This was my letter at the beginning of our first issue of /vandal/ 1.1 [walls] . I will soon be writing another, maybe even an entire piece, and I hope that the ideas will be evolved more, because we’ve been doing more to insert ourselves into the responsibility of knowing.

As educator and social critic Jonathan Kozol suggests, too many of us purchase our comfort and security at the cost of building walls around our hearts. The absence of these self-built walls in this issue of vandal leaves a gaping hole in the understanding and consciousness that would empower us to overcome the struggles we face daily as living vehicles of social change.

When we seclude ourselves from one another, when we build these walls, we are allowing others to write the narrative of our community and risk passing on a world that’s meaner; more polarized, more desperate, and unquestionably more corrupt. American society teaches us that history is made by others, that it is out of our hands. Increasingly our knowledge of the world comes from stories scripted by these others, stories whose characters and plot lines are stripped of the most important questions we can ask. This shroud of comfort, of security, replaces our conviction to make change. The dream of private sanctuary, of perfection derived from this constructed history, is an illusion–a facade which erodes our soul by eroding our sense of a larger connection.

The walls we build around ourselves, around those closest to us, and ultimately around our hearts provide just a temporary feeling of safety but they cannot prevent the world from affecting us. The more we construct these barriers, the more our sanctuaries will grow steadily more insecure. With activism, there is no space for these walls to be built up, instead we force the creation of our own narratives as we join with others to close down a toxic wast dump, organize our workplace, or encourage our neighbors to support a political candidate. There is no preordained plot to these stores, no characters free of contradiction or confusion, no tidy, safe ending.

As artists and writers, we seek absolute truth, beauty–perfection–as a way of expressing that which must be shared. As activists too, we often wait for when our courage and wisdom will be the greatest, the issues clearest, our supporters most steadfast, and when sharing is all too easy. Such hesitation is reasonable for we are subject to real pressures and constraints, just like those we face in our creative work. But when in life will we not be subject to pressures of one kind or another? When will public participation not require a shift from familiar and comfortable habits? When will sharing the truth ever be easy? The issues that most need our attention will always be the most complex, most forbidding and most difficult to address. And while we wait for the ideal time to arrive, weeks, months, and years pass by as we squander repeated opportunities to involved ourselves in the larger community. We play it safe. We build walls to block out the causes whose justification may be imperfect and whose outcome is far from certain–in other words, causes that are real.

So many times I have been told that to be a writer, I must write–thinking about it, talking about it, reading about it, does not make me a writer. So too to be an activist, I must act. I must create that narrative that disallows walls to be built around me, a new history for myself that protects the sense of who I am, a sense which leads me to risk criticism, alienation, and serious loss while other similarly harmed remain silent but comfortable and safe.

It is this false sense of comfort that keeps people from standing up for themselves, their neighbors and their earth. The same false sense that keeps artists and writers in the safety zone, a category free of polarizing politics. There is not truth in comfort, no truth in silence. For silence, as an activist or artist or plain human being, is more costly than speaking out for it requires the ultimate sacrifice–our spirit.

It takes energy to mute our voices while the environment is ravaged, greed runs rampant, and families sleep in the streets. It take energy to distort our words and actions because we fear the consequences. It takes energy to act, but its more draining to bury anger, to convince yourself you’re powerless, or to swallow what’s handed to you. We do not have time or energy to wast on silence and comfort. The times I’ve compromised my spirit and accepted something I shouldn’t in order for others to feel comfortable, the ghosts of my choices have come to haunt me proving that only when I could begin to voice the difficult truths of my experience could I begin to change and build, not walls but myself and community up.

As artists and writers, our work is best when we find that difficult truth inside ourselves and finally release it to overtake our creation–no matter the backlash, reviews, or chance at failure. Our work is best when instead of building walls, it breaks them down.

As activists, we are most effective when we realize that there is no perfect time to get involved in social change, no ideal circumstances for voicing our convictions, there is only the realization that our daily lives are nothing more than a livelong series of imperfect moments in which we must decide what to stand for, what to climb over.

I sometimes need a hand, a stool, a lift to get over a wall I come up against, self-built or otherwise. In founding vandal, it is the hope of Daniel, Angie, and myself that the narrative created here will be that step you need to get to the other side, to pass up silence and comfort, to ignite the strength needed to polarize yourself in order to save your spirit.

The rest of the issue can be seen here.

/vandal/ issue 2.1 [in/security] will be out this fall.

Chris Hedges: This Is What Resistance Looks Like – Chris Hedges’ Columns – Truthdig.

