Eira Tansey

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2023 (and early 2024) media highlights

I usually write my media highlights roundups in late January/early February of each year. But in late January/early February of this year, I was hospitalized for 10 nights with a burst appendix, and then my elderly father was also admitted to the same hospital following a fall. He passed away shortly after his surgery. 2023 was already an intense year to begin with, given my transition to self-employment and my father’s declining health and move from assisted living to skilled nursing. But there were lots of other intense things happening behind the scenes, many of which I have deliberately guarded with privacy and various boundaries, and the media I consumed was part of helping me process the unceasing march of intense issues.

Since this annual media roundup is coming so late, and because I am (joyfully!) less committed to trying to shoehorn my life into the Gregorian calendar these days (chalk it up to aging, being part of a QuakerJewish household, or my own interest in following the rhythms of nature more than state-sanctioned timekeeping), I’m going to include not just the best of what I read/watched/listened to in 2023, but also the first part of 2024, since much of what I’m consuming right now is similar to what I was consuming over the last year. I am finally getting my interval appendectomy in a few days, and hopefully much of my media consumption over the next stretch of the calendar will be comfort viewing as I recover from surgery.

One other less visible aspect of my life that has decidedly shaped my media consumption for the last several months is that I have intentionally dialed my social media use way, way back. I have a lot of reasons for this that are incredibly personal, that my friends are encouraged to ask me about, and that perhaps one day I’ll feel equipped to discuss publicly. More and more, I’m feeling that my rejection of algorithmically-driven social media is an extension of my commitment to the Quaker peace testimony and my long-held skepticism towards social media, which I feel often accelerates the normalization and rhetoric of violence.

Previous year round ups can be found below:

(ps – if you want more regular recommendations, especially related to climate change, labor, and cultural heritage, my monthly business newsletter has a recommendations section)

Business development

The Deliberate Freelancer (podcast, Melanie Padgett Powers) – Hands down one of the best self-employment podcasts out there. I like how Melanie is down to earth, and manages to be motivational and assertive without slipping into cliched girlboss nonsense. Without a doubt, this has probably been the single most helpful media resource I’ve used on my self-employment journey.

The Self-Employed Life (book, Jeffrey Shaw) – I really like how this book breaks down self-employment into three major areas, of personal development, business development, and daily habits. Shaw uses a lot of ecosystem metaphors, which I appreciate.

The Good Enough Job (book, Simone Stolzoff) – One of the things I really like about Simone’s book is the recognition that some of us really like to work, but that finding a job that is a good fit for the work we want to do is a challenge because, lol, late stage capitalism. This is a great book that interviews lots of thoughtful working people about their jobs and making a living (including librarian Fobazi Ettarh!)

Hard times

Maybe You Should Talk to Someone (book, Lori Gottlieb) – A therapist talks about going to therapy for herself. I have sought out and benefited from therapy periodically long before reading this book, but reading it was a good reminder to bring it closer to the top of my tool box.

Life is in the Transitions (book, Bruce Feiler) – I think I got this recommendation from a cohort group for arts entrepreneurs I was in during late 2023, and I am immensely grateful to have read it before my appendix burst and my dad died. Bruce’s book talks about how life is essentially a series of lifequakes, or events that completely derail one’s life, and what people do to navigate through them. One of the things I kept thinking about while I was in the hospital, and then when I was at home with this horrible abscess drain and dealing with my Dad’s end of life logistics was how surreal everything felt. I remembered Bruce had written in his book about how it’s not uncommon for a lot of people to experience multiple crises at once, and just remembering that little fragment of the book helped make my incredibly weird shitshow feel somehow… kind of normal?

Everything Happens for a Reason (book, Kate Bowler) – I read this book after I was discharged from the hospital and I devoured it. Kate is a Mennonite who has specialized in the academic study of prosperity gospel strains of evangelical Christianity, and who wrote about the experience of being diagnosed with late stage cancer while also mothering a young child. I was in such raw emotional and physical pain earlier this year, and for a time only felt like I could consume content from other people who had been through it. I think I might have found this book when googling “things to never say to someone who has been through a crisis” because I needed validation for how fucking sick I was of people saying “Please let me know how I can help!” (hint: never ever ever say this to someone going through a life-altering crisis, seriously, don’t do it. It puts the onus back on the person who is going through some shit to basically assign you homework, which as it turns out, some people won’t do even if you’re honest with them about what you need! If you actually want to show you care, then drop off a lasagna, or Venmo them $100, or send them flowers, or cat memes. Basically do anything except say “Let me know how I can help!” which is possibly the most useless phrase in the English language. I will always be grateful to the people who just did something rather than giving me yet another message I felt obligated to respond to during a crisis.)

Climate change

The Ministry for the Future (book, Kim Stanley Robinson) – Kim Stanley Robinson’s most recent climate change novel weaves together the stories of several major and minor characters experiencing heat waves, drought, extractive colonialism, and international climate change policy making. Much like KSR’s previous novel New York 2140 (one of my favorite reads of 2022) the story ends on a cautiously hopeful – and musical – note.  

The Great Displacement (book, Jake Bittle) – This book on how climate change is reshaping where Americans live and work is an accessible introduction for anyone new to the concepts of managed retreat and voluntary buyouts.  

The Wild Wild West of Climate Modeling (podcast episode) – I learned about climate change data analytics firms while attending Columbia University’s Managed Retreat conference. Although these firms have quite a bit of variation, most of them combine public and private data sources and attempt to quantify long-term risk and predicted increase in value for specific locations. The finance and insurance industries are quite literally making immense investments in these firms to guide their decision making. Yet because they are wildly unregulated, there is potential for these tools to exacerbate issues like climate gentrification. This podcast episode was an incredibly clear explanation of the importance and implications of these new data firms.

