Archive for April, 2007

Moral turpitude? You gotta be kidding me…

My friend Michael D. over at the HeartMind Forum passed on this story about a Canadian psychologist who has been banned from entering the United States to visit his family. He is banned because — I kid you not — a Google search at the border turned up a journal article in which this man wrote about the psychological value of his past LSD experiences.

At this moment, I prefer to believe this story is made up, like an Onion satire or something, to provoke outrage against the Patriot Act, or some shit like that. If this story is true, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that the FBI might someday soon come knocking at MY door, for posting this or anything from my past that could be construed as promoting or admitting to acts of “moral turpitude.”

Please, someone tell me this is all a sick joke:

LSD as Therapy? Write about It, Get Barred from US
BC psychotherapist denied entry after border guard googled his work.

Andrew Feldmar, a well-known Vancouver psychotherapist, rolled up to the Blaine border crossing last summer as he had hundreds of times in his career. At 66, his gray hair, neat beard, and rimless glasses give him the look of a seasoned intellectual. He handed his passport to the U.S. border guard and relaxed, thinking he would soon be with an old friend in Seattle. The border guard turned to his computer and googled “Andrew Feldmar.”

The psychotherapist’s world was about to turn upside down.

Born in Hungary to Jewish parents as the Nazis were rising to power, Feldmar was hidden from the Nazis during the Holocaust when he was three years old, after his parents were condemned to Auschwitz. Miraculously, his parents both returned alive and in 1945 Hungary was liberated by the Russian army. Feldmar escaped from communist Hungary in 1956 when he was 16 and immigrated to Canada. He has been married to Meredith Feldmar, an artist, for 37 years, and they live in Vancouver’s Kitsilano neighbourhood. They have two children, Soma, 33, who lives in Denver, and Marcel, 36, a resident of L.A. Highly respected in his field, Feldmar has been travelling to the U.S. for work and to see his family five or six times a year. He has worked for the UN, in Sarajevo and in Minsk with Chernobyl victims.

The Blaine border guard explained that Feldmar had been pulled out of the line as part of a random search. He seemed friendly, even as he took away Feldmar’s passport and car keys. While the contents of his car were being searched, Feldmar and the officer talked. He asked Feldmar what profession he was in.

When Feldmar said he was psychologist, the official typed his name into his Internet search engine. Before long the customs guard was engrossed in an article Feldmar had published in the spring 2001 issue of the journal Janus Head. The article concerned an acid trip Feldmar had taken in London, Ontario, and another in London, England, almost forty years ago. It also alluded to the fact that he had used hallucinogenics as a “path” to understanding self and that in certain cases, he reflected, it could “be preferable to psychiatry.” Everything seemed to collapse around him, as a quiet day crossing the border began to turn into a nightmare.

Fingerprints for FBI

He was told to sit down on a folding chair and for hours he wondered where this was going. He checked his watch and thought hopelessly of his friend who was about to land at the Seattle airport. Three hours later, the official motioned him into a small, barren room with an American flag. He was sitting on one side and Feldmar was on the other. The official said that under the Homeland Security Act, Feldmar was being denied entry due to “narcotics” use. LSD is not a narcotic substance, Feldmar tried to explain, but an entheogen. The guard wasn’t interested in technicalities. He asked for a statement from Feldmar admitting to having used LSD and he fingerprinted Feldmar for an FBI file.

Then Feldmar disbelievingly listened as he learned that he was being barred from ever entering the United States again. The officer told him he could apply to the Department of Homeland Security for a waiver, if he wished, and gave him a package, with the forms.

The border guard then escorted him to his car and made sure he did a U-turn and went back to Canada.

‘Curious. Very curious’

Feldmar attended the University of Toronto where he graduated with honours in mathematics, physics and chemistry. He received his M.A. in psychology from the University of Western Ontario. At University of Western Ontario, he was under supervision with Zenon Pylyshyn, who was from Saskatchewan and had participated, along with Abram Hoffer and Duncan Blewett, in the first experiments with LSD-25.

“Zenon told me he had had enough strange experiences, that he had gone about as far with LSD as he wished to go. He still had what was once legal…. Looking back 33 years, I don’t quite recall why I decided to accept his tentative offer. I was 27 years old and thought of myself as a rational scientist, and had no experience with delirium, hallucination, or altered mind states. I was curious. Very curious. I thought that, like Faust, I might make a pact with the devil in return for esoteric knowledge.”

