Viva La Revolucion

VIVA LA REVOLUCION

I have mentioned the choice, that we as “ethical” social workers must make. Either we accept that most agencies are actually counterproductive to their own goals or we leave. In other words, agencies perpetuate the problems that they are trying to solve (Look for another post on this entitled Looney Tunes Running the Psych Ward). If we can work in a system and realize that we as workers are part of the problem, then we can stay and find some way to sleep at night- good riddance to ya'll - you're on your own). I love it when other social workers who are trying to get us to stick with our jobs give us advice like, “focus on the little things” like how your borderline didn't try to kill herself for two whole days! Or how you finally sent your client to jail. Or how the PO finally called you back! Yay cause for celebration. Sure, some days it is, but if this is how we measure our accomplishments, then we might as well go and kill ourselves or become investment bankers (same thing, isnt' it?).

Moreover, if we care too much in an agency, display too much dedication, and try to accomplish something in line with our own values, or “differentiate” (Bowen) we end up running ourselves into the ground and banging our heads against a brick wall. Or going nuts, like I did (listen to me!). So, if we play it safe, don't stand out too much, then we can safely proceed onto the next step of being a completely unequipped professional licensed and ready to diagnose and treat the world. “Oh, I don't really know, but I think that guy has some sex addict diagnosis, maybe I should sleep with him to find out”. Hey guys, it happens. I for one find it my responsibility to feel ready before I take on the responsibilty of private practice. (As I found out the hard way, there are enough fucked up private practitioners, I refuse to be one of them).

So, if you stay in an agency, make yourself scarce, make sure you wear the mask of indifference. Otherwise, he who makes the most noise gets the dunce cap and a slap on the wrist with a ruler. Oh, look at that weird person with the funny hat in time out, you better keep 'em there or they're likely to make a scene.



(old couple) Oh look at the “Negro” Biff, those black people are most likely to start a riot”.
(In Bliss Idaho, 80 year old man), “what in the name of be-Jeezus would you wanna head to New York fer?”)

This reminds me of one time in a movie theater, when a person with CP farted really loud and laughed. Personally, I thought it was the funniest thing ever and laughed outloud ( I wasn't sitting next to him-- but even if I had been, I would have told him to save it for the toilet, gotten up and lit a match, waiting for the smoke to clear- just cause he has a disability doesn't give him special privilege to fart on me), and other people stared and tried to ignore it. Another time, I was watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I was in an ultra PC area of town, and there was a scene where an important dude got killed at the beginning (that movie looked pretty, but I don't remember the plot for the life of me) because some chick ducked and he took a spear in the head. This ended this crazy action scene. Everyone was horrified, and I started laughing. I don't know, something struck me. Everyone looked at me and at first I tried to stifle it. Then I wondered, why? It's a natural reaction- the cadence, the rhythm and chain of events made me laugh. Not that he died. Ah, whatever, I don't have to justify myself to you judgmental fools.

In the same vein, I was in India in 2000 and went to a morning yoga class. Now, I have practiced yoga in the past, but this was something else. Having not brought a towel, I was on the hard stone floor and every time I laid in still pose (Shivasina) I was covered with a layer of flies (these things bite in India). Moreover, I was the only woman in the class. But no one really looked at ME funny. While I am used to class which is talk free and cellphone free, there were many men with their cell phones and talking to whoever, including me, “you've done this before yes?” in the typical Indian accent. They also proceeded to burp and fart at will, or whenever the moment was right (I was trying to figure out if there was a pattern). No one laughed or responded (except of course me). This was normalcy. At the end of the class, the men did their breathing and on the outbreath, they laughed hysterically, “HAHHAHAHAHHHAA”. Now how many of you are clutching your sides and how many of you are horrified?

If you're horrified, get a sense of humor people! Bring on the social inappropriateness! The more socially inappropriate, the funnier, the better. This is what I love about Indians is that they get it. Everything is funny, life is not so serious. Buddhism teaches that. I had a mentor recently say to me, be like the fat laughing Buddha. We don't all have to be perfect and conform. When we have impulses to be unique, I think we should act on them. Otherwise, we are a society on Prozac. (And the rest of us, if we take enough abuse end up on Paxil- HA).

So, the topic for today is about revolution, struggle, being different, being heard and being unique.

Let's talk about this for a minute. “Viva la Revolucion”. Probably another reason I like hip-hop music. Usually, the person with the dunce cap is the one that I identify with and the one I feel for. Probably, the reason I'm in social work too. I think there's more humor, more strength and more to offer in those who are underprivileged, undereducated and under(whatever). Therein lies the essence of life.