Quaker life

Thee Quaker Podcast (podcast) – This is a terrific new podcast that is so lovingly produced and an incredible pleasure to listen to. The hosts take you through all aspects of Quaker history, theology, and practice, from famous Quakers like Bayard Rustin and James Naylor, to clips from vocal ministry at meetings for worship, to things like the story of a Quaker military chaplain. Over the last year I had to spend several hours migrating my Quaker meeting’s website to a new platform, and Thee Quaker Podcast was a frequent companion during that process.

Jewish diaspora

The Yiddish Policemen’s Union (book, Michael Chabon) – I started reading this around New Years and finished it on the second night of Passover. This is a detective noir book set in an alternate universe in which a significant contingent of the European Jewish diaspora settled in part of Alaska (loosely based on a real-life unrealized proposal from FDR’s administration) and is facing a new period of potential displacement. It was a haunting book, particularly given current events around Israel and Palestine, and Jewish safety.

“Piecing for Cover” (article, Ayelet Waldman) – Waldman’s article in the New Yorker about the stress of the October 7 Hamas attacks on Israel and Israel’s subsequent war on Gaza, and using quilting as a stress response when you feel helpless to change things, really hit home for me. Sewing has often been my own stress response (I sewed curtains the day after the 2004 George W. Bush election), and I have been quilting a lot over the last several months in response to news near and far.

The Ezra Klein show (podcast) – Ezra Klein’s podcast has been a favorite of mine for some time now, and he is an incredibly curious, skilled, and empathetic interviewer. Since October 7, he has done a number of episodes on Israel and Palestine featuring a range of perspectives from Palestinians and Israelis. I am deeply grateful for how his podcast has been a shining example of sensitive discourse and listening to perspectives that are often dismissed around a topic that all too often has more heat than light.

2022 media highlights

Like 2021, 2022 was also a tough and weird year. I didn’t finish as many books as I would have liked. Maybe 2023 will be better.

Also, 2022 will be the last year that I track what I read in WorldCat. Now that it doesn’t log the date you add an item to a list, its usefulness for me is much diminished. I’m currently giving a friend’s deployment of BookWyrm a try, and I might just need to stop overthinking things and log what I read in Excel.

Previous highlights posts (also, I’ve been doing this for five years???):

The books that made me cry

Warmth (book, Daniel Sherrell) – Sherrell’s memoir of being a climate organizer and navigating his own climate emotions is the generational cry (quite literally) in the climate change wilderness I’ve been waiting for. This book was such a gift for processing my own climate rage and grief, something that I long ago accepted will never go away but that I need to handle with care and attention like an old injury.

Grapes of Wrath (book, John Steinbeck) – I somehow managed to get through my whole life without reading Grapes of Wrath or watching the movie. Last summer was finally the right time to read it since I was writing A Green New Deal for Archives and preparing for a trip to California. I knew the general contours of the novel, but I didn’t quite appreciate just how deep the environmental and labor themes ran. The structure of Grapes, with chapters that step away from the main narrative to go down a little historical side trail and back, remind me of Moby-Dick, one of my favorite books. I came down with a severe case of COVID towards the end of reading this, and sobbed my way through the final chapters while I was in the middle of a feverish insomniac spell.

Glimpses of the future

Parable of the Sower (book, Octavia Butler) – I had put off reading this for years, mostly because I was too scared it’d give me a panic attack. The ways in which the world falls apart through civil society breakdown, the election of a demagogue, and climate apocalypse was uncomfortably plausible, and now I understand why so many people consider Octavia Butler to be a prophetic voice. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stoke my inner prepper a little bit (and I did get my ham radio license a few months after reading it). Parable definitely made me think about what I’d need to do to survive the unthinkable.

New York 2140 (book, Kim Stanley Robinson) – This is the first KSR novel I’ve ever read (I’m about halfway through his Ministry for the Future), and I found it ultimately quite optimistic. Much of New York City may be flooded, but it still exists, which is a profoundly reassuring prospect. What KSR lacks in character development, he more than makes up for in painting an incredibly vivid urban geography. And what I appreciated the most about New York 2140 was just how… whimsical it was. There is so much devastation, but people still have cranky committee meetings, they still drink wine, they still have music. Life goes on.

How we spend our time

Daily Rituals: Women at work (book, Mason Currey) – This book was a sequel (I read the first in 2021), and it made up for the lack of women in the first book. I am a very ritual and habit oriented person, and I really enjoy reading about how other people approach the same.

Four Thousand Weeks (book, Oliver Burkeman) – This was an approachable philosophical book about time and chilling out about the amount we have left. I think if you enjoy Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing you’d probably like this one too.

A Green New Deal for Archives preview

I’m in the final stretch of writing A Green New Deal for Archives, an upcoming publication in the Council on Library and Information Resources Pocket Burgundy series. The anticipated publication date is spring 2023.

The purpose of this publication is to articulate two major threats to US archives: climate change and a destabilized workforce. I review the historical precedent for major public support for archival work, and sketch out the beginnings of public policy for archives to ensure their future viability and relevance in our uncertain future. Archives are a public good, and this publication will argue that therefore archives need significant public investment for their continuity and survival.

I’m sharing a preview of Section 1 below. I’ll be joining the DLF Climate Justice group on Tuesday, November 15 at 10:30 EST to discuss my work so far and get some preliminary feedback. I hope you can join! If you need the Zoom link, or if you can’t make it but want to share thoughts anyway, please feel free to contact me.

Online Course, August 1-5: Archives and Climate Change

Hello friends! I’m honored to teach a course on Archives and Climate Change this summer via California Rare Book School. I would love to see a wide variety of applicants for the course. California Rare Book School is offering scholarships for course applicants, and the scholarship deadline is May 1.

Here are all the details, as well as a preview of the syllabus! Contact me with any questions, especially if you would like more details about what we’re covering each day.

