I cite

Occupy Geneva (or what links Geneva with #occupywallstreet)

Yesterday was Geneva's annual "spookerie" parade. 

Geneva has a population of around 13,000. It's declined 2.6% since 2000. The median household income is about  $35,800.

The parade was at 5:00. Before dark. A couple of blocks were blocked off from traffic.

More people walk in the parade than watch it. Everyone lines up in front of the armory. Kids are arranged by schools--two public elementary schools, a few nursery schools. Whole families walk with their kids. Some are in costume, some are not. Parents run around with cameras. The order of the parade doesn't seem to be set; it depends on who shows up with the banners. The high school band plays. They wear costumes, not uniforms.  The whole parade takes about half an hour. 

Our zombie horde of 12 (including two Anonymous in Guy Fawkes masks), filled in behind a nursery school, pretty much lined up with the volunteer firemen (in dress blues) and a couple of people with signs for the Catholic schools.

After we started walking (lurching), the Catholic kids, firemen, and zombies flowed in and through each other.  A man holding the hand of a kid wearing a bleeding ghoul mask and black robe was like a human pseuodopodium, pulling us all along through the crowd. To keep up, the zombies couldn't really shuffle; we had to hop to it. Zombies walking like regular people aren't all that frightening.

The week before Occupy Halloween, the mayor denounced the zombie march as an attempt to hijack the event. Let the kids be kids, he said. This is supposed to be about and fun and costumes. The words abhorrent and repellant also entered the mix. 

Local radio announced the zombie march. 66 people told FB they were going to participate in Occupy Halloween--a humorous, festive, way to pull together conversations about debt, foreclosures, and the economy in Geneva. On FB, the mayor posted a You Tube video from Billy Dean, "Let them be little".

Would 66 zombies hijack the parade? How many zombies does it take to hijack a parade, anyway? 1000 would have definitely done it.

Phone lines were pretty tied up on Friday afternoon--people calling folks on city council, folks on city council calling people at the Colleges. This whole thing could put kids in danger. Some kids might be scared of the zombies. What about violence and counter demonstrations? This is too dangerous and could get way, way out of hand. Politics does not belong in the spookerie parade (religion is okay, though; several guys handed out Christian goodie bags). 

Some wanted the zombies to enter the costume contest in the "Group, Patriotic" category--after all, this was free speech, right?

Guarded by Anonymous, the intrepid zombies stumbled and moaned through the parade. An 8 year old Robin Hood and 7 year old cowgirl walked alongside, chatting and laughing, "you are not scary at all." BRAAAIIIINNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSS

The biggest applause came from the stalwarts in front of Democratic Party HQ. The local head judge was there, having been apprised of the potential for zombie blocking or anti-zombie violence. The cheering Dems were the long term bunch, the ones who think that the housing authority should focus on housing for senior citizens of limited means, not the young DLC type Dems who think in terms of what's attractive to tourists. 

There is talk about "really" occupying Geneva. Some folks have scouted out a small park in a pretty good location--the edge of "downtown" visible from a major road. No signs warn against loitering or announce closing hours. 

Some of the Dems were thrilled with this news--great, somebody should occupy Geneva, that would bring people downtown, provide the downtown businesses with customers. But why sleep in the park? It's getting cold. What would be really good would be if they would occupy some of the empty store fronts or abandoned houses. Shoot, what we really need is for lots of people to occupy Geneva. That would totally liven things up.

What does it mean to occupy a place where the problems are those of abandonment and displacement, where absence of opportunity manifests itself in steady attrition? It's almost as if occupation changes its valence, becoming opportunity or even hope.

But that's not quite right.  Up here hope seems unable to escape the confines of the possible, of the (no longer viable) expectation that an answer will come from within capitalism, that will entail capitalism's spread, as if more capitalism is all that is needed to flourish.

In the very small cities of the rust belt, to continue to think in terms of capitalism is to remain stuck, persising like the walking dead in search of something that can never bring you back to life. Tourism isn't a solution (nothing to see here, and whatever there is to see is demolished by tourism), info-tech isn't a solution (there's plenty of that elsewhere), wineries make some sense (but much of the work that goes into them is seasonal and low paid), and so people turn to service jobs with low capital requirement--massage, hair, nails, and the Wal-Mart, especially now that the local K-Mart (along with Burger King) has gone out of business. 

