capital cultural capital...

Spending three mere days attempting to significantly experience the nation’s capital is a nearly impossible task.  Yet I feel that our three days in Washington D.C. allowed for a number of encounters, each laden with its own importance. 

 

One of the most infuriating and enlightening moments took place on the last night we were in the capital, when two other students and myself went to the Washington Monument, WWII Memorial, Lincoln Memorial, and Vietnam War Memorial.  To preface this experience however, let me begin with some thoughts I had previously in the day…

 

We took public transportation in Washington D.C., as we have in most major cities where a 15-passenger van isn’t the most efficient way to travel.  As we stepped in and out of subway cars for the first two days, I kept seeing these ads for the Busch Gardens water park, where our famed forefathers were displayed in inner tubes and on slides, sporting goggles, leis, sunscreen and other beach garb.  I was somewhat astonished by these ads, as I began to reflect on how presidents like Lincoln and Jefferson are presented in our history education throughout childhood and what they represent to the successes of our nation as a whole.  The negative repercussions of this bastardized embodiment truly came to light when we visited the Lincoln Memorial…

 

As we walked up the steps to the memorial, around midnight, we hardly expected to see numerous tourists that were still “taking in the sights” of D.C.  Atop the stairs stood a sign that read, “Please be quiet and respectful” and yet it seemed as though not a single person had seen it standing there as the walls of the memorial echoed with chatter and laughter.  We started on the right, reading Lincoln’s inaugural address, which was perfectly mirrored by the just-as-eloquent Gettysburg Address on the opposite wall.  The two engravings of Lincoln’s most famous and most moving words surrounded his seated statue.  Unlike Mt. Rushmore, the memorial actually appeared much larger than I was expecting it to, and it truly spoke to the importance of this historical figure.  We tried with all of our might to focus on the beauty and emotion within the memorial but with no success due to the endless noise and substance-less conversation that was occurring all around us.  Just from walking from one wall to another I heard conversations about “what this season’s best fashion trend is” “why girls like that will never have boyfriends in high school” and “why that album is better than this one”…  I was amazed.  The majority of these lemmings stood there, posing in humorous positions in front of this archetypal  hero as if the impact made by Lincoln in the past did not directly influence the present they were currently enjoying.  We were so overwhelmed with anger and disappointment that we actually had to remove ourselves from the situation and leave the memorial.  However, the emotion was only perpetuated by our next experience at the Vietnam War Memorial.  As the girls behind us stood, pointing out ‘funny names’ that they found engraved on the massive black walls, I found my fists clenched and my teeth gritted.  The Oxford American Dictionary defines a ‘memorial’ as “a structure, established to remind people of a person or event.”  And yet, as we walked through these memorials of famed figures who shaped our nation and countless individuals who died for its security, there were few who truly treated them as such.  Instead these monuments had turned into Disneyland and Graceland – a place for tourists to go because it was on the map and so that they could say they’d simply been there and done that… 

idle Americans and American idols...

I had tried to prepare myself for our time in New York…  Having never been to the Northeast before I was curious to see how it compared to the west coast mentality and lifestyle I’ve experienced on countless occasions, and I soon realized how the geography of these two areas of the country had developed their individual identities and cultures…

 

One of the most interesting things that New York shared with the west coast was the relationship to celebrity people had.  While the idolization of celebrities is prominent throughout the entire country, I saw the way in which New York displays the attempted emulation as the most amplified and exaggerated version.  As I walked out into Times Square for the first time, after seeing it repeatedly on television and in movies, I noticed that the sensory overload was just as much a commentary on commercialization as it was on superstardom.  Beaudrillard came rushing to mind as we passed innumerable groups of people who were all dressed in the way the flashing billboards and magazines promoted, walking with their cups of Starbucks coffee while wearing their ‘nonconformist’ graphic tees.  I’m amazed by how, mainly through media and peer influence, the youth of this country continue to obsess over celebrities and the images they sell and yet fail to pay attention to the messages that are being sent by those pieces of culture.  Furthermore, even less attention is paid to the importance of messages within politics and social movements.  I’m curious as to how much more change could be affected and how much more knowledgeable this generation could be if we spent less time idolizing and imitating these celebrities and more time focusing on the people in this country who verbalize social issues and injustices instead of what colors are ‘in’ this fall…

 

One of the main problems that I’ve seen develop from this celebrity-obsession is the transformation of political figures into a celebrity status.  We wear Obama t-shirts and paste Hope stickers on our cars, but I have to wonder about whether the motivations behind these slight and insignificant actions are true desire for change and progress or to gain some sort of veiled cultural capital among our peers.  

the destruction of the Detroit dollar...

As my final day of being Ambassador began, I only had one thought in mind: Was Detroit still going to be open by the time we got there?  After all of the recent bankruptcies in the auto industry – the heartbeat of Detroit – I was extremely interested in what we would soon experience as we drove on the cracked and potholed streets, passing completely abandoned factories speckled with broken windows and faded graffiti…

Our first stop was the Henry Ford Museum, which absolutely astounded me.  (While we have seen some incredible places on this trip, the Henry Ford Museum definitely made it close to the top of my list of places that I have to come back and spend more time at once this trip is over.)  ‘Refreshing’ was the best adjective I could employ as to how the museum made me feel:  Not only is it the nation’s largest indoor/outdoor museum, but it also fills this vast space with culturally relevant and emotionally moving artifacts. 

In understanding the importance of truly experiencing those historically relevant places/spaces, Beaudrillard’s concept of hyperrealities (like the replicas of important places we’ve witnessed throughout this trip) practically disappeared because reality was brought, in its truest and most tangible forms, to the Henry Ford Museum.  Furthermore, the histories that were placed in front of us were presented in a mostly accurate way.  No fallacies, no flawlessness, no heroism.  In thinking about the first few moments of stepping into the museum, Greg Harris (the Visitor Director who spared his entire afternoon to show us through the museum, who also happened to have his degree in Sociology!) told us something that significantly validated the moving of these artifacts to this space:  Henry Ford believed that museums should be composed, not solely of specific, untouchable memorabilia, but rather of all of the things that constantly surround and impact our daily lives.  He believed that these ‘everyday’ things were far more influential than all of the collections of ‘fine’ objects in the world.  I was truly impacted by this emotive statement as I recognized unknown value in my ubiquitous and unique surroundings instantly.  As a sociologist, I find myself constantly critiquing the symbolism and significance in these surroundings, and yet while I stood in this museum, full of some of the most important objects and stories our country has to share, it was practically impossible to recognize a fallacy.  Henry Ford embodied the idea of Americanism through this honest interpretation and display of a flawed history. 