Details

Course title: Archives and Climate Change. Course page: https://www.calrbs.org/program/courses/archives-and-climate-change/

Dates and Times: Monday August 1-Friday August 5, 2022. Synchronous lectures/class discussions/workshops will take place between 10 AM and 3:30 PM Eastern, with asynchronous readings/activities to be completed before/after each day’s live session.

Location: Online, via Zoom.

Registration: Course registration deadline is June 1. Course applications: https://www.calrbs.org/admissions/

Scholarships: Scholarship deadline is May 1. Tuition is $1200, and a scholarship award provides a tuition waiver for one CalRBS course. Scholarship information: https://www.calrbs.org/scholarships/  

Description: Climate change is one of the greatest contemporary threats to archives. Increasingly severe disasters like hurricanes, floods, storms, and wildfires pose immediate dangers. Longer-term trends such as migration and rising sea levels may necessitate decisions concerning the geographic relocation of archives. Archivists and cultural heritage professionals, regardless of where they are located, should understand the threats related to climate change and how it impacts our work and cultural heritage institutions.  Participants in this course will: 

  1. Learn about the basic science behind climate change  
  2. Explore political governance challenges related to mitigation and adaptation
  3. Develop personalized strategies for addressing climate grief and anxiety
  4. Assess how climate change impacts their local region and institutions
  5. Explore how climate change impacts archives and cultural heritage institutions, both in the short and long-term
  6. Develop skills in using simple climate change data visualization and mapping tools

Syllabus Preview

Privacy and Sharing Policy

Climate change can be an overwhelming topic to grapple with, and has the capacity to surface a variety of intense emotions. In order to cultivate a safe community during our week together, participants will be expected to uphold the privacy rights of all participants within the course.

  • Do not share any written or spoken material by any classmates.
  • Do not post any screen captures of asynchronous or synchronous portions of this course.
  • If you choose to share publicly about the course experience (for example, on social media, a blog, or another public forum), keep the focus on your own personal experience and what you learned, rather than discussing the contributions and backgrounds of other participants. The libraries/archives/cultural heritage sector is a small world, and even attempts to anonymize discussion of class participation may compromise privacy.
    • This is okay: “During the course, I learned how to assess sea-level rise. Using the visualization tool, I realized how many archives on the Gulf Coast, where I lived until I went to college, are in danger.”
    • This is not okay: “A student from Oregon shared that her public library employer lost a collection of community scrapbooks following a wildfire a couple years ago.”

Week Overview

DaySubjectNote
Monday, 8/1Climate Change 101
Tuesday, 8/2Climate Emotions
Wednesday, 8/3Climate Visualization/Mapping  Guest lecture: Itza Carbajal
Thursday, 8/4Short-Term Challenges
Friday, 8/5Long-Term Challenges

Course Expectations

Each day has a set of pre-readings/resources (which are sometimes websites to explore or videos to watch), and preparations. You should ensure all pre-readings and preparations are completed prior to the first meeting of that day (e.g., ensure you have completed Day 3’s pre-readings and preparations no later than Wednesday morning). I highly recommend spending your late afternoon or evening preparing for the next day so you are not scrambling at the last minute to complete any activities.

Pre-Course Requirement

Prior to the first day of the course, you will write a very brief (1-3 paragraphs) environmental and cultural history of wherever you call home to share with everyone as part of the first day introductions. The definition of “home” is up to you – it may be your current place of residence, a place you used to live in but no longer do, a place with which you have ancestral ties, or any other construction that is meaningful to you.

Wherever it is, your home should be a place you can spatially locate on a map of the Earth – it doesn’t need a street address, but it needs some kind of center point (i.e., latitude and longitude). You will be strongly encouraged to make your home’s location the basis of some of our mapping projects later in the week.

A fundamental part of re-orienting ourselves as stewards of the planet is to unlearn harmful ideas of people vs. nature. Many of us operate without much understanding of the environmental history and characteristics of where we live, making climate change seem like a faraway or abstract problem, instead of something already impacting wherever it is that we call home.

Consider trying to answer some of the following questions in your introduction:

2021 media highlights

I read fewer books, listened to fewer podcasts, and watched fewer movies than I wanted to in 2021. I doomscroll too much and when I’m not doomscrolling I play entirely too much Two Dots.

Oh well. I’m still here and so is almost everyone I adore. Which is all that matters. I’m taking a break from goals for 2022 – my only aim is to cultivate humility. Truly.

Here’s what stood out in 2021 (past years: 2020, 2019, 2018).

Comforting Stuff

I knew 2021 was going to be tough for a lot of reasons. These helped me get through some rough patches.

Wintering (book, Katherine May) – A book of seasonal meditations on winter and its parallels to the wintry periods of our life. If you are feeling a general ambiance of chilly sadness, pick this up.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (book, C.S. Lewis) – One of my childhood favorites that I came back to re-read for the first time in ages. I’m glad I re-read it, and I’m even more glad it still moves me as much as it did when I was a kid.

The Inner Life of Cats (book, Thomas McNamee) – My cat Clem died early in 2021 and the grief I carried leading up to his death was unlike anything I had ever experienced. This sweet book about cats (with many stories about the author’s own cat) was very therapeutic.

Memoirs

The Diary of a Bookseller (book, Shaun Bythell) – The ups and downs (and weirdos) of running a secondhand bookstore in Scotland. It also made me realize how much I love diary format books, which led to this question on Ask MetaFilter.

The Barbizon: the Hotel That Set Women Free (book, Paulina Bren) – Can you have a memoir of a building? Because that’s kinda what this was. The Barbizon Hotel was a hotel where lots of young professional women stayed in New York back before it was normal for young women to travel freely and stay wherever they want. I found out while having dinner with my in-laws that one of their friends (at the dinner!) had stayed at the Barbizon.

A New Kind of Country (book, Dorothy Gilman) – One of the AskMe book recommendations I got for “diary-style” books. I wasn’t familiar with Gilman’s other work, but basically it’s her memoir of retiring to the coast of Nova Scotia. I loved the description of windy nights!