Maybe that's where the hijacking occurs--the derailing of hope from its capitalist track and into the muck and uncertainty of capitalism's failure. And maybe the plea to "let the kids be kids" is a call to let parents continue to hope through them, continue to believe what they already know and experience is false--that the economy we have can provide most of us with economic security, with the health care we will need when illness strikes, with enough to live on when we retire. That we will be able to get our kids through college with making them into debt slaves, that they will have lives of consequence.

"Let kids be kids" is another way of asking to be allowed to hold on to the fantasy that it's all going to be ok, even if we don't do anything. 

Maybe 12 zombies are enough to hijack a parade.

God loves Geneva

Economist Robert Samuelson has been going on about Americans not being in the mood to spend, about how such attitudes hurt the economy. Robert Reich makes the obvious point that many people can't spend. Apart from the top 1%--getting richer all the time--the majority have seen their income remain stagnant or decline over the last decade. My own view is that decreasing spending, and decreasing debt, can be steps out of consumerism. These steps should be furthered with large tax increases on the top 1% as well as a lifting of the cap on income taxed for social security. These large taxes will suppress/depress private spending by the wealthy and enable more public spending on collective goods--alternative fuel, alternative transportation, expansions in green and sustainable ways of living, dismantling of suburbs and exurbs and reinvigoration of cities, etc

Yesterday I spoke with a couple of women who had a different view. They were standing at a street corner in Geneva. It wasn't very busy. It was pretty hot, pretty humid. One of the women held a sign calling for us to repent and return from our backslidden ways to God.

After I drove past them, I turned back around to ask them a few questions.

My first question: why are you doing this?

The sign-holder said that God told her to.

Surprised, I pressed a bit: "God told you to make this sign and stand here on the street corner? Why do you think God finds this an effective way to get His message out?"

The other woman interjected--a stream of answers flowing from her mouth in ever more fluid associations: God talks to people, John delivered the Revelation on a street corner, God told Peter to go speak to the Italians, it's in the Old Testament but God speaks to people now. The sign holder added that she had had a vision of precisely this corner of Geneva burning in flames. She then begin to speak of the pain and suffering of the people, that many have no jobs, that they are hurting, and that God doesn't want them to suffer.

I again wondered why holding a sign calling for people to repent made sense as a response to the problems in the economy.

Our exchange continued to drift away from coherence (Paul was surprised that I found this noteworthy). I tried to talk about BP and corporations and they talked about God caring for each hair on our head and fornication. Some of the problems on the Gulf Coast have less to do with BP (the women acknowledged that there may well be evil people working there; they avoided considering whether bad choices by generally not evil people could be an element or whether the capitalism system overall is evil) and a lot more to do with the backslidden ways of the people. Fornication matters because God doesn't want us to get HIV or STDs. I wondered why those even existed if God didn't want us to have them but that was a pretty stupid question: our fallen condition, original sin, hello?!

The women shared by criticism of corporations, but they thought that the problems of corporations could be solved by repenting: those who have repented make much better workers. It's part of God's plan. Wouldn't I want my employees to be responsible? I confess that I was pretty confused at this point and having trouble responding.

By channels I couldn't quite follow, one of the women got to a joyful description of heaven--dancing with Jesus and eating all you want without getting fat. And this while basking in God's love. It was a message of abundance, one that she directly connected to an explanation for early death: God brings some of us home so that we don't have to remain in this fallen, awful condition any longer. Who wouldn't want to die?

Their message of love and care for each individual person may be more effective than my own tendencies to dismiss individuals as ideological fictions. Their solution--stop sinning and follow Jesus--also seems less complicated than overthrowing capitalism and restructuring the economy.  Overall, though, I couldn't shake the feeling that their message didn't address the difficulty and loss in people's lives at all. It invoked it, only to displace it by a gesture to God's love.