One of the major themes I’ve recently found in this trip is that we live in a country that so quickly and strongly applies a negative connotation upon the idea of criticism of our past, in the present for the sake of a future that may remained instilled with blind patriotism and inadequate systems.   Criticism itself attains both positive and negative effects, which makes me curious as to how criticism – for the sake constructive action and progress – has transformed into being somehow ‘unpatriotic’, and furthermore, the impacts of this mentality upon greater society.

After the museum, we had an incredible lunch at a traditional Polish restaurant (my first Pierogi was delicious).  Lunch also allowed us the opportunity to spend some time with Ken’s family and friends (who unfortunately didn’t reciprocate the display of embarrassing pictures that my parent’s showed on our first night in Memphis). 

From lunch, we drove about an hour to Rossford, near Toledo.  Rossford was my first Northern, small town experience and in juxtaposing it with the small towns of the South that I’ve encountered, it was easy to draw many parallels.  We met with the Mayor and three of his Councilmen, who spared some of their time to dialogue about the town socially, economically, and culturally.  Family and hard work are the key ideal of Rossford, as the town provides an extremely close sense of community for its residents.  However, much of this closeness is a result of an extremely homogenized population: Up until very recently, 3,500 of the 6,400 people in the town worked at the LOF Glass factory.  However, due to the recent failings of the auto industry, the factory now employs a mere 350 workers.  As we have found on our trip, one of the key unifiers of the American people is tragedy.  Similarly, Rossford’s recent economic downturn clearly created a closer and more supportive community for the families in the town.  The Mayor also spoke of the recent transcendence of Rossford’s small, local businesses to a larger degree of corporate influence.  One of the main catalysts for this transformation was the new interstate that now passes through the city, and therefore allows a much higher number of visitors to stop in a part of the town.  And as with the rest of America, with the growing number of tourists comes the Bass ProShop, the Wal-Mart, the Target, etc… However, the Councilmen informed us that the locals seem to have accepted this shift as these corporations McDonaldize the area through providing efficiency, predictability and calculability.  Although I disagree with the perpetuation of this form of consumerism, the rest of our conversation provided some comfort. 

As we left Rossford, we drove into Toledo to meet with Mark Folk, one of Ken’s friends who is the Director of the Greater Toledo Arts Commission.  He had spoken at Belmont my freshman year during Ken’s Urban Communities class, and I remembered being significantly intrigued and impressed by the work he was involved in concerning incorporating the arts back into the community, as well as enhancing the art culture that already existed there through attaining the artists’ direct input and then utilizing those thoughts as a foundation for the rest of the community. 

After witnessing all of these individuals throughout the day who continue to embrace and manifest the sense of community and hope that have been consistent themes throughout this journey, I realized that the spirit of what seemed to be a ghost-town was still very much alive… 

art for our sake...

One of the most amazing moments of our two days in Chicago took place at the Art Institute.  Having always been obsessed with creating art as well as the study of its history and appreciation, I felt my nerves tingle as we stepping into the Art Institute.  While I had endlessly researched and studied the aesthetics of masters of art such as Monet, Seurat, and Picasso, I had never truly stood in front of their works and had the opportunity to be moved by the motions of their brushstrokes.  And after spending only a few brief hours at the Institute I found myself wishing I could’ve stayed for weeks…

 

I have a strange habit when I experience an art gallery.  I walked through the rooms and often become repeatedly overwhelmed by the vast amount of pure genius and talent that surrounds me.  However, some part of me continuously searches for the one work of art that stands above the rest in my mind, and until I satisfy that longing, it is impossible for me to leave.  As I walked through the Art Institute, I felt myself searching for that piece, and in knowing how much great art I was surrounded by, I felt no anxiety in discovering it.  Room after room, Monet after Seurat, I continued my search until finally, I stepped into the Abstract Nonrepresentational section. One of my favorite schools of art came out of the New York school in the sixties, called Abstract Expressionists; these artists included famous figures such as Jackson Pollock and William de Kooning.  More importantly however, was the postwar period of Color Field painting that came out of the Abstract Expressionist movement.  It is within this period that one of my favorite artists of all time rests…

 

Hanging high on a wall was a beautiful Mark Rothko work.  The piece utilized shades of light grey and deep black, and perfectly embodied the emotion that Color Field works are known for.  In contrast to the 'dynamic emotionalism' of Abstract Expressionist works like Pollock’s, Color Field paintings tend to have a more meditative tranquility, the purpose of which is to draw the viewer in and promote a more pensive mood.  Rothko’s work seizes this function as his main motivation behind his oversized (usually over 7 feet tall) two-color palettes force you to become consumed by their massive existence.  Standing in front of these giant works presents a feeling of losing yourself within the colors and therefore, emotionally and spiritually as well.  However, as the viewer continues to stare into the gently blended canvas, and her eyes move from the middle of the painting to the blurred outer edges of the colors, she feels grounded again.   This idea of losing oneself in order to find oneself is one that resonates with me and this journey we’ve embarked upon across America.  In order to truly discover the meaning behind a definition we so readily apply to ourselves, it is vital that we spend time experiencing the inner and outer edges of our country and the blurred borders that exist among a multiplicity of people and places.  

America's best idea..?