David Cameron’s Gift of War and Racism, to Them and Us | Truthout.

The Martin Luther King Legacy and the Global Economic Crisis: Can One Influence the Other? | Common Dreams.

Natural disasters? | World news | The Guardian.

Our Climate Crisis Is an Education Crisis Editorial 25_03.

Civil Eats » Blog Archive » Where Do Americans Get Their Calories? (Infographic).

How The “U-Word” Exposes the Anti-Choice Movement | RHRealityCheck.org.

(UPDATED) All Those Alternatives to Planned Parenthood? In Texas, At Least, They Don’t Exist | RHRealityCheck.org.

Civil Eats » Blog Archive » Buying Silence: Big Soda Takes a Page from Big Tobacco.

Perry’s ‘Texanity’ Explained – OtherWords. “[Perry] is going to shrink government until it fits into a woman’s uterus.”

The End of Empire by David Korten — Agenda for a New Economy.

Civil Eats » Blog Archive » Texas College Converts Football Field Into Organic Farm.

Assault on Public Unions an Affront to Women’s Historic Gains | Common Dreams.

Who’s Bashing Teachers and Public Schools and What Can We Do About It?.

Sarah Palin and the Dozen Dwarfs – OtherWords.

Urban Graffiti Knitters Are the New, Cozier Christo and Jeanne-Claude | Fast Company.

A Texas-Sized Plan for Nuclear Waste | Mother Jones.  We already have a large radioactive dump site, its called Texas Tech University.

Freakonomics » Does “No Child Left Behind” Contribute to Obesity?.

E.J. Dionne, Jr.: The Surprising New Class Politics – Truthdig.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of fatness | Grist.

Civil Eats » Blog Archive » The EPA: Cleaning Up Crappy Water Since 1970.

Civil Eats » Blog Archive » Cultivating City Blocks With Karrots.

President Obama’s face used on most recent anti-choice billboard campaign. aw. ful.

“Safe” Radiation is a Lethal Three Mile Island Lie | Common Dreams.

Capitol Offensive — In These Times.

In Celebrities We Trust: An Excerpt From ‘Back to Our Future’ — In These Times.

We trade in the responsibilities of democratic citizenship for the pleasure of a superfan’s enthusiasm by simply backing whatever is being pushed by the political Michael Jordan we like.

NPR Is Not Left Wing Opposite of Right Wing Media Machine | Common Dreams.

That’s why our favorite new word is “agnotology.” According to the website WordSpy, it means “the study of culturally-induced ignorance or doubt,” a concept developed in recent years by two historians of science at Stanford University, Robert Proctor and his wife, Londa Schiebinger.

Believing that global climate change is a myth is one example of the kind of ignorance agnotologists investigate. Or the insistence by the tobacco industry that the harm caused by smoking is still in dispute. Or the conviction that Barack Obama is a closet Muslim, and a radical one at that, who may not even be from America.

Those first two illusions have been induced by big business in a cynical attempt to keep pumping profits from deadly pollutants, whether fossil fuels or nicotine. The third, dreamed up by fantasists of the right wing fringe, is in its own way just as toxic and has been tacitly, sometimes audibly, encouraged by certain opponents of President Obama who would perpetuate any prevarication to further blockade his agenda and deny him and fellow Democrats reelection.

None of them is true; rather, they fly in the face of those of us who belong to what an aide to George W. Bush famously called “the reality-based community [who] believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality.’” He told journalist Ron Suskind, ”That’s not the way the world really works anymore. We’re an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality.”

Revolution is as unpredictable as an earthquake and as beautiful as spring. Its coming is always a surprise, but its nature should not be.

Revolution is a phase, a mood, like spring, and just as spring has its buds and showers, so revolution has its ebullience, its bravery, its hope, and its solidarity.

I plan on doing more than just posting stories eventually, as I’m sure the more I get back to my voice the more I’ll want to actually write–the act of which seems like a foreign concept to me now.

My last post was a top.10.reads from January 2010, so before I dive in to posting again, an update is appropriate.

January.2010-April.2010: I worked nearly 60 hours a week organizing union health care workers in public hospitals and non-profit clinics.  My boss did not seem to trust my experience or natural sense of how to organize, so it was a tough couple of months.  Living in Santa Cruz, my distractions were still the gym, yoga, and pilates.  I dated a guy who owned a wholesale meat business [like Omaha steaks] and would let him distract me from work as often as possible.  Coincidentally, I also started eating meat but not because of my meatman.  I needed to do something to shock my diet as it seems my body was stagnant no matter how much I exercised.  I looked for other jobs and was close to one with my “alma-mater” Greenpeace.  I went to Texas once for my birthday and LA three times.