How McCain Could Win

Below is an excerpt from Greg Palast. Most of us have probably already come across is nightmarish stolen election scenario. The details are shocking. I find the experience of reading them jarring: I believe they are true (that he is a reliable reporter who checks his facts) yet I can't believe 'the ugly secret.' And I wonder, is this my fetishistic denial, a kind of residual faith in democracy? Or is something else involved, something that has more to do with the position of the story/report? Does the report function as a kind of political pornography, an extreme kind of leftist paranoia that replaces/displaces not just political optimism and possibility but steps toward responsible dismantling of conservative hegemony? Differently put, is the problem with Palast that he fantasizes a nearly omnipotent power behind the scenes? That he may even be too certain in the face of the always messy sausage-factory of US elections?

Link: t r u t h o u t | How McCain Could Win.

Swing state Colorado. Before this election, two Republican secretaries of state purged 19.4 percent of the entire voter roll. One in five voters. Pfft!

    Swing state New Mexico. One in nine voters in this year's Democratic caucus found their names missing from the state-provided voter registries. And not just any voters. County by county, the number of voters disappeared was in direct proportion to the nonwhite population. Gore won the state by 366 votes; Kerry lost it by only 5,900. Despite reassurances that all has been fixed for Tuesday, Democrats lost from the list in February told me they're still "disappeared" from the lists this week.

    Swing state Indiana. In this year's primary, ten nuns were turned away from the polls because of the state's new voter ID law. They had drivers' licenses, but being in their 80s and 90s, they'd let their licenses expire. Cute. But what isn't cute is this: 566,000 registered voters in that state don't have the ID required to vote. Most are racial minorities, the very elderly and first-time voters; that is, Obama voters. Twenty-three other states have new, vote-snatching ID requirements.

    Swing state Florida. Despite a lawsuit battle waged by the Brennan Center for Justice, the state's Republican apparatchiks are attempting to block the votes of 85,000 new registrants, forcing them to pass through a new "verification" process. Funny thing: verification applies only to those who signed up in voter drives (mostly black), but not to voters registering at motor vehicle offices (mostly white).

someone from television

  someone from television 
  Originally uploaded by Jodi3425.

Folks in the crowd were most interested in the people from the show. This woman is one of the designers. She said that she had been on the show about a year. She signed an autograph for a young girl and then held a baby while people took her picture. She has a British accent. She encouraged the crowd to come back tomorrow to watch the progress on the house. I wonder why she would want people to come back tomorrow. I don't think spectators have much to do with interior design.

Most of the time people were yelling, "Michael!" and "Ty!" The former is a designer and the latter is the host of the show. He grabbed some large pieces of wood from the debris during the demolition process. He would carry it out of the way, his tanned biceps bulging as the crowd screamed. I guess something will be made from the wood. Or maybe that was just his workout. Or something to make him look busy for the cameras.

The crowd mirrored the performance in front of us: they were filming, we were filming. Everyone had cameras and cell phones. Everyone tried for good shots. Some people became experts, filling the rest of us in on what was happening. I guess you could call this participatory media.

Everyone was participating in a selling advertisements--and most of us were doing it for free. No wonder the people on camera can be paid so well. Hardly anyone else is paid at all.

Some people had nicknames for the on-camera people. "Ty-ty" and "monkey butt.." The intimacy and familiarity made me extremely uncomfortable. Was the feeling shame? Why and for what? Was it the confrontation with their enjoyment, their open display of an attachment that to me seemed extreme, inappropriate across televisual distance?

Extreme standing around

  "cheer" 
  Originally uploaded by Jodi3425.

Tout le monde en Geneva is talking about Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. But not everything they're saying is positive. Some have grumbled about disorganization: apparently, a softball game between the cast and community has been canceled. Questions have been raised about desert. There are a lot of poor people in this town, people much, much worse off than the folks who won. What does a new, huge, house mean for taxes on this street?

I missed the march of volunteers down the street this morning. Most of them are pretty typically US-American (this means that they are very heavy). Many are women with handbags. I thought it was weird to bring a handbag to a construction site. It could make carrying stuff even harder. Really, though, the volunteers seemed to be volunteering to be extras on a television show more than volunteers to help build a house. They would stand around in different areas and cheer on cue.