This year, Ken Burns is set to release his new documentary The National Parks: America’s Best Idea.  After visiting Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse monument, I believe Ken Burns may be onto something…

 

As we walked up to Mt. Rushmore we experienced a deluge of flags, waving proudly as they claimed a place for every state in America.  Directly behind them stood a row of American flags displayed like a row of soldiers standing at attention for the freedom and history that the site symbolized.  The monument was actually smaller than I expected it to be, but nonetheless impressive.  As I stood looking up at the four stony faces (pun intended) I began to think about meaning behind placing these presidents upon a mountain – an often unconquerable part of nature that signifies grandeur and majesty – and realized that the monument embodied the way we teach the stories of our forefathers in education.  This idea of literally carving this heroism upon the face of a mountain seemed very American to me, yet the true definition of the monument only came when I juxtaposed it against the function and purpose of the Crazy Horse Monument we visited next…

 

The Crazy Horse monument was built to memorialize the Native American chief who defeated General Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn in 1876, when white men were attempting to claim and settle the lands of the Lakota Indians (more popularly known as the Sioux – which was a derogatory name given to the Lakota by Europeans, meaning “snake”.)  As we walked into the museum portion of the site, we were first led into a small theater to watch the film “Dynamite and Dreams,” which detailed the family who undertook this decades-long project.  One of the key quotes behind the creation of the monument echoed throughout the museum explained how Native Americans decided to have the monument carved, “so white people would know that the red man had heroes also.”  This struck me as very interesting as I began to question the purpose behind Crazy Horse. 

 

First, I found it interesting because everything I had ever heard regarding Crazy Horse referred to him as being a man of nature and one who believed in keeping the natural, natural.  Secondly, I wondered about how rarely we see war heroes memorialized in Native American culture compared to the exorbitant amount of memorializing that we, as Americans, create for our war heroes.  James Loewen in his book Lies Across America comments on how if any other society were to come to America after all of the people had died off, and attempted to understanding simply through artifacts and monuments left behind, what the key signifier of the culture of America was, they would undoubtedly believe this country to be a war nation.  This then led to my third thought of whether or not the formation of Crazy Horse was done in a way to parallel to American memorializing.  The monument already boasts how much larger it is than Mt. Rushmore, and this idea of superiority led to me question whether the Native Americans, who have been so “otherized” throughout the history of this country, were utilizing this monument as an opportunity to draw attention to the pride and slight successes of their people. 

So to summarize, is the Crazy Horse Memorial simply a response to what the Native Americans see through looking at American history’s representation of its heroes (specifically at Mt. Rushmore and also throughout the country), and an attempt at becoming less of the “other” in this country, or does the monument truly exist to uphold the value of the land where Crazy Horse’s people now lie buried?

 

Either way, Ken Burns’ title of National parks being America’s best idea seems manifest in this reactive creation by the Natives, and I’m interested in how the eventual completion of the monument sparks interest in defining the history it represents.  

the poverty of choice...

No stop on this journey better displayed the fact that this country is in the midst of a global economic crisis than Pine Ridge, South Dakota.  After visiting Mt. Rushmore in the morning we ate lunch and then drove about 60 miles to Pine Ridge, where the Lakota Oglala (Sioux) Reservation is.  As I stared out the window during the drive, my eyes immediately swelled with tears as we passed poverty that would strongly challenge the degrees of poverty one would see in third world countries.  Rundown trailers and broken down houses dotted the countryside and not a single person could be seen outside.  I’ve so often heard individuals speak of how the greatness of America is embodied in the myth that we do not have severe poverty in this country, and I now charge any of these individuals to spend even one hour in this town. 

 

As we continued driving toward our destination, a center set up on the reservation that aimed to provide a higher and more accurate education to the community through a display of literature, art and crafts, I discerned a number of things that I had never given thought to before:  First, in reflecting on the number of tourists we had seen earlier in the day at Mt. Rushmore, where American flags and idolized carvings proudly boasted the eminence of the United States, and wondered how likely it was than even the slightest percentage of these visitors had driven an hour out of town to witness the counterpoint of this identity in the fallen rooftops and unkempt yards of Pine Ridge.  Secondly, I internalized this biased perspective as I thought about the number of roadtrips I had taken throughout my life and how many “Pine Ridges” I must’ve driven through without even offering a second glance. 

 

Once we arrived the Red Cloud Heritage Center, we spent some time looking at the art and speaking to some of the local Natives.  As I spoke to one of the directors, she mentioned to me that a key problem in ending the cyclical poverty that had enveloped this area lied in the history of the problem.  “How do you break the mold when the need is so great?” she asked in explaining how the Native Americans had been forced to inhabit a place where self-sufficiency was unattainable.  A byproduct of this destitution was severe alcoholism that now consumed the dry-county to such a degree that a block-wide area that lay right next to the edge of the reservation sold 4 million cans of beer annually.  As our conversation ended, I felt somewhat comforted by her description of recent, proactive efforts being made by the Lakota to become more aware through developing more literature within the state, and therefore treated more justly within the region.  (There were copies of James Loewen’s Lies My Teacher Told Me inside of the Center.)

 

Our final stop of the day was at the Wounded Knee Massacre Cemetery.  This was the epitome of my experience with poverty on this trip…

As we walked up to the site, there was no building to provide a history of the terrible event, no visitor center, no gift shop, and no guidebook.  The only literature that was presented was a hand-painted sign that briefly outlined the massacre and that had long since been vandalized.  Weeds grew over the gravestones as if they were attempting to erase the story of the land, yet some markers remained, clinging to the memories of those who had fallen and those who continued to fall.  I tried to purely focus on the cemetery and the history it portrayed, but found it impossible to not compare the visual decay to the elaborate American war memorials I’d seen pictures of.  I couldn’t possibly imagine the uproar and protest that would occur if an American war memorial was displayed like Wounded Knee in our society today.  And yet as our group and only about five other visitors walked through the graveyard, I realized the continued ignorance of Native American history in American systems.  

the river is wild...

As our exploration of nature continued we arrived at Yellowstone National Park.  Today was more physically active than the others spent in national parks had been and so we began the day stocking up on some food at a local co-op.  With stomachs satisfied and bodies eager, we made our way into an area of town where our scheduled white-water rafting excursion was to begin.  I felt a rush of excitement as we signed waivers incase of injury and then were handed wetsuits and life jackets.  Once we all strongly resembled seals with vivid orange vests we were given helmets and then taken by bus to the edge of the river.  The raft guide ran through some preliminary instructions, rules and illustrations of what and what not to do while careening down the river, and then the twelve of us carried our raft into the river and spent a couple hours racing through 8 miles of waves and splashes.  During the slower portions of the ride the raft guide detailed some of our surroundings.  As I looked at the Devil’s slide – a steep, red slope that ran from the top of a mountain to near the ground I began to reflect on the idea of the American wilderness. 

