I didn’t do that, I would be a terrible person. We need morals! We need ideals! We need a checklist to strive for, because if we don’t apply the whip, we’ll fall out of shape. This is what my mind repeated, over and over again.
Slowly, I’ve realized that when I prioritize the checklist, I am denying God. My ego is the ruler, saying that my mind and its ideas know what’s best for me. The arising feelings in my heart and body were clay to be molded into a shape of righteous living that my mind had designed. That too, though, was part of the Dharma, part of my unfolding to connection and faith. I needed that belief, and that was as Divine as my love and connection is now.

But it’s not like I didn’t resist! I tried for a long time, with an immense, immense amount of effort to be that righteous ideal. Then, as spiritual practice evolved in my life, and wisdom and love arose in huge waves, my ego began to lose ground. The ache and yearning of my heart was louder and harder to push away every time I chose to ignore it and picked what I thought I  should be doing instead.  My heart’s intention arose over and over, gently, with no fierceness, and things slowly began to shift. Sometimes, my heart’s intention was to sit around and play computer games all day. That was hard—it is hard, whenever it arises. My ego struggles with being “that kind” of person. Sometimes my heart’s intention is to volunteer, to work, to lead. My ego likes that. But the struggle continues, and was held so perfectly by the Dharma. Circumstances in my life fell together, as the Dharma pushed forward. My incredible partner shared her experiences and ideas, and we grew together in our union, moving as linked gears. My heart gained more ground. I listened, and listened again.

So, slowly I’ve been practicing. There have been large shifts in my life, and my identity. My next piece on narratives, talks about some of those shifts. But the most significant change in me has been my faith. Many people, myself included, struggle with the word faith. Faith is associated with irrational ideas, belief in magical things, lack of reason. For me, faith is a different thing. Faith means that I trust, based on my own experience, that when I follow my heart, and listen to what I call God, I will be lead to liberation and lead others, and will be prepared for what is to come. This faith is what sustains me. This is what I hold when I also hold the chaos and stress of the world. This is what keeps me grounded in doubt and fear. A blessing, as it continues to arise, that I am so grateful to have.

Collective Poems for Liberation

Writing can be an awesome tool of expression for individuals and groups. Lots of folks have some worry about writing, usually because of our education and academic culture that applies heavy judgement and critique to particular standards. Reclaim it!

This workshop is an opportunity for a group to bring about a collective response. Duck, my brilliant partner, created this as an adpation to some of the Surrealist Era exercises she’s learned. I’ve adapted it as a counter-oppression tool.

Collective Poetry for Liberation

Group size: Four or more (max 10)

Time: 15-45 minutes, depending on size

Supplies: Paper for each participant, writing tools. For certain topics, papers already include a group word at the bottom. Example: “power,” “race,” “listen”

Action:

• Facilitator gives introduction to game and gives one line example (given below). For more information on Surrealist exercises, see here.
• Papers are distributed. For a particular agenda, prepare the papers with a group word at the bottom. Example: “power,” “race,” “listen”
• Participants write a line on the theme word at the bottom of the paper, beginning with the first letter of the theme word. Example: Word is “Power.” Written line becomes: “Pushing his foot on the neck below him…”
• Once everyone has written their first line, participants fold paper back so that their line is hidden, then write the next letter.
• Papers pass to the left.
• Exercise continues until the entire word is filled in with corresponding lines written by all the participants. For small groups with longer words, participants may write more than one line.
• When poems are finished, participants read poems aloud. Facilitator may choose to have discussion for each poem individually (suggested for larger groups) or collectively (easier for smaller groups).

Discussion Questions:

• What stuck out for you? Particular lines or ideas?
• What is the power of collective ideas on themes?
• How do collective ideas affect this group?

Facilitator may pick specific questions addressing a theme, especially if the topics are charged or have weight in the particular group. It’s important that the discussion is focused on the ideas and group response as opposed to the skill or craft of the writing–this isn’t a writing workshop!

One of my favorite examples was written collectively by me and two other friends. It is almost creepily coherent. Note: This piece was written creatively, not for as part of an anti-oppression discussion.

Elderly

Even now, at the end
Lethargy rules the bedpan kingdom
Donald picked up his fork and examined it, his jowls hanging in
the steel reflection
Even though now, my skin flakes like ash
Roasting logs by our tired fires
Lazy eye tucked behind her orange kerchief, she licked her mouth
to say:
You can’t remember regretting.

Childcare for the Revolution

painting by Daniel Gwynn, SCI Greene, PA

This weekend was Critical Resistance’s 10th anniversary conference, a convergence of folks who “seek to build an international movement to end the Prison Industrial Complex by challenging the belief that caging and controlling people makes us safe.” Talented and more competent folks are blogging about the event at feministing, lambs knitting sweaters, enough enough.org, a book without a cover, and Critical Resistance’s blog has some good info as well. I would’ve loved to find some blogs written by formerly incarcerated folks, but I couldn’t find any in my search. Anyway, for more info on the amazing conference, please check in with them.I just did  childcare.

But what a gift it was to do that! I got to hang out with the youngins and support their parallel programming on prison abolition, created by Regeneracion, New York’s radical child care collective. Regeneracion created an interactive play about four characters seeking freedom from the prison monster. Their characters exemplified different aspects of those targeted by the Prison Industrial Complex, including specific characters as Native Americans, Black folks, non-gender-normative folks. There were interactive games and discussion with the youth to engage with their experience. I really enjoyed the play, and was blown away by the creative movement, song, and story-telling that shared a parable of safety and incarceration. The kids seemed to dig it too, though it was challenging to meet the needs of the youth, age ranging from diapered to thirteen, in one set of programming. Luckily, there were tons of really awesome volunteers from New York and the San Francisco Childcare Collective, which how I got blessed to be involved. I spent most of my time sitting with a few of the six and seven year old boys, playing dress up and making plastic dinner. One of the youth I hung with, C, got shut down by something, and stopped talking during the activities. I tried interacting with him on a few different ways, checking in with if he wanted to talk, trying to guess what triggered him, etc. until finally I suggested we take a walk. We walked to the bridge near Laney College, and peered over to the river, looking at seaweed, fish, and clams. He started talking again, and told me about kindergarten and his favorite movie, Scary Movie 4, which is “the absolute greatest movie ever!”  It was super sweet.

My goal for this weekend was to support Critical Resistance, while acknowledging that I wasn’t in a grounded space to participate in the workshops, and didn’t have a lot to offer to the groups. I got to work the child care, and support the single parents and families who were able to show up, and totally filled my heart. I just started my monthly shifts with the SF Childcare Collective, and know that it will be a rocking way for me to support the revolution.