In the front left corner of the image: the bagpipers. A must-have for any demolition.

On site

  On site 
  Originally uploaded by Jodi3425.

From what I can gather, much of the work on the house will be done by volunteers. There is supposed to be the 'braveheart moment' tomorrow morning. The "BM" is mentioned on a blog for the show event. I don't really know what that is, but I think it involves volunteers in t-shirts storming the grounds. I might set my alarm and go see it.

Seeing the site today, when it's mostly moving trucks and gravel, already pushes my ideological buttons: I feel the intense emotions the show seeks to stir up and then associate with their sponsors. Today a barn behind the house was torn down. Folks in the area are being encouraged to buy gift cards at Wal-Mart and other places and donate them to the effort. There is also a fund-raising event planned for Saturday.

Extreme Makeover

  extreme edges 
  Originally uploaded by Jodi3425.

The big news in Geneva is that the ABC television show, "Extreme Makeover," is in town. They are going to demolish a 150 year old house about half a mile from where I live. Then they will build a new one. I wonder if it will fit in the neighborhood. Most of the houses are over 100 years old.

Traffic is blocked into the street. There are barriers along the sidewalk. I was surprised that a trailer with toilets was provided for spectators. Apparently, people are encouraged to come and watch. Coolers and lawn chairs are not allowed. Today, about 20 or 30 people were milling around watching. Most were retirees or women and kids.

I've only seen a little of the show before as I've waited for "Desperate Housewives." The "move that truck" moment is supposed to be on Monday.

Local (if not global)

The smartest person in Geneva, New York is Dom Vedora. Last spring, I ran into him at the hospital. I was getting shots for my trip to South America. He was driving an older woman from his neighborhood to see her physician. He asked me why I had left the party. I tried to be brief but ended up with a faux-phallutin' speech on a party I didn't believe in, candidates who were corrupt, my outrage of having had them in my home for fund-raisers and then having them turn around and betray the party, this sort of thing. He looked at me and said, "yeah, sure, but you can't let the bad guys win without a fight."

I may have posted something about Dom before. No matter. What he says matters.

And, best of all, sometimes he is more than right.

Tonight, the Democrats in Geneva beat the incumbent mayor in the primary. Paul is vice-chair of the party. This is a big deal. The party didn't endorse the incumbent. So, he decided to run against the endorsed candidate (a great guy with the fantastic slogan, "Stu for Mayor"--this is fantastic because his last name is Einstein, which leads to lots of jokes, such as "it doesn't take a rocket science to be mayor of Geneva"). Anyway, this split the local party. Some left the party and sided with the mayor. Others stuck with the party. But, a primary in a small town in September is a hard race. Not very many people go to the polls.

On Sunday, when I should have been running my half marathon but couldn't because of my hip injury and was pretty doggone depressed and hateful, I walked around town with Paul handing out leaflets to the registered Democrats in a couple of wards. Door-to-door sucks. It's time consuming and kinda boring. It's also too informative: you see how people live and so have to remove your blinders. I have limited social skills, so I prefer not having to talk to people. I just want to leave something at their doors and leave. Sunday wasn't too bad, though, since most people were watching sports on television. But it still takes time. I counted it as exercise since we walked four or five miles. But it wasn't the thirteen miles I had planned. Damn hip.

Anyway, the good thing about door to door is the wonderful self-righteousness it enables. I felt very smug. But, we were still worried. The incumbent could win. A couple of folks on city council had left the party when it refused to endorse the mayor. And, it wasn't clear whether their wards would go with them or go with the party.

But we won. By over a hundred votes out of 800 (cast in the Democratic party). The door to door stuff made a difference. People were so psyched. A local bar was filled with happy Democratic party people. Something actually changed. It mattered. Something happened. We beat the incumbent and the old boy network.

Dom was right. I shouldn't have left the party.

But I still don't believe in it. Which might be to my loss.