 

Wilderness, as defined, is “an uncultivated, uninhabited, and inhospitable region,” and as I read this definition I became curious about the last piece of the definition and its applicability to the places we’ve visited thus far on our trip.  I quickly realized that we often apply the term to places that are more natural than necessarily inhospitable.  For example, while our experience white-water rafting and then going to the hot springs later in the day may have been considered wilderness by most, I feel that some of the extremely impoverished communities that I’ve witnessed would more truly be defined as the wilderness due to the difficulty of actual survival that people in those regions face.  

they paved paradise and put up a parking lot...

Glacier National Park was one of my favorite stops along our trip purely for the sheer brilliance in the landscape and scenery…

Our morning started with a breakfast of oversized pancakes and extra-greasy hash browns, which was harder for some of us to finish than others… Afterwards, we went to the Bozeman co-op where we bought some groceries as well as hot dogs and potatoes to cook for dinner later.  After a quick stop to get some firewood, we made our way into the park and located the perfect campground (with three pretty boulders) and began to build our fire.  Once it was roaring, a group of students and Andi went on a scenic drive through the park while the rest of us stayed at the site and played an intense game of Wiffleball.  While we were playing, a couple of campground rangers notified us that we were being too noisy and disturbing some of the nearby campers.  This surprised me for a couple of reasons: 1.  None of the other campers had said anything to us directly let alone come out of their trailers.  2.  We were in the middle of a national park – an area specific to tourist families, complete with children.  3.  It was about 2:00 in the afternoon.  Nonetheless, we put away our plastic bat and ball, and then were told to relocate to another area of the park, where there were fewer campers.  So we put out our fire, supported the park’s “leave no trace” policy, and then headed toward the other area. 

While I was somewhat bothered by the situation, the end result was completely worth the trouble – as we drove up to the other side of the campgrounds, we discovered a gorgeous rock beach area where gentle ripples of pure glacial water scattered around colored pebbles of red, blue and green.  Towering mountains formed the backdrop of the scenery with a slight fog resting gingerly around the peaks that attempted to peer through the bottoms of clouds.  I stood completely consumed by this aesthetic beauty for what felt like forever and yet felt that no amount of time spent staring could do this view justice. 

As we turned to walk back towards the car all I could focus on was how much of this beauty once existed in the places we now inhabit.  Joni Mitchell’s lyric, “they paved paradise and put up a parking lot,” came to mind as I stared at the rigid blocks of pavement under my feet that now seemed so static compared to the spirited movements of the water and air behind me.  I simultaneously felt envious of past generations and their broader experiences of the beautiful, natural places that once encompassed the parking lots of the modern world, pity for future generations and the inevitable development that would soon absorb the natural beauty that still exists, and hopeful yet, that this generation and its proclaimed activism may be able to save some of these spaces so that years from now the people may share in the aesthetic experience that the world provided me today… 

pruning for progress...

One of the benefits of traveling around the United States and receiving tastes (even in brevity) of so many places is that I’ve found myself wondering whether or not I could live in some of the places we’ve experienced.  While there remain a large number of cities that I could never see myself inhabiting, Portland, Oregon now represents of my favorite places in the country…

 

Our day began at the Saturday street market where a number of various local companies and vendors set up tents weekly across a block or two, and allow for the multiplicity of Portland identities to be on full display.  “Keep Portland Weird” is the city’s self-proclaimed tagline, and there was much weirdness to be had.  (One of the things I couldn’t stop thinking about was a quote I read in high school that said:
“Without weird, where would normal be?”  As my day continued, I realized the importance of the weirdness that is Portland and its impact upon my national perspective…) 

 

As we made our way through the crowds at the market, a couple of my colleagues and I found ourselves in front of a church choir singing atop the steps at the end of the walkway.  We exchanged glances as mutual thought bubbles appeared above our heads and we knew we had to ask the group what it meant to be American.  We waited for them to finish singing before approaching them, and then introduced ourselves and briefly explained how we found ourselves standing in Portland.  In response, one of the men in the group (of about 8 men and 5 women) reciprocated the introduction in telling us that they were all Soviet Christians who had come to America about ten years ago.  I quickly recognized how much of a lens the South had given me as I found myself shocked in hearing that they weren’t a group of Southern Christians from a megachurch that they had attended since birth.  I was still going through this mental process when he began to explain how they had all come to America to escape religious persecution and exercise the freedom of religion that America offers its citizens.  I found this perspective extremely interesting, so we continued to ask them what they believed America symbolized.  He responded: America is a country that has been founded upon Christian ideals, a country that was created by Christians, like all of the presidents in our history, and that had recently strayed from Christian morality and needed to find its way back to the Bible.  I went from being completely interested to totally blown away in this falsified form of history.  It became very apparent that this group of people had been fed a version of the history we’ve been attempting to discover on this trip that was laden with inaccuracies.  Furthermore, after living in America for 10+ years, not a single member of the group was any more aware of the actual history of the U.S.  The conversation ended with an attempt at evangelizing a couple of us, and then walking away…

As I reflected on this interaction, I began to wonder about the effects of this false history upon both myself as well as the group of Soviets.  While I understood my issue with the idea of portraying an inaccurate version of history (as American education repeatedly does in its textbooks, classrooms, etc), this false representation had acted as the catalyst in allowing this group of individuals, who were kept from expressing themselves in their native country, to seek refuge behind the walls of ‘liberty’ and ‘freedom’.  We often claim that America stands as a beacon of opportunity for those in need, and while there remain multiple problems with the way in which this opportunity was shown to these individuals, I found myself somewhat torn as I saw them full of passion in what they believed in, standing on the steps of a town market vocalizing the beliefs that were so quickly judged by the citizens back home, and at the same time, attempting to ‘save’ us through displaying the false history they had been taught. 

 

As we continued to walk through the market, we came upon two young men holding a cardboard sign that read: “Out of work tycoon, need money for caviar, cigars, and champagne.”  This also immediately drew our interests, so we approached them and ask about the nature of the sign.  As we conversed, they explained how the lack of unity found in America today lies in the fact that the problems of our country (and of the larger global community) aren’t at anyone’s doorstep yet.  Issues like global warming, for example, aren’t directly impacting the majority of American citizens and therefore impede progress in creating a community that is willing and ready to act in unison to counter the key obstacles our society is soon-to-be truly facing.  Furthermore, the men explained how “this generation is missing its heroes.”  As I began to think about the truth in this statement, a few thoughts came to mind:  First, I believe there is definitely an amount of truth in this thought – social leaders like those of the former Beat generation or Civil Rights movement, figures we identify with and then attempt to mimic don’t truly exist (or aren’t recognized) in our generation.  Secondly, the cultural and social icons of our generation have been replaced with celebrities and stars, whose lives we follow more closely than our own often times.  Third, this development of idolism has now given individuals who could be called heroes of our time (for example, President Obama) a celebrity status, which begins to directly deny the possibility of serious interpretation and effective action. 