Zenon gave him 900 micrograms of acid and the surprise of his life, he wrote in the Janus Head article. “Following this initiation, I traveled to many regions many times with the help of many different substances. I took peyote, psilocybin mushrooms, cannabis, MDMA, DMT, ketamine, nitrous oxide 5-MEO-DMT, but I kept coming back to LSD. Acid seemed my most spacious, most helpful ally. While on it, I explored my past, regressed to the womb, to my conception. I remembered, grieved, and mourned many painful events. I saw how my parents would have liked to love me, and how they didn’t because they didn’t know how. I learned, on acid, to endure troubling and frightening states of mind. This enabled me, as meditation has done, to identify with being the witness of the workings of my mind, observing whatever was going on, while knowing that I was simply captivated by the forms produced by my own psyche.”

After receiving his MA, Feldmar spent a semester in the U.S. at the Johns Hopkins University’s Ph.D. program in theoretical statistics. In 1969, he began Ph.D. work with Dr. Charles Osgood in psycholinguistics at the University of Illinois at Champagne Urbana. He did further Ph.D. studies at Simon Fraser University.

Legal options expensive

Feldmar was determined, in the months after the aborted border crossing, to turn things around. He was particularly determined because the idea of not being able to visit his children at their homes was unthinkable.

He contacted the U.S. Consul in Vancouver to protest and was again told to apply for a waiver. When he consulted Seattle attorney Bob Free at MacDonald, Hoague and Bayless about going through this process, he learned that for $3,500 (U.S.) plus incidentals, he’d have a 90 per cent chance to get the waiver, but it would probably be just for a year, and the procedure would have to be initiated again, any time he wished to cross the border. Each time, he would have to produce a statement saying that he had been “rehabilitated.”

He looked into filing suit against the U.S. government for wrongdoing but gave up the idea when he learned that a legal battle with U.S. Customs would cost his life’s savings and, with the balance of power tipped so extremely in the government’s favor, he would almost surely lose.

Again, he appealed to the U.S. Consulate. The consulate wouldn’t return his phone calls, but in this e-mail message to Feldmar, the consulate explained its position.

“Both our countries have very similar regulations regarding issuance of visas for citizens who have violated the law. The issue here is not the writing of an article, but the taking of controlled substances. I hear from American citizens all the time who have decades-old DUI convictions who are barred from entry into Canada and who must apply for waivers. Same thing here. Waiver is the only way.”

Ensnared by Section IV

“Admitted drug use is admitted drug use,” says Mike Milne, spokesman for U.S. border and protection, based in Seattle. Milne said he could not comment specifically on the Feldmar case, due to privacy issues, but he quoted from the U.S. Immigration Law Handbook section which refers to “general classes of aliens ineligible to receive visas and ineligible for admissions” to help shed light on the clauses that may have ensnared the Vancouver psychotherapist.

“Persons with AIDS, tuberculosis, infectious diseases are inadmissible,” Milne said. And then there is Section IV. “Anyone who is determined to be a drug abuser or user is inadmissible. A crime involving moral turpitude is inadmissible and one of those areas is a violation of controlled substances.”

If there’s no criminal record, as in Feldmar’s case?

Not necessarily the criterion, Milne said. You can still be considered dangerous.

‘More diligent and vigilant’

“The level of scrutiny at our nation’s borders have definitely gone up since the 9-11 disaster and we are more diligent and vigilant in checking people’s identities and criminal histories at our nation’s borders.”

Milne goes on, “There are three main areas that we have employed since 9-11 to better secure our borders. First is the number of officers we have working at our borders. We’ve doubled the numbers at the border. We’ve combined officers from Homeland Security and border protection. We brought in the officers from immigration and naturalization service, the department of agriculture and U.S. border patrol. By combining the expertise of those disparate border agencies into a single agency under a single management with the single purpose of protecting the U.S. against terrorism and other related offences, it created a more effective border agency. It created a more secure border.

“The second thing would be our information systems, our watch list systems are better shared within the U.S. government and between governments, between information sharing agreements, through Interpol, through terrorist watch list sharing internationally, we have better access for our front line officers to query information systems up to and including public based systems, including the Internet. Third, we have better infrastructure at our entries. We have cameras in some of our more remote points of entry, gates, lighting, to make them more secure. We do more checks at the borders. It depends on what level of alert we’re at. At certain alert levels we do 100 per cent identity checks.”

War on drugs meets war on terror

Eugene Oscapella is an Ottawa lawyer, who lectures on drug policy issues in the department of criminology at the University of Ottawa. He also works as a policy advisor to a range of government agencies and departments, including the Office of the Privacy Commissioner of Canada. Oscapella sees the American security system upgrades and the potential uses alarming.

