Tag Archives: United States

Trading in My Privilege

I will dispense with the alarmist phrases and horrifying -ists that we fear are going to fall in the days to come. For the last thing I want is to throw my own tinder into the blazing bonfire that is sensationalist news that lives for clickbait and scrolling ads at the bottom of the article.

“Answer this survey question to continue reading the article.”

No, this is about privilege.

“Really, David?” you ask. “Not Sea Lions or whales or trees or warming oceans?”

No, not today.  Today was a glorious, baby blue sky day in Blackfish Sound. For the first time in months the sun brought a warmth that sunk deep into the skin and made me smile. No biting wind made me tighten my jacket around me, no icy rain fell down my neck. I reveled in it, cutting wood, splitting wood, fixing water lines.

Meanwhile millions across the continent wept.

Privilege. My life overflows with it. White, male, straight. When we say all men are created equal, they’re talking about people like me. Hell, in a few months I’ll own property, which will make me legally able to vote in any election in American History.

That, is messed up.

Across America, gays, trans, minorities, those with pre-existing conditions, and many others watched in horror as a man who has declared war on them took an oath and set to work destroying their lives. I cut firewood.

Now this new administration threatens all of us, Republican or Democrat, gay or straight, black or white, Christian or Muslim. None can live without clean water or air. All of these are threatened  now more than ever. And if it all comes crashing down, there will be no regard for what boxes we put ourselves in.

But for the moment, I am as safe as an American can be. I live in a tiny hamlet that is accepting of everyone. All things considered, I live a blessed life. And so it’s people like me that must do more over the next four years.

The most disheartening backlash of Meryl Streep’s speech was those that told her not to worry. “Hollywood elites always do fine regardless of whose in office.”

Wait, what?

When did we start only caring about that which directly effected us? America is diseased. Modern Christianity has completely fallen off the wheels. We’re obsessed with the growth of our GDP. If we’re not expanding it must be a crisis. But it is our self centeredness that horrifies me most.

“Why do you care? You’re going to be fine.”

“We survived Obama. You can survive Trump.”

It’s how we got into this mess. We’re repealing health care for millions. Was the system perfect? No, but when you don’t have a pre-existing condition, why should you care? When did we become so selfish? When did the glitz and glamor of our privilege blind us from the basic empathy for our fellow man.

We call America the land of opportunity. We glorify the successful, the famous, and those on TV. And we’ve swallowed a horrible piece of propaganda. With the idea that America is the land of opportunity, we now assume that if someone fails they have no one to blame but themselves.

So now we demonize those on wellfare, we paint all those receiving government help as slackers, abusers of the system. We dismiss health care as a basic human right. Shit we dismiss basic human rights. We walk around with blinders, staring only where we are going. We stay in our lane and assume that if others are failing it is because of their own failures. They didn’t work hard enough, they don’t care, they have no one to blame but themselves.

This is how are empathy has corroded into nothing. When Donald Trump proposed registering Muslims, I thought it was over. When Donald Trump claimed he could kill someone in Times Square and get away with it, I thought it was over. When Donald Trump was caught on tape bragging about grabbing women by their pussies, I thought it was over. But it wasn’t. Because those words just bounced off the armor of our white privilege.

“I’m not Muslim, I don’t live in Times Square, I don’t know anyone whose been victimized by sexual assault.”

We screamed with our silence that we didn’t care.

So what am I going to do? What can a kid who lives in a predominately white town of 650 on the Alaska coast do about it? I can yell at the top of my voice that the persecuted matter. I can encourage those that enjoy the same privilege that I do to scream with me. Because we’re needed so badly. The face of this new America is dominated by the white male. Ok, that’s nothing new. But it’s been a long time since it was this blatant.

But if the straight white males stand on the side of equality and justice, it speaks volumes. It means we looked at the opportunities Trump’s America offered us and said no. It means that we’d rather do with less than live in a country where our brothers and sisters are squashed. It means we find these truths to be self evident, that all humans are created equal. I have been gifted, I have been blessed, and believe me when I say it wasn’t because I worked my butt off while some young African American born in L.A didn’t. So instead of taking what I have and trying to climb higher, I want to come back down to the level of the threatened. We may never climb that high, but if we do it’ll be all together.

“I might not be the same, but that’s not important. No freedom ‘till we’re equal. Damn right I support it.” – Macklemore

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Hanson Heartbeat

The windows creak and groan. The world outside them is pitch black but I know tree branches the shape of withered arms stretch their wood clad fingers toward the cabin’s walls. The ocean pounds. It sounds so close I expect the next wave to come barreling over the porch and set us adrift in the sound. It’s the first storm of many, I’ve spent the summer dreaming about them. There’s something in the forty knot winds and blasting rain that’s soothing, secure. Hunkered down with the fire roaring and the cat asleep on the back of the couch. Just as long as the boat’s ok where it’s tied up in the back of the cove. It is isn’t it? I should go check.