However, as I stood there talking politics, social awareness, and self-identity to two men close to my own age, who had no place of residence, no mode of transportation other than their bikes, and apparently no real source of income, some part of me felt hopeful in the transcendence of this generation into a more insightful society.

 

After the market, we headed to the Rose Garden, a popular tourist attraction that houses near a thousand species of roses.  Now, while I appreciate the creativity of this place, I found the experience a bit overrated. 

 

One of the interesting topics that I’ve been researching on the side with a couple other students is the idea of tourism; and of the main issues of tourism that currently exists is the lack of culture-sharing due to the void of educational materials and opportunities in these tourist locations.  The Rose Garden perfectly embodied this issue as we found ourselves without a single bit of information concerning the purpose or function of the garden (other than the numerous wedding photos being taken there…) Furthermore, information on why the garden was created and done so in that specific place was also missing.  As I watched countless tourists stroll through the systematically created pathways and sections of the garden, I realized that they were just having a visual experience and felt no need of validation through educational materials.  We’ve experienced a similar mentality throughout the course of the trip and I’m curious as to how this directly impacts the negative connotation given to ‘tourists’ by locals of these places, who feel that a true identity and feel of the place is not being had, and rather, the focus lies on these visitors being able to say/prove that they were in a particular place. 

 

We spent some of the afternoon at Powell’s Books – a block-wide bookstore in the middle of Portland – where I made a hefty purchase of some delicious Sociology literature. 

 

While the travels of the morning and afternoon presented interesting perspectives of Portland, the evening/night truly exemplified my Portland experience.  One of the other students and I went to visit some friends in one of the neighborhoods of the city, and it was through this miniature journey that I understood how Portland is considered one of the greenest cities of the United States.  We met with our friends at a restaurant adjacent to a theater of the same name to quickly learn that both of the historical buildings were once completely rundown and abandoned.  However, instead of tearing them down in order to develop some trite strip mall, two locals of the neighborhood took on the task of revitalizing and renovating the buildings in a conservationist way to remain public-friendly (you could get a ticket for a movie, with popcorn and a drink for a grand total of $10.00).  And the fact that the restaurant was full of locals when we arrived truly spoke to the success of this project. 

After dinner, we began to walk back to our friends’ house, and passed one of the most interesting sights along the way:  Every single house we walked past had its entire front yard covered by gardens bearing fruits, vegetables, and a variety of other organic crops.  As I saw children picking blueberries off of the bushes in their yards and then running across the street to share with others, I was somewhat amazed by this community.  We began to talk about this idea and the locals informed us that the community found it simply sensible to grow much of their own food and utilize the idea of “gardens not grass”.  Even more interesting was how they used every inch of available space, including the few feet of grass between the curb and sidewalk, which actually belonged to the city.  When questioning whether the city ever told the residents to keep that area clear, our friends simply laughed in saying, “Why? The city understands that this is the best possible use of that space so they actually encourage it.”  The geography of the area not only provided a sense of community through the shared space, but I was also astonished to learn that each of the neighbors knew each other’s families and stories.  This sharing of biography and history has been a key theme throughout our trip and seeing it perfectly embodied in this community reaffirmed some of my lost faith in society and its active role in creating this unity while attaining open mindedness toward change and progress.  Furthermore, rather than this progress and change being geared toward more bobo (bohemian bourgeoisie) neighborhoods that cause displacement and gentrify areas like this, the change dually returned to a more organic lifestyle in order to promise a more harmonious future. 

 

The idea of (re)building community in American cities through (re)claiming the actual geography of the neighborhood made Portland one of my favorite stops along this trip, and I hope to see the mentality of the city influence other areas of our country.  

mario - level 4...

As someone who is completely obsessed with nature and immersing myself within in it was extremely exciting to hear that we were going to spend four days, almost in a row, at national parks during the course of our trip.  While visiting the Redwoods, Glacier National, Yellowstone National, and Mt. Rushmore, I experienced an interesting array of emotions and perspectives…

 

Crescent City – Redwoods

At my lofty height of 5’4’’ I am used to feeling much smaller than my surroundings, whether they include people, places or things.  However, when we stepped into the Redwood forests of California I found myself shrinking to a size that I could never have imagined.  The plus side: Everyone else had to shrink with me.  While I had seen hundreds of pictures of Redwoods and knew the statistics behind the wooded giants, there was nothing comparable to the intensity I felt standing amidst them, attempting to arch my neck back far enough to see to the tops of the trees.

 

We spent the day in the forest, allowing time to be mostly alone as well as having a class discussion alongside a creek.  It was thoroughly refreshing to simply Be in nature as opposed to the multiplicities of places and people we’ve been experiencing through the first half of the trip.  I was able to mentally soak in the serenity and calm of the landscape without feeling as though I was missing something or being unproductive.  This feeling led me to think about what life on the American frontier would’ve been like years ago before the artificially created replaced the naturally existent.  In his 1983 essay “The Significance of the Frontier of American History,” Frederick Jackson Turner wrote: “And now, four centuries from the discovery of America, at the end of a hundred years of life under the Constitution, the frontier has gone, and with its going has closed the first period of American history.”  In reflecting on the weight of this quote while sitting under a Redwood, I realized that the tree I was leaning against had been living since before Christopher Columbus “discovered” America.  The idea of that much history existing directly behind me astonished me as I realized the amount of change it must have lived through as the land began to become smaller in size and in value. 