May.2010-July.2010: Needing a change of scenery and a shorter commute, I moved to an apartment in Palo Alto.  My commute went from 38 miles/1 hour to 12 miles/20 minutes.  Not only was the trip to work a relief, but the work itself as my boss was moved to another project in Oakland and we were granted a director who was truly interested in helping and developing our organizing.  I began working on my only day off at a pilates/ballet studio hoping to meet some girlfriends, as I still had yet to make any friends.  My brother came to visit for a week to help me move apartments and my mom a few weeks later to help set it up.  As my friend Erica was traveling for our dance company all summer, I wasn’t able to go to LA until fall.

In late July, I fell in love.  On a whim, I went to the Humane Soceity looking for a little female dog, so ugly only a mother could love.  I found the exact opposite.  Big, outdoor, male, beautiful, the dalamation sat behind the gate looking up with his big blue eyes and crying.  My search was over before I had even realized what I was doing.  Because I wanted something reminicent of Texas, and being a big football fan, I named him Romo.  If ever I thought I had been in love before, I was wrong, because I’ve never loved anything as much as I love him.

August.2010-October.2010: While work had gotten better, I was restless.  I had learned the whole job.  Before in college when I got restless, I would take an internship in another state for a semester, now I didn’t really have that outlet.  When my mom told me that my dad had been diagnosed with prostate cancer that had spread, I really had to question what I was doing.  Here I was thousands of miles away from my family and friends, working and doing an okay job at affecting change, but was this it?  Was it worth it to me? It wasn’t.  I wanted to get closer to the people I loved, into a job that used my every skill, and living day to day for what really matters–not just a routine.  I again got close to taking a job in LA [a day's drive from my parents and close to one of my best friends] but without locking anything in, and with my lease ending the beginning of November I decided to move to Denver.  I could be there for my parents, figure things out, apply to the great graduate programs in Colorado and get back to what I knew I loved and would make me happy, bringing the Romo with me of coarse.  So away we went.

November.2010-March.2011: We drove out the same way we came in, up through Lake Tahoe, Nevada, Utah, Wyoming and on down to Denver.  I felt a lot of regret moving back, like I had failed at being independent.  It was difficult for my parents too when I got here, they were use to being alone.  I had thought I could start school in January at the University of Denver, but that got complicated, so I choose to go to the University of Colorado instead, which won’t start until August, if then.  By Christmas, I was restless again but this time it was mixed in with a big dose of “what in the hell did you do?” at least when I was working I doing what  a 24 yr old should be, instead of what I had been doing lately.

I didn’t know how to appreciate time spent “not doing.”  I had been use to wearing myself out for organizations, classes, work, that I didn’t know what to do when I wasn’t.  After several people said it to me, I finally heard them: appreciate this time now.  It is a luxury to be able to relax, focus on myself, and not have to hold a job I dislike.  I felt guilty for the luxury, but now I’ve had to stop beating myself up about it.  There is a reason I left, there is a reason I’m here in Denver.  It is a blessing to grow close to my parents in this time and to be there for them as they went through a difficult situation.  Romo is so happy to have two dogs to play with and a huge backyard.  I am healthier today than I have ever been in my whole life [and skinnier too, I fit into all my prom dresses better today than back then...yes, I put them on this week].  I’ve found physical strength I never new I had, and this will foster my mental strength for when I’m finally ready for the next chapter–job, school, whatever I have the patience for.

I have maybe read 10 books since I moved to California, what I use to read in three weeks.  Reading some of my old daily websites, I felt embarrassed, like someone would know I hadn’t logged on in a while.  Today, all that stops and I get back to building my mind and my voice.

What I can look forward to posting:

• top.10.reads:: the classic daily post.
• top.10.bunnybites:: health posts for the week.
• my writing:: …eventually.
• pictures that can change your mood.
• general updates.

‘Easier to Build Monuments than to Make a Better World’: Detroit, MLK Day, and the US Social Forum | CommonDreams.org.

Israel and Egypt continue to Squeeze the Lifeblood out of the People of Gaza | CommonDreams.org.  Ann Wright

We’ve ignored King on war – Spokesman.com – Jan. 17, 2010.

The Death of MLK Jr.: RFK Said It Best | Mother Jones.

The Santa Clausification of Martin Luther King, Jr. | TPMCafe.

Dr. King, Forgotten Radical | The American Prospect.

Naomi Klein on how corporate branding has taken over America | Books | The Guardian.

Haiti: Give Money, Not Stuff | Mother Jones.