“This is about the marriage of the war on drugs and the war on terror, and the blind, bureaucratic mindset it encourages. Government surveillance in the name of the war on drugs and the war on terror is in danger of making us all open books to zealous governments. As someone mentioned at a privacy conference I attended in London, U.K., several months ago, all the tools for an authoritarian state are now in place; it’s just that we haven’t yet adopted authoritarian methods. But in the area of drugs, maybe we have.”

‘Ominous omen’

Feldmar was in the process of considering whether to apply for a waiver when he sought help from Ethan Nadlemann, director of the Drug Policy Alliance in New York, whose financial backer is another Hungarian, George Soros.

Nadlemann was outraged. “Nobel Peace prize winners, some of the great scientists and writers in the world have experimented with LSD in their time. We know people are being pulled out of lines and racially profiled as part of the war against terrorism. But this is a different kind of travesty, banning someone because they used a substance in another country thirty years ago,” he said.

In February he wrote Feldmar, “Not that it helps much, but I just want you to know that I have not forgotten you or your situation. I feel frustrated vis a vis the media, and on other avenues, but I am not forgetting. I really think this situation is absurd, and an ominous omen of things to come.”

When Feldmar was barred from entering the U.S., he joined the ranks of other intellectuals and artists. Pop singer Cat Stevens was turned back from the U.S. in 2004, after being detained. Bolivian human rights leader and lawyer, Leonida Zurita Vargas was prevented from entering in February of 2006. She was planning to be in the U.S. as part of a three week speaking tour on Bolivian social movements and human rights. The tour would have taken her to Vermont, Harvard, Stanford and Washington D.C., but she never got beyond the airport check-in at Santa Cruz, Bolivia where she was informed her ten-year visa had been revoked because of alleged links to terrorist activity.

‘Ideological exclusion provision’

The U.S. Department of Homeland Security denied Professor John Milios entry into the country upon his arrival at John F. Kennedy International Airport last June. Milios, a faculty member at the National Technical University of Athens, had planned to present a paper at a conference titled “How Class Works” at the State University of New York at Stony Brook. Milios told Academe Online that U.S. officials questioned him at the airport about his political ideas and affiliations and that the American consul in Athens later queried him about the same subjects. Milios, a member of a left-wing political party, is active in Greek national politics and has twice been a candidate for the Greek parliament. Milios’s visa, issued in 1996, was set to expire in November. The professor had previously been allowed entry into the United States on five separate occasions to participate in academic meetings.

The American Civil Liberties Union, on behalf of the American Academy of Religion, the American Association of University Professors and PEN American Center, filed a lawsuit this year challenging a provision of the Patriot Act that is being used to deny visas to foreign scholars. They did this after Professor Tariq Ramadan, a Swiss intellectual, had his visa revoked under “the ideological exclusion provision” of the Patriot Act, preventing him from assuming a tenured teaching position at the University of Notre Dame. It’s a suit that attempts to prevent the practice of ideological exclusion more generally, a practice that led to the recent exclusions of Dora Maria Tellez, a Nicaraguan scholar who had been offered a position at Harvard University, as well as numerous scholars from Cuba.

In March 2005, the ACLU filed a Freedom of Information Act request to learn more about the government’s use of the Patriot Act ideological exclusion provision. Cuban Grammy nominee Ibrahim Ferrer, 77, who came to fame in the 1999 film Buena Vista Social Club, was blocked by the U.S. government from attending the Grammy Awards, where he was nominated for the Best Latin album award in 2004. So were his fellow musicians Guillermo Rubalcaba, Amadito Valdes, Barbarito Torres and the group Septeto Nacional with Ignacio Pineiro. The list goes on.

Cut off from friends

Nine months after being turned back at the border, Feldmar has concluded that his banishment is permanent. The waiver process is exhausting, costly and demeaning. The David and Goliath aspect of the situation is too daunting.

This is devastating to his family and friends. “My father was doing nothing wrong, illegal, suspicious, or at all deviant in any way, when he was trying to visit the U.S.,” his daughter, Soma, an instructor at a Denver college, says. “In terms of family it really sucks. ”

It’s hard for his friend, Alphonso Lingis, a professor of philosophy at Pennsylvania State University. “I’m deeply pained by the prospect of no longer being able to welcome him in the United States,” Lingis said. “The notion that he and his work could harm anyone is preposterous. He’s a victim of scandalous bureaucratic incompetence by the United States officials involved in this matter.”

‘Alchemist’s dictum’

When Feldmar looks back on what has happened, he concludes that he was operating out of a sense of safety that has become dated in the last six years, since 9-11. His real mistake was to write about his drug experiences and post this on the web, even in a respected journal like Janus Head. He acknowledges that he had not considered posting on the Internet the risk that it turned out to be. So many of his generation share his experience in experimenting with drugs, after all. He believed it was safe to communicate about the past from the depth of retrospection and that this would be a useful grain of personal wisdom to share with others. He now warns his friends to think twice before they post anything about their personal lives on the web.

