Strange morning
Apr. 13th, 2008 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snousleWe came down to San Jose last night to deal with some remaining things at the old house. We had a lovely, wonderful dinner at Vinsanto in Willow Glen and crashed at a friends house nearby.
The morning has been a bit strange. John slept in, while I impatiently waited for him to get up, passing the time with a book by Eckhart Tolle that was sitting on the table. He's some sort of new-agey spiritual leader of a type that instantly raises my skepticism, though he seems far less full of crap than, say, Deepak Chopra. I found it especially interesting because it spoke at length on the subject of ego. This is something I have a troubled relationship with, and voraciously consume anything written on the subject. I was surprised to find a real zinger wrapped up in a single sentence: The ego is not wrong, merely unaware.
Hmm. I have far more to write on that than time in which to write it.
We had intended to have breakfast at the Naglee Park Garage, a small, totally unpretentious counter-service restaurant, situated in an old garage, with outstanding food. We'd never had their Sunday breakfast in all the years we lived here, and by sheer bad luck, they were opening late because their employees didn't show up. Grr.
So we went to the neighboring bagel shop. I was in a foul mood and there was a long lineup, but they really hustle their butts in there so we had our breakfast in short order. We sat outside at a table next to a couple of groovy black dudes, one of which was expounding on some political opinion or another, and with the calming effect of having my bagel in hand, I felt that vaguely smug sense of white enlightenment that comes from living happily and peacefully in a "diverse" university neighborhood.
That sure didn't last long. What he was expounding on was actually radical Islam, and when he started talking trash about teh gheys we pointedly got up and moved to a different table.
This got me really spun up. I have to admit, if at that moment a lynch mob had formed to beat the crap out of him, I'd have joined in quite gleefully. It is true that being good friends with individuals of all ethnicities and persuasions makes it impossible for me to sustain even a hint of racism for long; all I have to do is think of the particular people in my life and the sense of any race or religion as an anonymous, homogenous group simply evaporates. But at the same time, I can feel the visceral impulse that drives racism very keenly, and can completely understand where the white cracker mentality comes from. It's easy to be tolerant when you don't feel personally threatened; it's almost impossible when you do. And at that moment, even in a nice middle-class bagel shop surrounded by other white people, I did.
On thinking about it, and in particular on thinking about particular muslims in my life, I find no resemblance between them and the guy at the bagel shop. None. And I wonder, did we create this phenomenon ourselves? It's as if radical Islam has no guiding purpose other than to threaten Americans; no cohesiveness other than through the reactions it provokes. I wonder if, by reacting rather than responding, American society has actually materialized this radicalism as a mirror of its own neuroses, opening itself to manipulation by letting outsiders push our buttons and reacting predictably and on cue.
It would certainly explain the pleasure this man seemed to find in our reaction to him, mine in particular. I feel like a parent that has gone ballistic over a two-year-old using a newly discovered swear word, thus guaranteeing its use in the future. Its amazing how the things that make me feel most viscerally and violently angry are the same things that make me feel the most foolish an hour later.
A lot to think about.
Anyway, it's kind of weird being in a house with no furniture, and it's definitely affected my mood - if you've ever had the experience, you know what I mean. No time to write, I have to finish cleaning up and get to San Francisco pronto. More later!
The morning has been a bit strange. John slept in, while I impatiently waited for him to get up, passing the time with a book by Eckhart Tolle that was sitting on the table. He's some sort of new-agey spiritual leader of a type that instantly raises my skepticism, though he seems far less full of crap than, say, Deepak Chopra. I found it especially interesting because it spoke at length on the subject of ego. This is something I have a troubled relationship with, and voraciously consume anything written on the subject. I was surprised to find a real zinger wrapped up in a single sentence: The ego is not wrong, merely unaware.
Hmm. I have far more to write on that than time in which to write it.
We had intended to have breakfast at the Naglee Park Garage, a small, totally unpretentious counter-service restaurant, situated in an old garage, with outstanding food. We'd never had their Sunday breakfast in all the years we lived here, and by sheer bad luck, they were opening late because their employees didn't show up. Grr.
So we went to the neighboring bagel shop. I was in a foul mood and there was a long lineup, but they really hustle their butts in there so we had our breakfast in short order. We sat outside at a table next to a couple of groovy black dudes, one of which was expounding on some political opinion or another, and with the calming effect of having my bagel in hand, I felt that vaguely smug sense of white enlightenment that comes from living happily and peacefully in a "diverse" university neighborhood.
That sure didn't last long. What he was expounding on was actually radical Islam, and when he started talking trash about teh gheys we pointedly got up and moved to a different table.
This got me really spun up. I have to admit, if at that moment a lynch mob had formed to beat the crap out of him, I'd have joined in quite gleefully. It is true that being good friends with individuals of all ethnicities and persuasions makes it impossible for me to sustain even a hint of racism for long; all I have to do is think of the particular people in my life and the sense of any race or religion as an anonymous, homogenous group simply evaporates. But at the same time, I can feel the visceral impulse that drives racism very keenly, and can completely understand where the white cracker mentality comes from. It's easy to be tolerant when you don't feel personally threatened; it's almost impossible when you do. And at that moment, even in a nice middle-class bagel shop surrounded by other white people, I did.
On thinking about it, and in particular on thinking about particular muslims in my life, I find no resemblance between them and the guy at the bagel shop. None. And I wonder, did we create this phenomenon ourselves? It's as if radical Islam has no guiding purpose other than to threaten Americans; no cohesiveness other than through the reactions it provokes. I wonder if, by reacting rather than responding, American society has actually materialized this radicalism as a mirror of its own neuroses, opening itself to manipulation by letting outsiders push our buttons and reacting predictably and on cue.
It would certainly explain the pleasure this man seemed to find in our reaction to him, mine in particular. I feel like a parent that has gone ballistic over a two-year-old using a newly discovered swear word, thus guaranteeing its use in the future. Its amazing how the things that make me feel most viscerally and violently angry are the same things that make me feel the most foolish an hour later.
A lot to think about.
Anyway, it's kind of weird being in a house with no furniture, and it's definitely affected my mood - if you've ever had the experience, you know what I mean. No time to write, I have to finish cleaning up and get to San Francisco pronto. More later!