An Onion in My Pocket (book, Deborah Madison) – Most people know Deborah Madison from her vegetarian cookbooks. I’ve never really cooked from Deborah Madison’s cookbooks, even though I have stuck to a mostly vegetarian diet for most of my life. But after reading her memoir of going from cooking for a Zen monastery to opening a restaurant, I feel like I’m a bit more familiar with her legacy.

When Women Were Birds (book, Terry Tempest Williams) – Whenever I need deep catharsis by way of crying in a fetal position, I reach for Terry Tempest Williams. I think it helps if you’ve already read Refuge since there are a lot of references to the women in her family (thanks to my friend Sam for sending me Refuge many years ago).

Climate Change

Disposable City: Miami’s Future on the Shores of Climate Catastrophe (book, Mario Alejandro Ariza) – I don’t know why this book hasn’t gotten more press. The only reason I found it is because we spent a ton of time in Miami on a trip to visit my in-laws in south Florida, and all I could think of the vast enormous new construction everywhere was “how much of this is going to be under water in 20 years?” So I started looking for books on Miami and climate change and found this. It’s totally engrossing, thanks in large part to Ariza’s perspective as a millennial first-generation Floridian. It made me understand the completely surreal world of south Florida’s culture, urban planning, and real estate much better.

“Living at the End of Our World” (podcast episode, Know Your Enemy) – I’ve talked about Know Your Enemy before, which is easily one of the best leftist podcasts around. This was a very different episode than what they normally tackle, but I loved it because the hosts and their guests talked out loud about things related to climate change, that I often only process privately (stuff like – grappling with how to communicate to children what’s coming, what we’d trade about what’s better now in order to have a livable future, what older people whose existential crisis centered on the Cold War nuclear arms race don’t understand about climate change, leftist aversion to deep emotion as an organizing strategy, etc).

How we spend our days

Laziness Does Not Exist (book, Devon Price) – My friend Ruth recommended this, and it was hands down the best book I read in 2021. I want you to read it as well. If you need a book to help you understand and talk back to some of your deeply seated internalized capitalism, this is the one. I came away with a lot more compassion for myself and some concrete ways of understanding the ways in which all of late stage capitalism depends on gaslighting everyone into buying into the myth of laziness. I rarely re-read books, but I loved this so much I’m thinking about reading it again pretty soon.

The Wisdom of Stability (book, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove) – I picked this book up a few years ago during a Quaker conference, and packed it with me to read at Pendle Hill (a Quaker retreat center). The author is a pastor who writes (from a very faith-based perspective) about what it means to stay put, even though our culture valorizes hypermobility.

Daily Rituals: How Artists Work (book, Mason Currey) – I mostly read non-fiction, and love books with very short essays (mostly because I go through long stretches where the only reading I manage to do is five minutes before bed before conking out). Currey’s book profiles various writers and artists and composers. There’s a lot of “Famous White Guy would have his wife prepare him lunch every day, he’d go for a walk and then come back and work for two hours before having friends over for cocktails” but if you can get past those, there are a lot of gems in this book (and Currey put out a sequel featuring all women, which is great!). The thing I remember most from this book was about Marina Abramović’s ritual while she was performing The Artist is Present – that she peed four times before she began each sitting. Perhaps the most relatable thing I’ve read in a long, long time.

CHANI (app, Chani Nicholas + collaborators) – Close friends know that I’m very into astrology. This app is like an extension of Chani Nicholas’s book You Were Born For This. Normally I am not a “yearly subscription to an app” kinda person, but I make an exception for CHANI. I find Chani Nicholas’s voice for the weekly readings to be so soothing I often listen to them multiple times a week on my commute for the calming effect.

Where are the parents?

White women screaming at Elizabeth Eckford during the integration of Little Rock High School, 1957

White boys smirking at Nathan Phillips during the Indigenous Rights March, 2019

It’s a rare event to see a headline originate in Indian Country Today, then pop up a few hours later in Cincinnati media channels, a few hours later on the Facebook feeds of progressives and leftists I know around the country, and finally the New York Times. The story making headlines was how a number of Covington Catholic High School students, in Washington DC for the March for Life were harassing a group of indigenous activists also in town for the Indigenous People’s March – an event meant to highlight many of the concerns of indigenous people, including the immense numbers of murdered and missing indigenous women. The videos on social media were even worse than I was prepared for, and the gleeful mob mentality of a bunch of mostly white high school boys harassing indigenous elders should be a wake up call for everyone who thinks that racism is a generational issue that will eventually go away when the current FOX news demographic peters out.

Something that I think is missing from the national coverage is that there is something deeply and disturbingly evocative of Cincinnati’s culture within the actions of the young men. We need to talk about Cincinnati suburban white flight and the role of parochial schools. Because if we don’t acknowledge this, then we’re only going to keep seeing this happen over and over.

Suburban white teenagers doing racist things keeps happening over and over and over in this region. For non-Cincinnatians, Covington Catholic is in Northern Kentucky, and Northern Kentucky is very much a part of the greater Cincinnati region. Lots of people live in Northern Kentucky who commute across the river to work in Ohio, and vice-versa. At Mason High School (a public school in a northern suburb), black kids received targeted racist SnapChat messages last January. At Kings (another suburban high school), white basketball players wore jerseys with racist slurs on them. A month later, Elder High School (a Catholic high school on the west side of Cincinnati) students chanted racist and homophobic slurs at a rival Catholic high school’s players during a basketball game.

Sometimes, it’s also the adults engaging in this. A Mason teacher told a student he might be lynched. At Kings, a teacher joked about a student being deported. And when students try to speak up, to be on the side of social justice? Sometimes adults try to shut them down – like one Northern Kentucky student at Holy Cross High School, who was barred from giving a speech school authorities deemed as “political and inconsistent with the teaching of the Catholic Church.”