“I didn’t heed the ancient Alchemists’ dictum, ‘Do, dare, and be silent,’” Feldmar says. “And yet, the experience of being treated as undesirable was shocking. The helplessness, the utter uselessness of trying to be seen as I know myself and as I am known generally by those I care about and who care about me, the reduction of me to an undesirable offender, was truly frightening. I became aware of the fragility of my identity, the brittleness of a way of life.

“Memories of having been the object of the objectifying gaze crowd into my mind. I have been seen and labeled as a Jew, as a Communist, as a D. P. (Displaced Person), as a student, as a patient, a man, a Hungarian, a refugee, an émigré, an immigrant…. Now I am being seen as one of those drug users, perhaps an addict, perhaps a dealer, one can’t be sure. In the matter of a second, I became powerless, whatever I said wasn’t going to be taken seriously. I was labeled, sorted and disposed of. Dismissed.”

True Love Waits

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This song, by Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, never fails to move me. Here’s a version I recorded a few minutes ago:

TLW.mp3
I’ll drown my beliefs
To have you be in peace
I’ll dress like your niece
and wash your swollen feet
Just don’t leave
Don’t leave

I’m not living
I’m just killing time
Your tiny hands
Your crazy kitten smile
Just don’t leave
Don’t leave

True love waits
in haunted attics
And true love keeps
on lollipops and crisps
Just don’t leave
Don’t leave

Saul Williams: An Open Letter to Oprah

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Saul Williams rocks. I came across this thoughtful letter while sipping my morning coffee. Enjoy:

April 18, 2007

Dear Ms. Winfrey,

It is with the greatest respect and adoration of your loving spirit that I write you. As a young child, I would sit beside my mother everyday and watch your program. As a young adult, with children of my own, I spend much less time in front of the television, but I am ever thankful for the positive effect that you continue to have on our nation, history and culture. The example that you have set as someone unafraid to answer their calling, even when the reality of that calling insists that one self-actualize beyond the point of any given example, is humbling, and serves as the cornerstone of the greatest faith. You, love, are a pioneer.

I am a poet.

Growing up in Newburgh, NY, with a father as a minister and a mother as a school teacher, at a time when we fought for our heroes to be nationally recognized, I certainly was exposed to the great names and voices of our past. I took great pride in competing in my churches Black History Quiz Bowl and the countless events my mother organized in hopes of fostering a generation of youth well versed in the greatness as well as the horrors of our history. Yet, even in a household where I had the privilege of personally interacting with some of the most outspoken and courageous luminaries of our times, I must admit that the voices that resonated the most within me and made me want to speak up were those of my peers, and these peers were emcees. Rappers.
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Yes, Ms. Winfrey, I am what my generation would call “a Hip Hop head.” Hip Hop has served as one of the greatest aspects of my self-definition. Lucky for me, I grew up in the 80’s when groups like Public Enemy, Rakim, The jungle Brothers, Queen Latifah, and many more realized the power of their voices within the artform and chose to create music aimed at the upliftment of our generation.

As a student at Morehouse College where I studied Philosophy and Drama I was forced to venture across the street to Spelman College for all of my Drama classes, since Morehouse had no theater department of its own. I had few complaints. The performing arts scholarship awarded me by Michael Jackson had promised me a practically free ride to my dream school, which now had opened the doors to another campus that could make even the most focused of young boys dreamy, Spelman. One of my first theater professors, Pearle Cleage, shook me from my adolescent dream state. It was the year that Dr. Dre’s “The Chronic” was released and our introduction to Snoop Dogg as he sang catchy hooks like “Bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks…” Although, it was a playwriting class, what seemed to take precedence was Ms. Cleages political ideology, which had recently been pressed and bound in her 1st book, Mad at Miles. As, you know, in this book she spoke of how she could not listen to the music of Miles Davis and his muted trumpet without hearing the muted screams of the women that he was outspoken about “man-handling”. It was my first exposure to the idea of an artist being held accountable for their actions outside of their art. It was the first time I had ever heard the word, “misogyny”. And as Ms. Cleage would walk into the classroom fuming over the women she would pass on campus, blasting those Snoop lyrics from their cars and jeeps, we, her students, would be privy to many freestyle rants and raves on the dangers of nodding our heads to a music that could serve as our own demise.