I'll tell some humerous anecdotes about my tendency towards the “sore thumb”, the “underdog”, the “freak”. Huh huh Beavis, I just said anecdote. Maybe we can find out the psychodynamic Freudian reason for this. So, egads! Let's go back to dad! Huh huh Beavis, you just said egads.

Ever since I was 5, (back to the good ol' days), I remember my dad yelling at the tennis on tv. He would always “root for the underdog”. If someone was winning by too much, even if he liked the player who was ahead, he wanted to see a good match (this probably explains my tendency towards switching teams really quickly. Oh I hate Jessica Simpson- then Nick Lachey broke up with her and she can't get a boyfriend, now I love Jessica Simpson. Plus, he loved to hear himself scream and I think he was convinced that if he yelled loud enough, the players would hear him. Also, there was something incredibly gratifying, a feeling of justice that surfaced when that player who was struggling came back with a good fight and showed everyone he could pull it out. When the fighter won against someone who wasn't playing fair, it was even more gratifying.

There is something beautiful in the success story of the underdog. The survivor. The person who doesn't give in no matter what adversity stood in their way. This place is from where amazing creativity stems Real hippies from the sixties were rebelling, going against the grain. They had a cause, they also created amazing music. Jews who survived the holocaust and lived to share about their experiences in books. Reggae music, African Slavery music. All examples of people using music as a form of self-expression to rise up against something and speak. All these things were a means of self-expression and you know what? People listen to it.

If any of you have ever heard about Immortal Technique, he is an incredibly talented hip-hop artist from Peru originally, but grew up in Harlem. He speaks with intensity and diction. When he's rapping, his anger is conveyed so productively that you can actually almost see the energy released in colors from his pores (am I being enough of a hippie right now?). But, when he's done performing, he's transformed from gangsta rebel to cutey pie Latino.

http://www.immortal-technique.com/

He is a role model for underground hip-hop artists because he speaks his mind and speaks the truth at any and all costs. This was hip-hop in it's purest form. He's informed about politics, expresses his outrage at the United States and he has a following and is so intelligent that he can freestyle his way through President Bush's term. Damn, that takes talent. Summing up his work is a quote, “Fahrenheit 911 is just scratching the surface”.

Of course, Immortal grew up in an oppressed community and ever more admirably, he continues not to conform or sell out to anyone. He wrote a song called, “I got no strings” (where he actually uses a sample of Pinocchio singing- that's some funny contradictory shit- Pinocchio singing with explicit lyrics) about how he did not go with a record label because they asked him to edit his lyrics. The beauty of this man is that he continues to make a living with his music while not selling out and crossing over to the dark side of hip-hop. And there definitely is a dark side.

Hip-hop originally started out as an independent form of social and political expression in the 80s for oppressed African American people in the Bronx. Think Afrika Bambata and Sugarhill Gang. It was a whole culture, including a way of dress, breakdancing etc. It used to be revolutionary. Now everyone knows hip-hop as mainstream thugisms, think P-Diddy and 50 Cent. Hip-hop culture has infiltrated the world. You've got Eminem wannabes running the streets of every major city, we like to call them the “Wiggers”. They've got their pants around their ankles and Raiders hats turned to the side (some even have an Axl Rose like bandana under the hat- I thought that was butt rock, not hip-hop. Apparently, Axl made the hip-hop cut).

This pisses me off and I'm always the first one to talk shit about the “wigger”. There he is rocking out to P-Diddy and I feel superior because P-Diddy is mainstream and he sold out. He's a part of celebrity culture. He's too white. There was a book recently written about the recent infiltration of white kids into hip-hop. Most hip-hop shows you'll go to are white (if you're not in the middle of the Bronx at a Wu-tang show). This also pisses me off. But why?

So, once someone has achieved recognition, it's not cool to claim it and sell out to be a part of the mainstream. Great example with the Black Eyed Peas. You've probably all heard of them because of Fergie. A revolutionary hip-hop group in the mid nineties, they had two fantastic albums which talked all about the bad parts of selling out and then they get Fergie on board (you all know the song on the commercial, Let's get it Started- they even edited the original lyrics, which were, “Let's get Retarded”). Of course leave it to the meth addict to destroy a perfectly functioning band and make it trendy. So, once it's trendy, “not so much” (Paul Reiser). Regardless of the fact that I'm white, I pride myself on knowing about hip-hop music that no one has heard of. Knowing about the newest band or the cutting edge shit. This way, I'm not mainstream or a sell-out either. That's why it pisses me off when a bunch of other white people have infiltrated the shows. Where are the black people? This must not be trendy enough, let's find a more black crowd, then you really know you went to a good hip-hop show. Your best bet for a hip-hop show these days is one where there is a mixed crowd.