What do all of these schools have in common? Some of them are public, some of them are parochial. But all of them are extremely white, reflecting the fact that with a few exceptions, white people who live in the greater Cincinnati area by and large do not send their kids to Cincinnati Public Schools (CPS) – the largest educational environment in the region where white kids would routinely encounter plenty of students who don’t look like them (and the schools that white CPS parents favor are getting whiter).

White people sending their kids to white schools is not a new or unique phenomenon to Cincinnati. It is often perpetuated by where white people move – the suburbs – that are very white. The growth of suburban development is directly linked with white people exiting the city and seeking “good schools” combined with government policy that helped create racially segregated housing patterns. The suburban sprawl around the city of Cincinnati is very white – while Hamilton County (where Cincinnati is located) is around 66% white, the surrounding suburbs are more than 80% (and sometimes more than 90%) white.

But even when white people live in more diverse areas like the city, they still take steps to send their kids to white schools. According to this story in the Atlantic, 2/3 of urban schools are non-white, which is pretty similar to the numbers within Cincinnati Public Schools (approximately 63% Black, 6% Multiracial, 5% Latino, 2% Asian/Pacific islander, and 0.1% Indigenous). I am not a demographer, so the following is some rough back of the envelope math. According to the Census, Cincinnati’s city population is 50% white. Yet the CPS enrollment of white students as of a couple years ago was around 24%. There is obviously some kind of disparity here, between the white population that lives within the city and where their children go to school. Again, I am not a demographer but I suspect that for white parents who live in the city, the disparity is at least partially, if not wholly, explained by white parents who send their kids to private schools – particularly parochial schools. Unfortunately, it is hard to do back of the envelope math for this one, as the state of Ohio only collects data for public schools.

Research shows that white kids who live in diverse areas and go to diverse schools are way more sensitive about the historical and current impacts of racism in American life. You can have a great curriculum that talks about the history of land expropriation from indigenous people, about redlining of neighborhoods that kept out people of color, immigrants, and Jews, of highway construction projects that destroyed black communities – but lived experience is a greater teacher than curriculum. And when white kids are mostly interacting with other white kids in an environment where white parents are choosing to live around other white people, white kids doing racist shit is almost inevitable.

Let’s talk about parochial schools in Cincinnati, because I think this part is critical to understanding what happened in Washington DC.

Cincinnati’s historical relationship with Catholicism runs very deep. Parish social events are a massive part of the social fabric of the city. It is not unusual to see many people with ashes on their forehead on Ash Wednesday. During Lent, many parishes have Friday fish fry dinners that are open to the public. On Good Friday, there are television crews at a historic church high up on a hill where people climb the stairs and pray the rosary. During the summer, parishes have huge festivals that serve as fundraisers for the parishes’ activities. Many parishes with large festivals also run schools.

There are so many Catholic schools just within the Archdiocese of Cincinnati that as of 2013, it is now the sixth-largest parochial school network in the country, despite the Archdiocese being the 44th biggest Catholic diocese. There are over 100 Catholic schools within southwest Ohio. Across the river in Northern Kentucky, the Diocese of Covington (part of the Archdiocese of Louisville) has over 30 schools.

The modern anti-abortion movement also has deep roots in Cincinnati, and it is deeply tied to the presence of Catholic institutions in the city. John Willke was a major figure within the anti-abortion movement, starting one of the country’s first Right to Life* chapters; Willke was educated at Roger Bacon, one of Cincinnati’s Catholic schools. The Archdiocese of Cincinnati’s approach to the sanctity of life reveals a nearly monomaniacal obsession with abortion – despite the fact that Catholic social teaching routinely calls for also opposing the death penalty, calling for an end to rampant militarism, and taking action on climate change.  When you take a look at the Archdiocese of Cincinnati’s webpage about life issues, it is overwhelmingly concerned with abortion. The Catholic Telegraph, the Archdiocesan newspaper, is also almost exclusively concerned with abortion in its section devoted to life issues.

Legislation to end abortion is about one thing: universal imposition of a particular set of political and religious beliefs on others who do not share these beliefs. For all their handwringing about morality, it bears repeating that many religious groups do not share the Roman Catholic clerical opposition to abortion, and in fact, and many Catholics themselves support abortion access (according to 2018 figures, about 51% of them).

One thing I wish people outside of Cincinnati knew is how much parochial schools are involved with anti-abortion activities. The Cincinnati Archdiocese provides significant support for local teenagers to attend the March for Life and Catholic Telegraph has slideshows depicting smiling groups of mostly white local Catholic high school teenagers in DC, and for those who couldn’t make it due to weather concerns, cheerfully grinning and holding up signs declaring ABORTION KILLS CHILDREN in front of the local Planned Parenthood clinic that is the last remaining abortion provider in the region.

I think it’s the grinning that sets me off the most, because it’s so similar to the smirk by the young man standing in the way of the indigenous elder. I can’t decide whether it’s the gleeful naivete of young people who have no idea what they’re talking about, or if it’s the gleeful arrogance of young people who have been recruited into the ranks of ideologues. Either way, it’s a stance that serves to close off any recognition of perspectives contrary to what these young high schoolers have been told are the only moral ones by every adult authority figure in their life.

That’s ultimately what this comes down to: mostly white, mostly middle to upper-class, mostly suburban young people being told that they are on the side of righteousness and morality. This stance is what is taught in schools, what is taught in their churches, what is taught in their homes. When someone who doesn’t look or think like them interrupts this world view, they are turned into an obstacle to confront and stare down, not a new perspective to listen to, and learn from. This is what is so jarring about the young men harassing the indigenous elders – despite the protestations of the school and the Covington Diocese that the MAGA students don’t represent their teachings, to the contrary – they’ve been exceptionally well-trained in the art of imposing a singular world view on others.