 

I thought about the idea of the appeal of the frontier as we drove through the park and after passing a number of small parking lots, each with about three to five cars, something struck me as surprising:  There wasn’t really anyone here.  In juxtaposing the number of tourists/visitors that we saw at Disneyland versus the handful of people that were currently in the forest, I began to wonder about the way in which the appeal of the frontier has changed and diminished with modern times.  Obviously the impacts of technology have created significant shifts in the things that now hold people’s attention (i.e. cell phones, televisions, video games, etc) but I feel as though the majority of people I talk to enjoy the idea of being in nature and separating themselves from the technological toils of everyday life.  Furthermore, I found in interesting that the symbolism of the frontier remains the same, yet within a slightly different context:  Before the frontier represented a place for settlers to explore and claim new lands so as to escape the overcrowded ports and cities.  Today, people and families go to places like national parks in order to vacation (escape) the barrage of images and people that we, as Americans living in a consumerist society, constantly face.  

just beat it...

So I was awoken at 3:00 this morning by Ken, telling me that the bus was breaking down and that we were going to have to turn back to Los Angeles to get it fixed.  This was immediately followed by the words: “We might have to skip San Francisco all together.”!  By 7:00 I was still trying to process what exactly was occurring and I started making phone calls informing the people whom we were supposed to meet with throughout the course of the day that we weren’t going to be in the city until at least 2:00 pm.  However, given the stressful nature of the hours of re-planning, the morning was speckled with incredible music, conversations, card games and just an overall stillness of being awake without running off the bus in the usual fashion of this trip. 

 

After reworking our plans and realizing that we weren’t going to have a rental van, we decided to take the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) across the city.  Regardless of the fact that we had to pay for transportation, riding public transportation all day (in a city that advocates living “green”) thoroughly excited me.  

Our day began at the airport, where we jumped on the BART to 16^th St Mission.  This stop was about ten blocks away from the Castro district, wherein the majority of San Francisco’s gay population resides.  As we walked up towards the district from a less-safe area of town, I noticed the gradation from working-class restaurants and shops to higher end locations, surrounded by Gay Pride rainbow flags and a slue of ethnic restaurants and stores.  

We decided to break into groups to have different lunch experiences and converse with some of the locals.  (I chose sushi!)  As my miso soup arrived and I recognized I had no spoon, we leaned over to the man sitting next to us and asked, perfectly displaying our touristy-selves and uncultured nature, if we were supposed to just sip it out of the bowl.  He slightly chuckled in answering yes, and continued to ask us where we were from.  As our conversation developed, we began to detail the encounter we had had in Salt Lake City with the LGBT film festival and how we had been inspired by the energy of the gay rights movement throughout the country.  He quickly became excited in our perspectives on the matter and we carried on a 45-minute discussion, learning that he was a professor at a college in Oakland, and had traveled outside of the US for the majority of his life.  When we asked him what it meant to be an American, he explained how due to his travels abroad, he didn’t feel like he truly had a sense of American identity.  So in slightly altering the question, we asked what the majority of people in other countries thought being an American entailed.  These were the responses we received: 

            à Africa – idealized American (land of honey and milk, gold streets) false illusions that America most likely perpetuates through media and other displays of global power

            à Europe – more cynical view on America (especially France and Germany), not placed on a pedestal like with Africa

            à Japan – most xenophobic country, but is also in love with America due to closely tied histories, still attain a “Hollywood” version of American identity – something they strive for

Through this breakdown, I realized a multiplicity of thoughts: 1) America displays what it believes others believe it to be quite accurately (an application of Cooley’s looking glass self upon national identity if you will).  2) In thinking about how similar these perspectives were in comparison to what I expected Africa or Europe or Japan to display, I began to question where these reflected identities come from, and further, how they are perpetuated throughout society and then internalized and projected by our own citizens upon the identities of other countries?

 

After lunch, we regrouped and took the BART to Montgomery Station, in the North Beach area.  As we walked through the streets, we passed the financial district of San Francisco, including the Transamerica Pyramid (tallest building in the SF skyline).   We continued North, heading towards Vesuvio Café, City Lights Bookstore, and the hotel San Remo– all of which were key locations in the early development of the Beat Generation, which included figures such as Jack Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg, William S. Burrough, and Neal Cassady – and then continued to the Beat Museum directly down the street.  

 

An interesting thing that I’ve been experiencing on this trip has been the self-embodiment of “tourist” that we’ve been analyzing.  This feeling was in full form as I stepped up the stairs into the Poetry room in City Lights Bookstore.  This room was where these literary geniuses would read their poetry, and as I walked in, camera in hand and unknowledgeable, I felt as if I was walking through Graceland, following the course that led to some spectacle that lent itself to idolism and remembrance.  I felt the slightest animosity from the ‘locals’ in the room, who were reading some of the more obscure pieces of literature as our group flocked around multiple copies of Howl. 

 

While we were in City Lights, my brother – who is currently going to the University of Cali at Berkeley – joined our group for the rest of the evening.  Seeing him was absolutely incredible, and definitely provided that sense of home that I’d been missing. 

 

Our next step was just a block away at the Beat Museum, which was founded about three years ago and displayed the personal collection of a Beat historian who decided to present the history of these visual artifacts to the larger public.  As we walked around the museum, I noticed many similarities in presentation to other iconic historical places we’d witnessed.  I felt momentarily troubled by this drawn parallel as I fought the association of the Beats to cultural ‘heroes’ like Elvis.  While Elvis remains a key idol in the eye of the American public, I hold the work and influence of the Beat generation to much higher standard.  

The idea of these individuals recognizing a fallacy in the way American literature was written, and then creating an entire movement to inspire a new form of writing in academia and expression in biography moved me to such emotional depth.  It was through realizing the strength in their foundational work that allowed my discomfort to be quieted; and I believe I recognized a connection between some of the students’ participation in stepping outside of the four walls of a classroom, and this historical idea of progress and (r)evolution in regard to the experiences we’re currently attaining through embarking on this journey as we continue to alter the system through which education traditionally occurs.  

what happens in Vegas... happens everywhere

So to be completely honest, I’m not a very big fan of Las Vegas for a number of reasons… I feel that, on top of the obvious sexism, the city perpetuates a culture of addictive behavior and underdeveloped ideals.  However, to state that Las Vegas stands alone in this ‘escapist’ vacation mentality would be a seriously dishonest statement…

 