Living without Violence

My housekeeper's son was stabbed recently. It was about 2 in the morning. A guy came by their house, wanting a cigarette. Rose's son opened the door--Rose told me she had told him never to open the door after 11:00 at night. She heard a lot of noise and came downstairs and saw blood everywhere. She called 9/11. Her son had been stabbed in the chest; a lung was punctured. The police arrived, and a helicopter to airlift him to Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester. He had to wait, though, because the police wanted him to ID the guy who stabbed him. The stabber was 16 years old. Rose tells me that he will likely be tried as an adult.

Since Rose is pretty angry at her son over the whole thing, although she tells me that she is 'holding her pieces' (a cool expression that it took me several hearings to get; it seems likely derived from "hold your piece" which I actually thought was "hold your peace" but now that I think about it why would you hold your peace?), I gathered that her son is going to be fine, at least with respect to the stabbing.

It's easy to overlook the privilege in living without violence. I've been fortunate in this regard.

But, there have been instances of violence in my family. My great uncle, Davage, was a professional gambler and drinker who lived in Destin, Florida. His daughter was Tommy Jean. Tommy Jean was married  to Doug, who beat her something first. One night, and this was back in the sixties, I think, the local sheriff called Davage late one night. He told him that Tommy Jean was beat real bad. Hunks of her scalp were on the floor and walls. Doug had swung her around by the hair as part of the beating. The sheriff told Davage that he could go in first and deal with Doug. But he made Davage promise not to kill him. The sheriff and his men would come in after about 15 minutes, break things up, and arrest Doug, before sending him on to the hospital to get looked at.

There was a time when some white, middle class feminists emphasized the hidden violence against women and children in white, middle class homes. This was important work: the patriarchal family appeared less loving, consensual, and natural than mid-century US propaganda wanted it to. It was also the case, though, that some strands of progressive thought, and now I am thinking of some feminism emphases at the end of the 19th and beginning of the early 20th century blurred their critique of and critical work against domestic violence with a racialized approach to poverty: poor and non-white (a racialization of immigrants including the Irish and southern slavs) seemed somehow naturally and inevitably violent, in need of cleansing, purifying, and retraining. And, better not to have too many, by the way.

There is an anger management center across the street and down the block from my house.

More from the edges/center of neoliberal capital

My local bank (only 3 branches in nearby towns) called to say that there had been a security breach with account numbers and pins so they were cancelling my atm card and issuing me a new one. They were also issuing me a debit card since it appears that I use my atm card as a debit card (I didn't know there was a difference). I wasn't thrilled about this since I leave for Wales tomorrow. But they did it anyway. They were helpful, though, and had my new debit card sent to them at the beginning of the week so that I could travel with it. Everything seemed fine.

The card is from Visa. Apparently, the local bank contracts with them for the debit service.

Today, I forgot my pin number. I tried to get gas a couple of times. I was putting in the wrong number. Then I went to the atm. the number still didn't work. I came home and dug through the garbage. Not the trash. The garbage. The temperature was in the 80s so the food substances had started to rot and smell, turning into a gelatinous goo with a horrible stench. Coffee grounds enabled the goo easily to stick to my hands and arms. I dug around and found a letter from the better. I called and got caught in various computer phone trees. One told me to dial an extension or the first three letters of a last name. I didn't know either of these for the person who had been helping me at the bank. When I got someone at Visa, he said to call my local bank. All he could do was stop my card if someone had stolen it.

I went back to garbage and dug around until I found my pin number. When I went to the atm to try it, it said that I had tried to use the card too many times. I think, though, that the pin number I used at that point was correct.  I assume that the card is frozen. I tried my old card and the machine ate it. It gave me a nasty note saying I wasn't authorized to use it.

So, now I leave for Wales with no way to get cash. I don't know the pins for my credit cards because of the interest rates on cash advances. Visa can't help me with the card and tells me to contact the local branch. The local branch is closed till Monday. And it has shopped out the card service to Visa, likely asssuming that this would be the sort of thing Visa would handle. The very measures that are supposed to secure the account prevent me from using my own money. And, now I am traveling with no way to get cash. And, the thing is, I never asked for a new card. The old one was working just fine.