Whenever these stories come up, someone always asks, “Where are the parents?!” I’d  suggest that they are right there in the middle of it all – living in white areas, sending their kids to white schools, and perpetuating a belief system that it is OK for children to harass others who don’t share their sense of white patriarchal systems of control. Over and over, I hear as a childless person I am not supposed to criticize other people’s parenting choices. But as a white person committed to ending white supremacy, I don’t see how I have any choice but to question parenting decisions that reproduce systems of racialized and gendered authoritarian control. What’s good for one’s children may just be poison for everyone else who has to live with them.

 

 

 

Make this a priority

Sometime between Trump’s election and inauguration, I posted something on Facebook to the effect of, “I see many of my friends using language of despair and hopelessness that really scares me. I desperately need all of you to remain in my life. Please do whatever it takes to get rested and ready for the road ahead.”

I still feel this way. I want to share some of the reflection I’ve done on what it means to build community in a time of frightening chaos.

The most important thing you can do right now in this absolutely terrifying hellscape is to build a community of people, preferably in either close proximity or frequent contact, who care for you, and both hold and inspire you to the standards of bravery and accountability you aspire to. This is the foundation for surviving the foreseeable future.

One of the things that distinguishes many Americans right now from previous periods of historical trauma is our collective isolation from a cohesive sense of community identity. Many of us move far from home for education or work. We are told that a mark of success is to do just this – to take opportunity wherever it is. For many middle-class people (particularly in my profession), we take it for granted that uprooting our households and families every few years between cities is the normal price we pay for career success. We rack up student loans in the thousands for the opportunity to do this, without gauging how damaging it is to have to find new friends every couple years. Many of us suffered spiritual trauma so we don’t have a religious community we can count on. What passed for activism for many years was writing a check to a good cause instead of grassroots organizing. After working a long day at an exhausting job it’s far preferable to come home and hang out with Netflix than to go to a neighborhood meeting where people drone on about traffic control measures.

It’s a blessing to see people in the streets protesting the latest fuckery of this administration. At the same time you often hear folks saying, “why aren’t there more? why aren’t we shutting everything down RIGHT NOW?” But I think this misses something: that ambient despair and hopelessness – a large part of why people stay at home – are most effectively held in check by a sense of community solidarity and identity. And the courage people need to stick their necks out is bolstered by community identities that reinforce the importance of doing the work of standing up for others. It’s a lot easier to go to a protest if you know your friends will be there. It’s tolerable to go to a boring neighborhood meeting with droning people if you already have post-meeting beers set up. Many of the most revolutionary social justice acts through history were done by participants who were part of a strong community, knowing that if something adverse happened to them, they could rely on their community to care for their family or homes or even themselves. When you don’t have community identities where this is a normal part of life, it’s a lot harder to go out in the streets or turn up for the work that repairing the world requires.

Here’s where I need to explain some of my own personal history and why I feel such a deep conviction on why y’all need to make building community priority #1.

The first activist-y thing I ever did was joining Food Not Bombs as an awkward teenager. Some of the folks from those days have become lifelong friends for me, but more importantly, we all showed up at anti-Iraq War protests. Fast forward to New Orleans. I joined a pretty badly organized infoshop and radical library. I eventually fell away from it, but I met some awesome people that I still stay in touch with. They remain my connection to what’s happening on the ground in the South.

A few years ago I decided to move back to Cincinnati, where my parents still lived and where a few friends were left. I have a great job, and I hope I keep it for a long time. But a couple years ago, I had the realization that because I have roots here, I’m staying in Cincinnati for the long haul even if my job goes belly up. I decided to choose building community over building a career. In the end, I think it’s a better safety net and quality of life, especially as the safety net of government vanishes.

My husband and I are not planning on having children, and being childless fundamentally colors your perspective on community in many ways. I know that if I want to make sure I have someone who cares about me in my old age, I have to build deep and dense networks across space and time. And because I don’t have children, I have the time and resources to invest into strengthening the communities that I’m part of, in ways that are sometimes challenging for parents with extensive caregiving obligations. Therefore, I feel a fundamental ethical obligation and expression of my values is to devote myself to community building.

Community building looks like lots of things to different people. For me, building community locally has meant investment in political, advocacy, and religious life. I’m involved with local Planned Parenthood advocacy, the Cincinnati DSA chapter, and a Quaker meeting. I am terrified for what the future will bring, but I know that it’s a lot easier to feel that I’m Doing The Work and that I’m Not Alone when I participate in these spaces. I’ve been urging my friends to find their own communities where they can be a part of something larger than themselves. Communities with shared values and organizing principles are critical to shoring up a sense of being anchored amidst the hurricane of terror swirling around us.

This is what my faith says about the importance of community:

Each of us lives in multiple overlapping and interconnected communities. Some we are born into, while others we choose to join. Each one provides us with an opportunity to test, refine, and express our beliefs, attitudes, and preferences. Claiming membership in a community is a way to define ourselves to others. As we live into that commitment, community can be more than just a group of people. It can embody our testimonies – a way we witness to the world about what we believe to be most important.

It really freaks me out to see people I love going “LOL WE’RE FUCKED!!!!” whenever the news keeps getting worse (as it inevitably does). And at this point, maybe even if we are fucked, we can all go down together sharing some comforting memories of friendship and Doing The Work of repairing the world instead of our last memory being horror scrolling through the latest Vox hot take.

All I know is this: if The Revolution ever breaks out, it will be a hell of a lot easier to launch myself into it from a potluck at my house or Yet Another Committee Meeting  than if I’m sitting on my couch alone binge-watching some dumb dystopian tv show. I’ve never felt like Black Mirror or The Handmaid’s Tale or fucking social media could reach out and hug me whenever I’m freaking the hell out, but when I spend time with my community I always have that comfort at hand.

I don’t know what the future will bring. People are justifiably terrified. There is no one coming to save us. We have to save ourselves, with each other. Please go join a group of people who are already Doing The Work. Make it your top priority. You need it. I look forward to seeing you at the next meeting.