Our first stop of the day was at the LVCVA (or Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority if you’re not into that whole brevity thing).  We met with the Director of Customer Experience – interesting title in itself – and got a somewhat backstage glance at the economic workings of the city.  As someone who has always been interested in marketing, the market of Vegas presented a perspective that I had yet to encounter.  Due to the recent economic recession our country has found itself in, Vegas finds it difficult to appeal to the target market that has been booking its excessively luxurious rooms throughout its history.  In fact, many of the rooms at the ornate Bellagio that had been booked years in advance in the past, are now being booked only a couple nights in advance, as tourists unexpectedly see a ‘great deal’ online and click “Buy”.  As the Director at the LVCVA presented the visual of a man he had recently seen in the Bellagio lobby with a baseball hat and Budlight beer in-hand, I thought about the implications of this significant shift in the class of tourists that Vegas is now attempting to entertain and appeal to.  We heard about a new promotional idea called “staycations” which aims to encourage locals of Vegas to experience its tourist locations as a way of escaping everyday life without the usual cost of travel.  This concept was being used in tandem with destination marketing (selling the brand of Vegas, which comes second only to Google in recent polls of identifiable brand-marketing) as Vegas now places more focus on international visitors.  Through appealing to locals and tourists, Vegas acts as a vehicle in causing a paradigm-shift in tourism identity.

 

After the Convention Center, we had lunch at Red Velvet, a popular vegan-friendly restaurant.  We spent some time interviewing some locals who were waiting for their food and unexpectedly ran into another sociologist who did demographic research for the city.  We began questioning her about the local response to the tourism capital that is Vegas, and she presented some interesting insight:  She mentioned how the city truly has no local identity due to its foundation being built upon this vacation mentality.  This was reflected in the low percentage of registered voters, in the lack of home-identity, and in the overall lack of locally constructed social space.  While the locals went to different casinos and different bars, the majority of the population remained distanced from the sense of community I’ve experienced in many of the other cities we’ve been to.  When I asked her why the feeling of community was so low, she described how 90% of the residents came from other places.  They were the type of individuals who left home to live in Vegas, and therefore perpetuated the tourist mentality of the city and its appeal. 

 

In reflecting on the combination of both of these descriptions of the city, I realized that the business community (created and continued through tourism) is one that is less consciously focused on political action (whether locally or nationally) and far more concentrated on social action (developing green projects, etc).  This makes complete sense economically, as businesses attempt to appeal to largest markets they can, and the best way to do so lies in not creating political barriers to shun those whose “support” they could win.  However, this simultaneously impedes the sense of community that I’m recognizing is absolutely necessary in the progression of society. 

 

As we walked the Strip throughout the late afternoon and into the evening, every stripper ad I was handed on the street reified the issues that came with the lack of community.  Vegas continues to target consumers of a culture that is based upon a vacation mentality, and that mentality fails to encourage the ideals that allow communities to prosper.  Furthermore, the complete commodification of every aspect of culture that Vegas capitalized upon further degraded the types of morals and ethics that build families in this country.  This thought became perfectly embodied through multiple conversations we had, wherein visitors would comment on Vegas as “a great place to visit, but a place I would never raise my kids.” 

 

When we returned to the bus, I found myself completely intrigued by these responses.  Vegas seems like a place where adults go to behave like adolescents or to express themselves in a way that would not be suitable in their everyday lives.  As I began to reflect on this “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” escapism, I realized that I had experienced a very similar disposition while on Bourbon Street in New Orleans or on Beale Street in my hometown.  As this trip continues, I expect to see many more places that fit this list, and I question the motivations behind needing to indulge in escaping?  Is it driven by a desire to be more ‘free’ even for a weekend, or is it stimulated by a lack of fulfillment in our own, possibly underdeveloped, communities?  (I’ll let you know what I find out… until then, bring on Los Angeles!)

old places and new spaces...

Salt Lake City has displayed the most dichotomous realities of America that I’ve yet experienced.  Among the numerous displays of belief and action I witnessed today, an overarching theme of the development of social space to satisfy personal and communal goals was ever-present…

 

Our morning began at Tony Caputo’s – an indie/artsy friendly restaurant, which included one of the world’s best specialty food markets – which existed in an extremely gentrified area of the city.  (The restaurant sold gourmet coffee directly across the street from a group of impoverished people wearing garbage bags in the park to keep from getting soaked by the rain.)  Now, it’s very important for me to emphasize that I’m not meaning any offense toward Mr. Caputo, who came to the town, recognized the necessity of creating a space for a specific group of locals, and then proceeded to do so.  Rather, I’m commenting on the inherent confliction of the creation of these subculture spaces in certain areas, in an effort to create community among a niche group, without taking into regard that same necessity in reference to the locals who already exist there.  I strongly agree with the idea of carving out a safe haven in a dangerous area of a neighborhood, but when the space that is created only displaces the community of that neighborhood and draws in individuals who represent a ‘safer community’, I feel that the social issue of impoverished community violence is perpetuated rather than resolved.  [Furthermore, I feel that this displacement is strongly driven by the Bobo (bohemian/bourgeoisie) culture that preaches the idea of “rich yet artsy” cultural space and only forces the poverty and crime elsewhere.] 

 

After breakfast, we visited the Mormon Tabernacle.  It takes a lot for me to feel uncomfortable in a place, but the Mormon Tabernacle definitely showed a valiant effort in testing my comfort.  As two sisters – who felt it was there mission for the time being to fulfill this role – guided us around the place I felt my insides twist and turn.  We ascended a grandiose staircase, surrounding by curving walls with paintings of the starry sky and galaxy, only to find ourselves standing in front of a huge Christus, towering over the rest of the room and the multicultural tourists who were currently occupying it.  As the giant Jesus began to speak (first in Japanese and then in English) his American accent detailed specific Bible verses and was then applauded as he faded into the background.  The sisters then thanked each visitor for sharing that spiritual moment with them, immediately followed by telling the tourists that they were now to free to taking pictures with the iconic symbol that lay before us.   

As our tour continued, I felt a feeling alluding to the thoughts I had after hearing the scripted speech of the Duckmaster in Memphis, or the tour guide at the Alamo, or the etc… Even though the sisters were presenting their faith, there seemed to be a severe lack of passion, self-identity, and overall informed perspective in the dialogue we shared with them. 

