SuperWeed

I wrote about the DiY grief zine for anarchists and other anarchists, “The Worst,” before but now that I’ve had the chance to read it in it’s entirety (thanks, Kathleen!), let me share a quote with you:

The norms enforced by the ruling elite of our society ensure that time and effort are structured by competition for resources, rather than by our own automous quests for fulfillment. Amidst this competition, human differences in race, gender, sexuality, and class are transformed into tolls of control and oppression with respect to grief and loss. In order to survive, we end up internalizing and reproducing these dynamics of control, which becomes evident as we make inquiries into structural racism, socially codified sexism and violent heteronormativity, violence against the earth and its resources, the enforcement of borders and nation-states, and many other facets of mainstream society that are simply taken for granted as permanent.

This is a society in which everyday death is normalized, and yet we are met with extreme repression from the state if we challenge these conditions. It is assumed that functioning members of this society will react quietly to trauma in ways that ensure the perpetuation of the values of the system. Because grieving outside of this framework represents a challenge to the commodity-based system, it is pathologized and delegitimized. This is an insidious form of social control that hs detrimental effects on our mental health and on our ability to connect with and work through loss. Our internalization of grief containment is a threat to our own survival.

Whoa! Talk about bringing it all together!

That reminds me of this passage from the remarkable essay “Explosion” (originally published in Ethics & the Environment and now reprinted in The Nature of Home ) by ecofeminist Greta Gaard (who was responsible for my recent watershed moment in Minneapolis, drawing me to that city and taking me to that event):

You believe you are alone. You are afraid. You need to control this fear, this aloneness, this terrifying separation. You see the power of water and you want power. Power will give you control. You build dams and concrete channels and ditches, believing that by doing this you will control the power of water, the fertility of water, the fear of your separation. But water is patient. There are laws that govern the way of water, the ways of energy and power, the ways of land. There are consequences. Water bears no grudge, extracts no retribution. Your own actions, skillful or unskillful, determine the outcome. Your own relationship to water will poison you or save you. You decide.

You believe blocking the flow of water gives you power.

You believe blocking the flow of feeling gives you power.

You believe harnessing the animals, fencing off the land gives you power. And for awhile, these strategies work.

But there are consequences. That which is diverted, divided, suppressed, always returns with greater force, and when it returns, no one can control it. No one.

That’s so seriously true that it gives me faith in hard times. Gaia’s stronger than all the guns and governments combined and surely will survive us, even if she has to shake off our silly species in the process. In the meantime, we struggle to right the relations among people, earth, and animals, being much more effective (and less exhausted) if we do so in synchrony with nature (including our own animal emotions).

Yesterday, I rode my bicycle to the river as part of the physical, spiritual, and emotional process of coming to terms with the transmutation of the energy of a beloved companion. When I reached the river, very near where it empties into the bay, I was very hot and could smell the sea. I wanted more than anything at that moment to jump into the river, swim around, and then ride home recklessly dripping wet, letting the sunshine and velocity dry me. And I could have done that on that rural road, even though women usually aren’t safe in wet t-shirts in public, except for one problem: Pollution. I’ve read too many stories of antibiotic resistant skin infections and flash-eating bacteria picked up by those who ignored the warnings to stay out of this particular water. So I stood, sweating, wondering over and worrying about the fishes who occasionally broke the surface, feeling grateful that the usual fishermen weren’t there to catch them, and contemplating the fate of children who eat fish who have swum in such water. And then I rode home.

Speaking of both grief and state repression, I’ve been kinda quiet lately because I’ve been getting myself and the sanctuary exhibit ready for the upcoming AR2008 conference, at which I’ll be speaking about dealing with grief and about state repression of activism, among other topics. If you’re new to this blog, you might be interested in some of my previous conference presentations on related topics, which you can find here (nurturing activism), here (animal cognition), and here (the nature of social change, plus links to more).

August 9th, 2008 | Category: Activism, Intersections, Trauma, Water | Subscribe to comments | Leave a comment | Trackback URL