MayDay on May Day

Altered MayDay logo

Image via Steve Ammidown

Each year the Society of American Archivists (SAA) sponsors MayDay on May 1, a day dedicated to disaster preparedness and response. MayDay is intended to be “a time when archivists and other cultural heritage professionals take personal and professional responsibility for doing something simple—something that can be accomplished in a day but that can have a significant impact on an individual’s or a repository’s ability to respond.”

On MayDay, archivists are encouraged to update and review emergency response plans for archives (for example, what’s the plan if you walk into the stacks and find mildew everywhere?) or inventorying disaster response supply boxes (which would include various things to help with a water leak), and a number of other ideas.

Of course Mayday is a distress signal that traces its lineage as a reference to the French m’aidez or m’aider ‘help me!’, and it is this reference that SAA is primarily alluding to. The Oxford English Dictionary traces “Mayday” to the 1920s:

OED_MayDay

For those of us who identify as comrades, May Day (without the space) on May 1 has long had a very particular meaning. May Day is also known as International Workers Day, and traces its origins to an important event in labor history, the Haymarket Tragedy, which took place only 2 miles from the current headquarters of the Society of American Archivists.

According to the Encyclopedia of Chicago:

On May 1, 1886, Chicago unionists, reformers, socialists, anarchists, and ordinary workers combined to make the city the center of the national movement for an eight-hour day. Between April 25 and May 4, workers attended scores of meetings and paraded through the streets at least 19 times. On Saturday, May 1, 35,000 workers walked off their jobs. Tens of thousands more, both skilled and unskilled, joined them on May 3 and 4. Crowds traveled from workplace to workplace urging fellow workers to strike. Many now adopted the radical demand of eight hours’ work for ten hours’ pay. Police clashed with strikers at least a dozen times, three with shootings.

Since Haymarket, May Day has become an international day of remembrance to honor the labor movement’s sacrifices on behalf of workers. It was widely observed within the United States until the Red Scares.

Inspired by the American movement for a shorter workday, socialists and unionists around the world began celebrating May 1, or “May Day,” as an international workers’ holiday. In the twentieth century, the Soviet Union and other Communist countries officially adopted it. The Haymarket tragedy is remembered throughout the world in speeches, murals, and monuments. American observance was strongest in the decade before World War I. During the Cold War, many Americans saw May Day as a Communist holiday, and President Eisenhower proclaimed May 1 as “Loyalty Day” in 1955. Interest in Haymarket revived somewhat in the 1980s.

So how come on MayDay (the SAA version), archivists rarely, if ever, also acknowledge the other May Day (the one that’s been around for over a century)?

A Garland for May Day 1895, original relief print

A Garland for May Day 1895, by Walter Crane. Crane was an English artist who was sympathetic to the Haymarket defendants. Image via the University of Michigan Labadie Collection.

My friend and archivist colleague Steve Ammidown made the image at the top of this post, and it basically says it all. To effectively respond to archival disasters, archives have to have adequate staffing of professional archivists. A disaster plan is only as good as the people and resources available to put it into action. As someone who has been writing a lot about both labor and climate change issues within our profession, I completely agree with Steve’s assessment that disaster preparation and emergency response cannot be separated from the larger labor and staffing issues that haunt our repositories.

Indeed, this is a point that I and my colleagues studying climate change risks to archives have been trying to get across: that like other vulnerable populations, the archives most likely to suffer from the effects of climate change are the ones that are least able to deal with normal operating conditions because of their staffing inadequacies.

So by all means, archivists – do your part for MayDay. But until we deal with the long-term labor issues articulated by workers each May Day since the late 1800s, anything else is a band-aid on top of a gaping wound.

(Thanks to Steve for letting me use this image and inspiring this post!)

The long game of slow violence

The other night I did the one thing before bed you are DEFINITELY NOT SUPPOSED TO DO which was to watch a terrifying news clip:

I had been off the grid a couple weeks ago when the original editorial ran in the Washington Post. The News Hour guest and editorial writer is a Department of Interior employee named Joel Clement, who was working at a high level with Alaskan Native villages on adaptation issues, and was reassigned by his supervisors to an office that collected oil and gas royalties. He believes this was retaliation against his climate adaptation work, and filed whistleblower complaints. The PBS News Hour reporter asked Clement what we were all thinking: “Don’t you think it’s a little ironic you’re now in an office receiving fossil fuel payments when your previous work was exacerbated by the use of fossil fuels in the first place?”

One of the major things that has always horrified me in addition to the unfettered racism, misogyny, bigotry, and incompetence of Donald Trump, was that I do not trust this man to protect the safety of the people who live here on the most minimal public safety measures. One of the examples I pointed to was Trump’s castigation of fire department officials for enforcing fire safety limits at his rallies. A man that would disregard the safety of his own supporters by trying to bully his way out of fire safety codes was the clearest sign to me that this guy transgressed all normal definitions of sinister, that he was a fucking madman, that the potential body count of Americans on his watch – even those on his side – did not factor in to his outlook.

From disregarding fire safety codes – one of the most important public health measures that keep people alive – it’s not a far leap to shrugging off loss of health care for millions of Americans – another public health measure that keeps people alive. Millions losing their health care would result in many preventable deaths. We know this. Everyone knows this. Stop pretending anyone doesn’t understand this. Anyone who claims cuts to healthcare won’t result in thousands of preventable deaths is getting a paycheck that would frame a GoFundMe for chemo as the ultimate expression of liberty. Today we’re at the point where knowingly putting one’s supporters into a position where they may die is the standard operating principle not just of Donald Trump, but the entire Republican Party.

