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.