Her words, coupled with the words of the young women I found myself interacting with forever changed how I listened to Hip Hop and quite frankly ruined what would have been a number of good songs for me. I had now been burdened with a level of awareness that made it impossible for me to enjoy what the growing masses were ushering into the mainstream. I was now becoming what many Hip Hop heads would call “a Backpacker”, a person who chooses to associate themselves with the more “conscious” or politically astute artists of the Hip Hop community. What we termed as “conscious” Hip Hop became our preference for dance and booming systems. Groups like X-Clan, A Tribe Called Quest, Brand Nubian, Arrested Development, Gangstarr and others became the prevailing music of our circle. We also enjoyed the more playful Hip Hop of De La Soul, Heiroglyphics, Das FX, Organized Konfusion. Digable Planets, The Fugees, and more. We had more than enough positivity to fixate on. Hip Hop was diverse.

I had not yet begun writing poetry. Most of my friends hardly knew that I had been an emcee in high school. I no longer cared to identify myself as an emcee and my love of oratory seemed misplaced at Morehouse where most orators were actually preachers in training, speaking with the Southern drawl of Dr. King although they were 19 and from the North. I spent my time doing countless plays and school performances. I was in line to become what I thought would be the next Robeson, Sidney, Ossie, Denzel, Snipes… It wasn’t until I was in graduate school for acting at NYU that I was invited to a poetry reading in Manhattan where I heard Asha Bandele, Sapphire, Carl Hancock Rux, Reggie Gaines, Jessica Care Moore, and many others read poems that sometimes felt like monologues that my newly acquired journal started taking the form of a young poets’. Yet, I still noticed that I was a bit different from these poets who listed names like: Audrey Lourde, June Jordan, Sekou Sundiata etc, when asked why they began to write poetry. I knew that I had been inspired to write because of emcees like Rakim, Chuck D, LL, Run DMC… Hip Hop had informed my love of poetry as much or even more than my theater background which had exposed me to Shakespeare, Baraka, Fugard, Genet, Hansberry and countless others. In those days, just a mere decade ago, I started writing to fill the void between what I was hearing and what I wished I was hearing. It was not enough for me to critique the voices I heard blasting through the walls of my Brooklyn brownstone. I needed to create examples of where Hip Hop, particularly its lyricism, could go. I ventured to poetry readings with my friends and neighbors, Dante Smith (now Mos Def), Talib Kwele, Erycka Badu, Jessica Care Moore, Mums the Schemer, Beau Sia, Suheir Hammad…all poets that frequented the open mics and poetry slams that we commonly saw as “the other direction” when Hip hop reached that fork in the road as you discussed on your show this past week. On your show you asked the question, “Are all rappers poets?” Nice. I wanted to take the opportunity to answer this question for you.

The genius, as far as the marketability, of Hip Hop is in its competitiveness. Its roots are as much in the dignified aspects of our oral tradition as it is in the tradition of ”the dozens” or “signifying”. In Hip Hop, every emcee is automatically pitted against every other emcee, sort of like characters with super powers in comic books. No one wants to listen to a rapper unless they claim to be the best or the greatest. This sort of braggadocio leads to all sorts of tirades, showdowns, battles, and sometimes even deaths. In all cases, confidence is the ruling card. Because of the competitive stance that all emcees are prone to take, they, like soldiers begin to believe that they can show no sign of vulnerability. Thus, the most popular emcees of our age are often those that claim to be heartless or show no feelings or signs of emotion. The poet, on the other hand, is the one who realizes that their vulnerability is their power. Like you, unafraid to shed tears on countless shows, the poet finds strength in exposing their humanity, their vulnerability, thus making it possible for us to find connection and strength through their work. Many emcees have been poets. But, no, Ms. Winfrey, not all emcees are poets. Many choose gangsterism and business over the emotional terrain through which true artistry will lead. But they are not to blame. I would now like to address your question of leadership.

You may recall that in immediate response to the attacks of September 11th, our president took the national stage to say to the American public and the world that we would “…show no sign of vulnerability”. Here is the same word that distinguishes poets from rappers, but in its history, more accurately, women from men. To make such a statement is to align oneself with the ideology that instills in us a sense of vulnerability meaning “weakness”. And these meanings all take their place under the heading of what we consciously or subconsciously characterize as traits of the feminine. The weapon of mass destruction is the one that asserts that a holy trinity would be a father, a male child, and a ghost when common sense tells us that the holiest of trinities would be a mother, a father, and a child: Family. The vulnerability that we see as weakness is the saving grace of the drunken driver who because of their drunken/vulnerable state survives the fatal accident that kills the passengers in the approaching vehicle who tighten their grip and show no physical vulnerability in the face of their fear. Vulnerability is also the saving grace of the skate boarder who attempts a trick and remembers to stay loose and not tense during their fall. Likewise, vulnerability has been the saving grace of the African American struggle as we have been whipped, jailed, spat upon, called names, and killed, yet continue to strive forward mostly non-violently towards our highest goals. But today we are at a crossroads, because the institutions that have sold us the crosses we wear around our necks are the most overt in the denigration of women and thus humanity. That is why I write you today, Ms. Winfrey. We cannot address the root of what plagues Hip Hop without addressing the root of what plagues today’s society and the world.