By morning it’s subsided. The low pressure monster taking a deep breath, preparing for the next exhale. Harlequin ducks poke their multi-colored heads out from behind the rocks, Sea Lions return to the haulout, Herons again perch on the worn out kelp that has been buffeted by waves for the last 12 hours. And like all the critters, we poke our heads out our door. All the roofs are still in place, the lab still humming along. All that’s changed is the growing collection of fallen branches and golden fingers of the Cedar trees that populate and soften the forest floor.
harlequin
If only the rest of the world was like this. Half a day of insanity and turmoil before everything returned to it’s relaxed state. Humpbacks in the pass, seals munching fish, deer scavenging for the kelp that just couldn’t hold on anymore. But human nature doesn’t work like this. Every day some new scandal flashes across the screen. It is the quintessential train wreck. I want to look away so bad but can’t. My stomach tightens as I scroll through article after article, my heart pounding against my ribs, eyes becoming glazed and unfocused.

How has it come to this?

Assault, repealing amendments, threats of political violence, the laundry list could go on for pages. Dear God, what century is this?

I step out onto the rocky face opposite the lab. The point here sticks out into Blackney Pass just a little further, but the difference is noticeable. Sea lions cruise by, calm and serene. They’re exhalations are like small explosions, as if there’s something stuck in their throat. After watching them gulp salmon whole it wouldn’t be a surprise. But it’s just business as usual for the pinnipeds. Eat salmon, have a nap, yell at your neighbor on the rocks.

Six big boys swim past not ten yards off the rocks. Even from the relative safety of the point I stiffen. I’ve spent enough time in a kayak to know these guys make me uneasy. I’ve been followed, growled at, and watched them zoom inches below my seat, feeling the kayak rise and fall as they passed. But they seem as unsure as I am. They stop off the rocks and we stare into each others eyes.

They’re a comical looking animal when you see them straight on, bobbing like corks. They have this perpetual look like they’re always surprised. Like the monster just jumped out of the shadows in a slasher movie. I wait for them to dive away and leave me be. But they stay. The curious magnetic quality of sea lion dynamics occurs, more and more appear out of nowhere. Appearing from their hidden trap door on the ocean floor. Seven, eight, nine, ten. We speak without making a sound.

There calmness unsettles me. I want to scream at them. “Do you realize what’s going on? Do you know what could happen on November 8th? Didn’t you read what he said now?”

The group blinks in polite puzzlement before disappearing beneath the waves. Thirty seconds later they’re back. My breathing is unsettled. I went for this walk for two reasons. To harvest mushrooms and leave the rest of the world behind for a bit. You’d think that’d be easy on Hanson Island, but it isn’t. There’s a sense of helplessness being so far away from it all in times like this. There’s nothing you can do but refresh the news and pray. I stare at the sea lions and they snort in my direction, nostrils flaring.

 I wish I could be more like you.

Wish I could be content with some salmon and a smooth rock to lay my head. Though I’m glad I don’t have to watch for a black pointed dorsal coming up behind me all the time.

    “So be like us,” they answer. “Just let go.”

    “I wish I could.”

    “It’s easy.”

    “I wish it was.”

    “Stop wishing and do. Control what you can control. Chop some wood, watch us swim, count the humpbacks. Be present.”

The sun streams in through the clouds. Vancouver Island is hidden but the clouds in front of it sparkle with late morning sun. There are chocolate pancakes in my belly. I write fifteen feet from the ocean. An ocean in which, right now there are two seals, a sea lion, and a humpback visible (who I should probably photograph and ID). I’m in control of our power, our fresh water, and some of our food supply. My heat comes not from propane but wood. I am in the most beautiful place on earth. If I cannot let go here, where can I?

I think of the miracles of this world, of this place. That humpback will soon leave for Hawaii. A 3,000 mile journey without a Lonely Planet book or compass. He or she will hit it square on the dot. No questions asked. Amazing. I memorize the beauty in the sad eyes of the harbor seal and the bouncing optimism of the Harlequins. The prehistoric cackle of the heron, the Pterodactyl incarnate.
heron
Breathe, be still, be present.

I smile, inhaling salt air and high tide. My hands run up and down the trunk of a Cedar tree. I close my eyes, and feel myself, at long last, let go. Surrendering to the pulse of the island.

Photos By Brittney Cannamore