Republican leadership and Trump can claim until they’re blue in the face that of course they don’t want people to die, and basically folks, you know the drill from here: what terribly offensive liberal paranoia! How dare you claim that the Republican Party is seemingly okay with letting folks die in the streets, this is just more evidence that leftists are the real fascists! This is where looking at the concept of slow violence is critical. Slow violence means reconceiving of the speed at which violence is inflicted, particularly violence that may not register right away or is less visible than, say, a terrorist attack. In the words of author Rob Nixon:

We are accustomed to conceiving violence as immediate and explosive, erupting into instant, concentrated visibility. But we need to revisit our assumptions and consider the relative invisibility of slow violence. I mean a violence that is neither spectacular nor instantaneous but instead incremental, whose calamitous repercussions are postponed for years or decades or centuries. I want, then, to complicate conventional perceptions of violence as a highly visible act that is newsworthy because it is focused around an event, bounded by time, and aimed at a specific body or bodies. Emphasizing the temporal dispersion of slow violence can change the way we perceive and respond to a variety of social crises, like domestic abuse or post-traumatic stress, but it is particularly pertinent to the strategic challenges of environmental calamities.

So sure, if the GOP ultimately succeeds in repealing the ACA, bodies won’t be dropping in the streets overnight. But by associating violence with the short-term and the visible, we let those who would let people die in the long-term disassociate themselves from any form of violence and long-term accountability. And here is the problem: these assholes are really fucking good at playing the long game.

Where playing the long game with slow violence gets really scary, like, planetary-millenia level scary, is climate change. To state the facts in case anyone has missed Al Gore 1.0 or 2.0, climate change is real, climate change is primarily caused by consumption of fossil fuels, climate change is already wreaking havoc on plant and animal systems and the people who depend on these resources, and the folks who have contributed the least emissions historically speaking are the ones poised to suffer the most. Slow violence is sort of the defining experience of climate change – if you’re honest with yourself, the warning signs are everywhere around you, particularly if you live near a pole or near a coast. But because there isn’t a stark “before” and “after” timeline, climate change manifests itself as a slow violence, aided and abetted by those who benefit from fossil fuel extraction.

Upton Sinclair once said “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.” And of course, this is the only logical explanation for why the right-wing is committed to not just inaction on climate change, but doubling down on fossil fuel extraction and shifting from denial of climate change’s human basis to handwaving away the effects under the guise of “well, if it’s really happening, we’ll figure it out! Or build a colony on another planet!”

For those of you who aren’t up on your climate change policy definitions, what you’ll often hear are two words – mitigation and adaptation. Mitigation is about reducing the use of fossil fuels, adaptation is about building infrastructure and creating policy to help people deal with the inevitable effects of climate change – a certain level of environmental disruption which is already assured, even if we dramatically reduced our fossil fuel consumption immediately. For many people – myself included – these aren’t two opposing paths but joint paths we need to quickly make progress on.

When Trump took office, I was prepared for and expecting that he would go after mitigation efforts – especially the Obama administration Clean Power Plan and Waters rule, and the Paris Agreement. Capitalists gonna capitalist, and these fuckers worship money more than they value the survival of their children. However, I must admit I was not really prepared for the idea that adaptation efforts are now a target. Adaptation efforts don’t really register in the national conversations the brainwashed GOP has on climate change – because how can you adapt to something if you deny the problem’s existence in the first place?

Recall that one of the major objections of the Republican Party to the Paris Agreement was their opposition to contributing money to international adaptation efforts – money that would assist Pacific Island nations who are quite literally threatened by drowning. They are open and upfront about this, as you can see from this Heritage Foundation quote:

One step that Congress should take is to refuse to authorize or appropriate any funds to implement the Agreement, including the tens of billions of American taxpayer dollars in adaptation funding to which the U.S. will commit itself annually.

On the domestic front, a major thing adaptation efforts have going for them is the requirement of serious infrastructure upgrades. Ah, infrastructure! One of those things that always sounds good on paper, but no Republican can seem to find the moral courage to actually fund. Infrastructure is like cute babies, extremely useful during campaign season, but coming in with a lifetime budget for care that no one really wants to fund 100%. Add to the fact that many of the US communities on the frontlines of climate change are Native communities, and this becomes not just a matter of budgetary kicking the can down the road, but yet another example of blatant environmental racism.

Right now, domestic climate change adaptation efforts across the federal government are fragmented, and unlike many European countries, the US does not have a national adaptation strategy (and even before Trump was elected, the federal government admitted it was unable to support total relocation of endangered communities). Much of this is because so much responsibility for planning and infrastructure decisions are at the state and local levels. But a lot of it is because no one really forced the federal government to think about what adaptation efforts should look like until the Obama administration required every federal agency to incorporate adaptation efforts into their climate change response plans – requirements which Trump’s administration has begun to rollback (Text of Trump’s EO here).

When I watched that clip above, I realized that this administration’s indifference to climate change isn’t just surface-level, it isn’t just photo ops exploiting coal miners as we pull out of the Paris agreement, it isn’t just denial that allows the Republican Party leadership to keep chowing down at the fossil fuel capitalism trough, and it isn’t just attacks on Pacific Island nations’ adaptation efforts. It goes very, very, disturbingly and systematically deep to parts of our government the vast majority of us – even people tuned in to climate change policy – can’t comprehend.

To attack domestic adaptation efforts transcends even the normal expectations one would have of American capitalist climate change denialism. One can see how adaptation can actually be embraced fairly cynically to serve fossil fuel interests – “well, maybe the sea will rise, but we don’t have to reduce our extraction as long as we build a giant sea wall one day!”

Instead, attacking adaptation efforts is from the same slow violence playbook as attacking people’s healthcare: we know that this will result in deaths. And the Republican Party is going down this path anyway, fully aware of the consequences, not giving a damn. The long game of slow violence may teach discipline and persistence, but it is based in the purest forms of evil ever wrought upon the world.

North Central Regional Branch 

Visit #6: North Central Regional Branch, March 4, 2017

As a longtime member of Toastmasters, I thought it would be fun to read this book on Obama’s oratory style. And the book on time-use speaks to my interests of feminism and labor issues.