You see, Ms. Winfrey, at it’s worse; Hip Hop is simply a reflection of the society that birthed it. Our love affair with gangsterism and the denigration of women is not rooted in Hip Hop; rather it is rooted in the very core of our personal faith and religions. The gangsters that rule Hip Hop are the same gangsters that rule our nation. 50 Cent and George Bush have the same birthday (July 6th). For a Hip Hop artist to say “I do what I wanna do/Don’t care if I get caught/The DA could play this mothaf@kin tape in court/I’ll kill you/ I ain’t playin’” epitomizes the confidence and braggadocio we expect an admire from a rapper who claims to represent the lowest denominator. When a world leader with the spirit of a cowboy (the true original gangster of the West: raping, stealing land, and pillaging, as we clapped and cheered.) takes the position of doing what he wants to do, regardless of whether the UN or American public would take him to court, then we have witnessed true gangsterism and violent negligence. Yet, there is nothing more negligent than attempting to address a problem one finds on a branch by censoring the leaves.

Name calling, racist generalizations, sexist perceptions, are all rooted in something much deeper than an uncensored music. Like the rest of the world, I watched footage on AOL of you dancing mindlessly to 50 Cent on your fiftieth birthday as he proclaimed, “I got the ex/if you’re into taking drugs/ I’m into having sex/ I ain’t into making love” and you looked like you were having a great time. No judgment. I like that song too. Just as I do, James Brown’s Sex Machine or Grand Master Flashes “White Lines”. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll is how the story goes. Censorship will never solve our problems. It will only foster the sub-cultures of the underground, which inevitably inhabit the mainstream. There is nothing more mainstream than the denigration of women as projected through religious doctrine. Please understand, I am by no means opposing the teachings of Jesus, by example (he wasn’t Christian), but rather the men that have used his teachings to control and manipulate the masses. Hip Hop, like Rock and Roll, like the media, and the government, all reflect an idea of power that labels vulnerability as weakness. I can only imagine the non-emotive hardness that you have had to show in order to secure your empire from the grips of those that once stood in your way: the old guard. You reflect our changing times. As time progresses we sometimes outgrow what may have served us along the way. This time, what we have outgrown, is not hip hop, rather it is the festering remnants of a God depicted as an angry and jealous male, by men who were angry and jealous over the minute role that they played in the everyday story of creation. I am sure that you have covered ideas such as these on your show, but we must make a connection before our disconnect proves fatal.

We are a nation at war. What we fail to see is that we are fighting ourselves. There is no true hatred of women in Hip Hop. At the root of our nature we inherently worship the feminine. Our overall attention to the nurturing guidance of our mothers and grandmothers as well as our ideas of what is sexy and beautiful all support this. But when the idea of the feminine is taken out of the idea of what is divine or sacred then that worship becomes objectification. When our governed morality asserts that a woman is either a virgin or a whore, then our understanding of sexuality becomes warped. Note the dangling platinum crosses over the bare asses being smacked in the videos. The emcees of my generation are the ministers of my father’s generation. They too had a warped perspective of the feminine. Censoring songs, sermons, or the tirades of radio personalities will change nothing except the format of our discussion. If we are to sincerely address the change we are praying for then we must first address to whom we are praying.

Thank you, Ms. Winfrey, for your forum, your heart, and your vision. May you find the strength and support to bring about the changes you wish to see in ways that do more than perpetuate the myth of enmity.

In loving kindness,

Saul Williams

PS. Are you and Dave Chappelle still seeing each other?

Shame on the news media

I am so fucking pissed right now, just outraged that NBC and the rest of the news media granted the parting wish of a fucking mass-murderer by airing portions of his “multi-media manifesto.” The front page of the Lexington Herald-Leader shows this killer posing for the camera with guns drawn. The MSNBC website features a slideshow where you can check out different poses of this man pointing his gun at the camera, poses that undoubtedly give you a victim’s eye view of the actual murders of thirty two people.