Plus, mainstream hip hop sucks. Honestly, sometimes it's kind of catchy and Justin Timberlake can be fun, but more in a sad, embarrassing kind of way. The whole purpose of hip-hop is black culture music and turning it mainstream means turning it white and taking the purpose and authenticity out of it. So ultimately, it's only appealing to me unless it still sticks out like a sore thumb, is unique or has something to offer. Any hip hop artist that doesn't have anything to say except how he's gonna nail his ho from behind “clothes off, face down, ass up, c'mon”- Thank you 50 – does not deserve to get paid so much. And while I would imagine, coming from the hood and making that much money is desirable (especially if you used to sell crack for a living and you got shot 9 (did I say 9?) 9 times!), the concept of selling out makes someone lose their whole identity and purpose. Mos Def is a perfect example of someone doing their own thing and talks about “real hip-hop”. “Keepin' it real”. Stick out, be different, say something. Once you're not doing that anymore, you're yesterday's news bitch.

So, a few more examples of identifying with the underdog. Whenever I go to pick out a Christmas tree (yes, I am Jewish, but my mom isn't), I always pick out the half cocked one with the twisty top. I don't want any off that poofy straight shit. Give me WEIRD! My mom always gets upset and tells me that I should go with one whose back doesn't have Down's Syndrome. Dude, perfect is for the normal, and the normal are for the dull.

My high school was filled with a whole bunch of North Facers. The popular kids were anorexic track girls who dated football players and got the shit beat out of them by their boyfriends on a regular basis. (Side note: I remember this one girl in our psych class who raised her hand – she had a black eye – and said, “how do you know if you're in an abusive relationship?”). Anyway, my friends and I were all totally different from one another (some did acting, some did crew, some did tennis, some just smoked a lot of weed), but we were a tight knit group, and still are, because we weren't anything like all the kids who went to Colorado College and listened to Blues Traveler and the Grateful Dead (I remember how much shit I took from my friends when I finally admitted that I liked the Grateful Dead- it was painful to admit it to myself because the cool kids were listening to it, and I definitely did not want to be cool)

There was always some competition between us of who could be make the better mix tape. Who could come up with the most random Dylan song, or funkiest Zeppelin tune and mix it with some Donovan. Yes, we were kind of hippies. But we weren't because that was trendy. To start the revolution against North face, we even decided to shop at the Good Will bins for a dollar a pound, until one of us actually found a dead mouse while searching for our latest pair of ripped Levis. That abruptly ended the vintage clothing obsession. I remember one of my friends mother's actually ran the PTA at our high school and a group of us would sit in her basement (while the meeting was going) smoking weed every week during a new episode of 90210. The next day, I went and played a tennis match and won. There's the rebellion and the triumph. It was even better to say that I won despite being up until 1am and smoking about an 1/8th of weed. More pride about the win this way- underdog yeah, are we seeing a pattern yet?

As I have mentioned before, I worked with people with disabilities. Okay, who are we really kidding. Call them 'tards for Christ's Sake. That's what they are. That's what they call themselves, in fact “retard” is a term in the English vernacular now for all ya'll who weren't paying attention. It depends on what context you are using it in. As long as you're not yelling and pointing and saying, “RETARD”, then your cool. And retards will respect you more. I learned this when I took four clients to a Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera show (damn that girl can sing- don't tell anyone I said that... as I said embarrassment) and the Black Eyed Peas opened with “Let's get Retarded”. While I was somewhat horrified, my clients loved it and were all dancing and rocking out. I have never laughed so hard in my life. So, after that, when my clients would say, “that's retarded”, I would think it was hysterical. They were just trying to be teenagers!

Anyway, 'tards are the number one underdogs in this country. Speaking of a struggle. These people are the most amazing, and resilient human beings that I have ever met. Someone who can turn taking a shit in their diapers is brilliant. I had a client who say things like, “no bm, just gas”. This was a client who was obsessed with coffee and drank so much you had to start spiking it with decaf without telling her, otherwise, whose problem was it when she shit all over the bathroom? Who got to clean it up? The lady in the wheelchair? No, lucky me! This was the wackiest job that I have ever had. Wiping ass for a living is quite a career, but I gotta say, one of the most gratifying, best experiences that I have ever had. At least you know that you did something effective. You cleaned up the shit and put em in fresh clothes to ensure no infections or blistering (even if it did take a half an hour, a hoyer and more of a workout that running on the treadmill for 6 hours)- a concrete accomplishment. More than I can say for the Borderline who you talked out of suicide for the day.