Haiti: A Photographer’s Plea – The Picture Show Blog : NPR.

Labor’s Last Stand? — In These Times.

Kay Steiger: It’s Not So Easy. [her header pic for this blog is awesome.]

Remember last week when Hillary Clinton stood in front of the world and defended access to reproductive health care as a “basic right”?

“If we believe that human rights are women’s rights and women’s rights are human rights, then we cannot accept the ongoing marginalization of half the world’s population,” Secretary Clinton said one week ago today. “We cannot accept it morally, politically, socially, or economically.”

Chris Hedges: Nader’s Utopia: The World According to Ralph – Chris Hedges’ Columns – Truthdig.

E.J. Dionne: Progressives: Don’t Scream, Organize – Truthdig.

Senate Speech Heralds New Social Movement | CommonDreams.org.

t r u t h o u t | Bringing the World Out of Denial.

t r u t h o u t | Palin the Pundit.

Can Obama Sign A Climate Treaty Without Congress? | Mother Jones.

America’s Secret ICE Castles. The Nation

The Gaza I Know. The Nation

Unbelievable Holiday Tales – Mindy Kaling Writes Her Own Script for a Perfect Family – NYTimes.com. This is me.  Liz sent this Sunday.

Lady Gaga Barbie Dolls | The Frisky.

‘Just War’ Is Just Words | CommonDreams.org.  Ralph Nader

The Land Mines Obama Won’t Touch | CommonDreams.org.  Bill Moyers

Now WE Must Earn Obama’s Nobel | CommonDreams.org.  Harvey Wasserman

[so far the top.10.reads has a lot of heavy hitting men...]

and speaking of heavy hitters:  Kucinich, Hedges, Nader Rally at the White House – Truthdig.

Now bring on the women:

t r u t h o u t | Naomi Klein | Memo to Danes: Even You Cannot Control This Summit.

Chloe Angyal: New Media Embraces Old Media’s Male-Centricity.

Why James Chartrand Wears Women’s Underpants | Copyblogger.

Does the US Owe a Climate Debt? | Mother Jones.

Female Depression – ELLE Investigates Why Women are Unhappy in Life.

t r u t h o u t | Argentina: Solar Villages Light Up the Andes.

Dear President Obama,

I expect our correspondence to be once a month considering our hectic schedules, with extra leniency around the holiday season.

Today I was lobbying a staff member of one of the County Supervisors to grant extra money towards one of their Health Services contracts.  This measure would not only save jobs, but would continue the perinatal therapy services that the clinic provides to the low-income community.  I generally like to get straight to the point when it comes to lobbying, in part because I don’t like to dance around the heart of the issue and frankly, I’m not big on hearing myself speak.  While laying out “the ask” the staff member interrupted me and proceeded to first introduce himself, with a full 1000 bio, complete with professional references, and then scolded me for not using the title “Supervisor” when speaking of one of the elected officials.  “Now, I know that you are new at this, and I’m not sure where you are from, but don’t you think that they have earned that title and deserve at least that much respect?”  Because I was feeling nice, I merely said, “On one point you are correct, I’m not from here.  I just moved from Texas, I’m a foreigner to these Californian ways.”  And I left it at that and let him fill up the rest of our meeting with his boastin’-n-name-droppin’.

I believe all people deserve respect, but what he had asked that I show for the Supervisors was not that kind of respect–but rather an acknowledgment of their political position, an acknowledgment of the air they breathe being more important than mine and certainly more important than the workers I represent and the clients they serve.  Do I think they have earned that title?  Well, Mr. Supervisor Staff Member, define earned?  If you mean bought and paid for, then of course.  Politicians buy their way into the position, they earn it by making tough decisions, by saving jobs and providing care for the people who elected them and when they can acknowledge the real needs of their community and can meet them.  Then they can deserve at least that much respect.  They earn their position when they are no longer just a politician, but a leader.

Mr. President, I read about a protester’s sign in Copenhagen that read “Politicians Talk.  Leaders Act.”  I thought it was very appropriate and hope that “act” for you means pushing and signing a binding resolution at the summit that will trickle down into our domestic policy.  You, sir, are a politician, and as any card-carrying Republican will remind us, you did pay quite a lot to have your title.  But have you earned it?  While there is much to say about hope and faith that one day your inspiring words will turn into action, at the end of the day–and presidential term–what will we have to hold onto?

More to come soon.  I’ve read many essay’s on hope lately that I’ll include with this letter.  I’ve highlighted the areas I think you’ll find especially pertinent to our current national dilemmas.

Si Se Puede,

Amanda