Shame on you fucking bastards. You grabbed some high ratings I’m sure. I bet Dodge sold some more SUV’s. But what about the Virginia Tech student who may have been waking up in a hospital room, nursing fresh bullet wounds and struggling in vain to get the terrifying visions out of his mind for a just a moment, what about when that victim goes to check his hotmail account and sees this fucking slideshow of murderous poses taken by and of his attacker? Shame on you NBC, and all the rest of you profit-hungry scum-suckers, for re-traumatizing the victims and victims’ families yet again.

The Columbine killers were this guy’s martyrs and heroes, and now – thanks to these news outlets – there are photos, video clips, and an inflammatory manifesto out there on the world wide web to inspire other troubled, narcissistic wannabes looking for a way to have their voices heard, their faces seen, and their ugliest intentions unleashed.

Bill O’Reilly from Fox News defended his decision to run the tape, arguing that doing so served the greater good by shocking and thereby hopefully mobilizing people to take political and social action to prevent any further acts of mass murder. No way, Bill. We were already shocked. Thirty-two people gunned down in cold blood was enough to mobilize us. Letting us know he sent the package to NBC and vaguely describing what was in it – that’s all anybody needed to know. Airing the tape, showing the photos, and reading from the manifesto – that served only to line some people’s pockets and needlessly add to the suffering of others who have suffered enough already.

Shame on you. Shame on all of us. If the media was interested in helping with the healing process, if they were interested in telling a compelling story, they could have spent their entire newscasts or filled their front pages telling the story of Liviu Librescu, the 76-year-old Jewish-Romanian lecturer and Holocaust survivor who pressed himself against the door of a classroom while shots were being fired, giving his life so that his students could climb out of the windows to safety.

Show the world Liviu Librescu’s manifesto.

Liviu Librescu
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Integral Island

I find it mind-blowing how intelligent, sensitive people can have such radically different takes on things. We all have our initial, gut reactions to situations and events, and we long for validation and a sense of resonance with others. So, when I read Ken Wilber’s You’re going to be a star blog and the latest issue of Integral Institute’s Holons Newsletter, I thought to myself: “Sweet Jesus, here we go again. This is everything I hate about the direction I-I is heading. The Integral Baby is heading down the drain with all this bullshit bathwater.”

Then I find these two scathing critiques:

Integral Idols, by Frank Visser, and

Holons: The World of Wilbergral Poseurs, by Tom Armstrong.

While I haven’t always agreed with Frank’s and Tom’s views in the past, this time around they both caused my head to nod and that warm, fuzzy “My sentiments exactly” resonance to pass over me like a pleasant breeze. Validation! I guess I’m not the only one who sees this horse shit for what it is. I wonder what Julian Walker thinks? He’s a “tell it like it is” kinda guy…

Then I go over to Julian’s blog, which I think kicks ass, only to discover that he loves the new issue of Holons (Holons comes through big). How can this be, when Julian and I see eye to eye on so many other things?

My first instinct is to find fault with Julian somehow. Maybe since he’s been recently praised by Wilber and Integral Institute, he’s sipped the Kool-aid and joined the mutual back-scratching fest that raises so many red flags for me. But then I wonder if this is all just my own shadow stuff, and perhaps myself and all the other Wilber Haters are just jealous, secretly wishing we too will someday be acknowledged by the Integral in-crowd.

So, how much do our psychological idiosyncrasies color our responses and opinions? For instance, do I resonate with Sam Harris because when I was ten years old, my younger brother was left brain-damaged in an accident, leaving me angry against God? Maybe it has little to do with the merit of any particular argument about faith and reason. And yet I feel so sure of myself, so certain that I am right and everyone else who can’t see what I see is a fucking moron.

This is why I love real dialogue, why I get so excited about respectful but vigorous debate. There’s just no way to get totally clear of one’s shadow, to get beyond one’s own blind spots, without the benefit of other perspectives. This is yet another reason why I’m so rankled by the recent trends at Integral Institute. True dialogue and healthy debate cannot thrive in an insular atmosphere of high-fiving, hobnobbing, jargon-speaking, label-spewing self-promotion. I worry that Integral Institute will become an island unto itself if it continues its current marketing campaign, and the message will ultimately be lost in a bottle somewhere off the coast of Antigua.