 

After leaving the Tabernacle, we traveled to a different part of the city were we had planned to attend a LGBT (Lesbian/Gay/ Bisexual/ Transvestite) film festival.  The film was titled Outrage and examined the negative repercussions of closeted politicians and how their attempts to maintain socially straight identities counter the efforts of the gay rights movement.  After the film, the director had an interview and Q&A time with a local radio station as well as the audience.  

Feeling the energy of the individuals in that theater and the great sense of community they had created through simple accord in a goal, founded upon belief, was one of the most inspiring moments of this trip by far.  I found it so interesting that I had just spent a couple hours at a place of faith and worship where I had felt completely detached and unmoved, only to step into an old theater to discover an unexpectedly large community who were so active and positive in the creation of their own social space in a town where many people fought against their ideals and rights.  (The Mormon Church donated about $15 million dollars to fight gay rights during the recent Proposition 8 issue in California).  In juxtaposing this development of social space to Tony Caputo’s earlier in the day, I found myself being grounded in realizing how this community of individuals had carved out an area of the city where the veils of hidden sexual identity could be shed and shed boldly. 

 

After the film, the group went to dinner at a wonderfully delicious Thai restaurant and then headed back to the bus.  Overall, I felt like Salt Lake City strongly paralleled my Little Rock experience, in that I found an entire portion of culture that I least expected, and gained motivation to affect change throughout my life in whatever space I exist, regardless of the greater norm and identity of that place.  

that's a really big hole...

So today was spent in the Grand Canyon –

 

Though I’d already been here before with my family on vacation when I was younger, having attained the perspectives I’ve developed through the last few years truly allowed me to appreciate the beauty of this natural landmark in a much greater sense…

 

Part of the excitement of this trip has been greatly composed of recognizing the excitement in my peers, and today perfectly embodied that feeling.  As I saw other students standing in awe of the vast space that lay in front of us, a feeling of nostalgia spread throughout me as little moments of my memory of the trip resurfaced in my mind.  Yet, as the nature of the trip has displayed continuously, in every experience we’ve had there are new things to be had.  So regardless of my somewhat familiarity with the Grand Canyon, I found myself hiking down a new path with new faces in front of me and new patterns of sneakers in the dust below me.  (And hiking up with less lung capacity than I anticipated having!)

 

Overall the Grand Canyon was a beautiful journey.  I’ll add some pictures to complement this post, but in the meantime keeping checking out Chris’ flickr account! 

they herd, they saw, they fled...

We spent today at the Navajo Reservation near Gallup, NM and I can honestly say that I’ve never felt such a beautiful combination of overwhelming care, community, and commiseration. 

 

We met with Leland (Le) Silversmith, a Native American whose family had lived on the reservation for the past 150 years, and he detailed the history of his own life paralleled with the history of the Navajo people as a whole.  He had just gotten done working a 12-hour shift and was prepared to spend the entire day leading us through the reservation from his family’s home to the President’s office and through the canyons that surrounded us.  We sat for about an hour in his family’s Hogan, which was being used as a place of worship for the family and nearby community.  Le’s father recounted many stories of his life and faith, and I could clearly tell that some students were incredibly moved by his spiritual development and life struggles.  We were then joined by the rest of Le’s family, including his mother who reminded me so much of my own grandmother that it brought me to tears as she proudly displayed the ribbons she’d won recently for her garden vegetables and then began to cry over missing her children.  After these brief yet beautiful moments of insight into their lives, we went inside where they had prepared Navajo tacos for us (including a special vegetarian version for me), and as we sat in their home, eating homemade food and listening to their stories, I felt an unbelievable connection to the family and the space that surrounded us. 

 

We spent a large portion of the day in Window Rock, where the President’s Office was located.  The naturally sculpted canyon towered over the Navajo Presidents “Mahogany Palace”.  I put this name – that the tribe has given to the office – in quotes for an important reason.  As someone who has grown up in Suburbia, USA I have been visually awed (and simultaneously disgusted) by some of the most ornate and ostentatious mansions.  Therefore, in juxtaposing some of the houses that I’ve seen to the Office of the President of the Navajo Nation, I was immediately stunned to see the unembellished architecture and décor of the space we briefly occupied.  As we were given an in-depth tour and presentation on the history of this people and the hardships they continued to endure, the lack of aesthetic of the building became more understandable.  The bureaucracy the Navajo have to deal with concerning even the simplest and minute matters clearly exemplifies the amount of control the federal government still has upon a nation of people who have been unjustly shunned and restricted throughout the entire history of America.  As the dialogue continued, we learned of the effects of this perpetuated injustice in the high rates of unemployment and alcoholism that have infiltrated the purity and serenity of the Navajo tribe. 

 

After the eye-opening and fact-filled experience at the office, we headed toward the Navajo Times office – the local newspaper for the reservation and the largest Native American publication nationally – for another presentation and some Q&A time.  One of the most interesting facts we learned about the publication was its contrasting nature to the majority of American media:  The Navajo Times upheld the ideal of never capitalizing on the blood and gore aspect of “Navajo misery”, but instead providing stories to the tribe in an ethically and culturally positive way.  This representation of honest and moral reporting reified the idealized version of media that I consider unattainable in modern society and its distasteful displays of violence and terror. 

 

We returned to the Silversmith’s home to spend the remainder of our day exploring the canyons surrounding us, and attempting to herd their sheep back to the farm by dusk.  We’re either the most impressive or most pathetic group of sheepherders, as we traversed a large portion of the rustic land only to find that, in the process, the sheep had returned themselves to the farm without ever laying eyes on us.  As the day came to an end, we prepared to leave the reservation and were almost to the point of climbing into the van when we were informed that we had to stay for dinner – which Mrs. Silversmith had already prepared during our trek through the canyons.  I could recognize how touched we all were by this display of grace and love, and for the first time on this trip, I felt completely at Home with a family who not only offered us delicious food and the comfort of their home, but also prayed for our safe passage through the rest of the trip and gave thanks for being able to share some time with us during this journey. 

 

As I hugged each of them goodbye and shed a few more tears, I realized how emotionally and spiritually attached I had become to these recent strangers in a matter of hours.  After seeing the beautiful portrayals of the concept of home that have manifest themselves throughout each day of this trip, any feeling of being homesick has been completely replaced with a sense of belonging to the larger community of incredible people whose undiscovered identities allowed for the emergence of this trip in the first place…