Even at that job, I was the sore thumb. And I loved it. Although it was kind of obnoxious. I grew up in a more privileged community than many of the other staff there and so I took a lot of shit about the fact that I drove a Jeep (inherited from mom). I was not really accepted, until one of my now best friends decided to make friends with me. Crossing that line put me in and made me “cool” with everyone else. Hell, I wiped the same ass as everyone else. Moreover, I was psyched when there was another girl from the hills who started working at the agency. She actually had two cars and picked up all the slack that I carried. So everyone made fun of her instead. That meant that I got to befriend her (now another one of my best friends)! Freaks of a feather...

The problem is with how everyone treats the underdog or the freak by sitting a dunce cap on their head and ignoring them or taunting them or making fun of them. It doesn't matter if you're the sole rich person working in an agency with poor staff, or if you're the only poor person walking into a country club or if you're the only one wearing a costume at a Halloween party (member Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blond dressed as a Playboy Bunny?). You don't get a warm welcome. If people are cool enough to look at you and look past the facade and see the underpart, they usually recognize that there's something there. But if they're not, fuck em.

Remember Romy and Michele's high school reunion? Sandy Frink, the nerd, turned into the richest most successful guy in the country. It was so sad, though, how in high school, everyone was so mean to him, but then he got to dance with both Romy and Michele at the reunion and ended up making out with Janeanne Garofolo the goth chick who invented the fast burning cigarette papers (there's a reward). Once again, there's this nice warm feeling that creeps up through your body when you watch the end of this movie because the losers got some recognition and got their own boutique! In the famous words of Lisa Kudrow, “I love it when they finally let her shop! (talking about Pretty Woman)”.



And thus, I carry this attitude into the present. I was recently talking to a friend about my tendency to want to stand out or be unique. She told me that she married her husband because he was the weirdest one in the bunch. He definitely wasn't the straight and narrow Christmas tree. She said he would sit at school with his legs crossed, and his long stringy hair pulled up in a ponytail at his forehead. Hot. But she liked him because he was a freak. And everyone knew he was a freak, but once they got to know him, they realized he had more to offer than the average Joe who aspires to be reality show star.

This is such an anomaly in our country because people make money and fame by losing their individuality and their uniqueness. Everyone is pushing towards an ultimate goal of being recognized. When they realize it's too hard, they eventually figure out how to sell out and make themselves comfortable financially. The problem is that once at a point where they could make a difference, most people don't stand up or use their individuality because it's considered to be a problem.

This is why Paris Hilton is so great. She sold out beyond selling out. She embraces that image and takes it to new extremes everyday. The woman is brilliant. Everything she does is fantastic because it's never what you expect. I love it when she got a Shaman to follow her around for a week (although that was part of a show, it was still hysterical). I also love how she said that she was going to change her life after getting arrested for the DUII and all she did was give some money to charity and go pole dancing. And then, she started dating her best friend's husband's identical twin? Isn't that incestuous or something? I digress.

In fact, the individual who is determined to stand up for what they believe, and in their individuality is usually oppressed or they are shot. It's really funny, because while I'm typing this, Bob Marley, “Get Up Stand Up- don't give up the fight” just came on. That was a sign. This has obviously been a life long struggle for many and theme throughout the history of this country and many others. This is a country of the mainstream. Conform, or “put up with” and eventually conform. If you got too far from the norm, you are considered a problem. Hell, if all of us social workers became Stepford Wives, we'd all be set!

Think of the way we think of mental illness here. While other countries in Africa and tribes think of a schizophrenic as someone with shamanistic qualities and appoint them to political positions- we institutionalize them and mandate them to take their meds. Obviously, this is an extreme, but there was also a good example in that book, the Spirit Catches you and you Fall Down- a story of a Mhong family whose daughter has epilepsy. It describes the cultural divide very well.

Well, you're probably thinking, this chick should move to a Canada if she's got so many issues with the US. Well, Canadians unfortunately all have split heads and say “eh” a lot. My intention is not to get all anti-patriotic, but to make the point that the concept of the “struggle” is a relevant one. You don't want to root for the old white men who killed all the Indians, you want to root for the Indians! You don't want to vote for Pete Sampras, because he ALWAYS wins. It's boring. So you vote for the newer dude. You don't want to vote for 50 Cent, because he his music sucks and he doesn't need voting for anymore, so you vote for Immortal Technique.

And this is not the country's responsibilities. It is our responsibility as individuals to think outside the box (even if we can't do this for ourselves, hire a business man to do it for us like Paris). If we can do this, we leave our mark. If we can't we might as well not be here. More tomorrow kids.