Sock fishing

It’s still cold enough that I want to have socks on when I first get into bed, but once I get a little toasty under the covers I inevitably peel each sock off with the toes of the opposite foot. When I wake up the following morning, it’s time to do some sock fishing, the results of which can set the tone for the entire day. Every once in a while I reach down with my feet around the bottom edge of the bed and hook both socks right away, scoop them up and hop out of bed to meet the day. This morning is more typical though. I nab the first sock right off the bat, but even repeated scourings of the sheet-scape fail to detect sock number two. At that point, I have to go all scuba on its ass, diving under the covers head first, enlisting the services of both hands and eyes. Still nothing. Next I check the floor between the bed and the wall. Nothing. Under the bed? Nothing. Well fuck, now I have no choice but to tear the whole damn bed apart, untucking sheets and blankets, necessitating a total bed remake when it’s all said and done. Still nothing. How can this be possible? Did my wife mistakenly dredge up my sock while fishing for her own? Surely she would have thrown it back under, or at least off to the side. But it’s nowhere to be found. I even rummage through the laundry bin, finding an even number of my socks. Ah, fuck it — there’s nothing to do but make the bed and move on, cursing whatever gremlin pilfered me in the night. Making the final tuck and surveying the scene one last time, I see a little white speck poking out from under the bed. And there it is. Of course, I already looked under the damn bed, but hey, the important thing is I have found my sock, and I slip it on my foot and head for the bathroom to empty my bladder. I step up to the toilet and right into a puddle of water left from my wife’s shower. The right sock — the one I worked so hard to recover — is soaked. Game over. Checkmate. Morning: 2, Bob: 0. Both socks come off and hit the hamper. Now where’d I put my damn slippers?

The sound of one cheek flapping

It just keeps getting colder and rainier here in Kentucky, and my wife and I will have to postpone our jog-in-the-park yet again. Of course, if we really wanted to run, we’d put on a poncho and run. And if I really wanted to learn Spanish I’d study everyday, etc. etc. I guess what I really want to do is chill out on this cushy chair and play with my computer, ’cause that’s what I actually do every friggin’ morning.

Last night I gave my “Zen Story” lecture to the kids on the Chemical Dependency Unit. It was a version of the old classic where the zen master holds the student’s head under water for a while, then releases him and says something like: “When you want enlightenment as much as you wanted that breath, you’ll get it.” I had planned to make all these brilliant connections to the recovery process and whatnot, but instead the discussion was mostly about who kept passing gas during group and which kids were making fun of a disabled patient whenever my back was turned.

Working with teenagers–most of whom show no interest in working toward change–can leave you shaking your head at times. They’re just not gonna get it, not gonna really hear anything you have to say, until they’re good and ready, if ever. And when you’re dealing with eighteen kids at the same time, it’s tough to meet them all “where they’re at” because they’re each “at” a different spot. So, you often end up reaching two or three kids and babysitting the other fifteen. What can you do.

I still find myself genuinely caring about every kid, no matter how many times they respond to my best therapeutic efforts with a nasty fart.

Hey, at least I’m getting a response…

Grad School, revisited

A slightly more coherent take on my recent decision not to go back to grad school:

I’ve been down this road many times. I was in a doctoral program (East/West Psychology) at the California Institute of Integral Studies back in the 90’s, but they were thinking of dissolving the program for accreditation reasons while I was halfway through, so I stopped at a master’s degree. Then in 2000, I was accepted to a doctoral program at Duquesne University. I turned them down at the last minute to play bass in a band.

This time around I contemplated getting a second master’s degree in Psychology at Mount Holyoke College in Massachusetts. I had struck up an email dialogue with a professor there after reading her book. I have applied for a few community college teaching positions over the years, but due to the unconventional nature of my master’s degree (and total lack of teaching experience) I’ve been told I need more “standard” psych grad courses to merit consideration. So, anyway, I will be moving to Massachusetts soon, and I figured maybe I’d fill in the holes in my resume with a second master’s (Mount Holyoke offers tuition remission in exchange for being a teaching assistant).

The interview went well, but I realized upon my return that I’m just running from the challenge of finding my own way professionally. I’m already doing fulfilling work (counseling teens with drug problems) that I can continue in Massachusetts if I wish to. Whenever I start to get burned out a little I think to myself “Maybe I’ll go back to grad school…” For me — right now anyway — this feels like a cop out.

Grad School

Long time no blog. I’ve finally managed to disentangle myself from the sticky thought pattern I’ve come to know as “Maybe I should go back to school…”

Once I start feeling discontent and burned-out at work, my mind loves to fantasize about various ways out, and for whatever reason I seem to be particularly susceptible to the seductive notion that this thing called “Grad School” will bail me out and transform my life into something more appealing. So, once again, I followed that carrot all the way to the interview process before coming to, before snapping out of the trance and realizing I was running from the very thing that holds the promise of real freedom — full engagement with the present situation.

I liked Western Massachusetts a lot, and my wife and I are still planning to move there soon. Maybe I needed to get lost for a while, to put things in perspective. In any event, I’m ready to re-engage.