OK, a little bit of Kateposting here. I was getting ready to make another post to the "Is the US a Dystopia" thread and I got distracted by a Discord ping. I said something about "radical acceptance" and a friend responded "I don't think capitalism is something that deserves our radical acceptance." I thought about it a little, and responded:
"radical acceptance" is a mental health term, it doesn't mean "and that's ok", kinda the opposite honestly, it's more like "well, there's nothing i can do about that right now, and dwelling on injustice is only going to make me extremely angry and upset in ways that are really bad for me personally, so i'm going to focus on those areas in my life over which i do have power and agency".
Then I stepped back, read what I'd written, and decided to go to the pharmacy to pick up my meds instead. Now that I'm back, I feel like writing about what that was like, how that went for me.
Leaving the house is hard for me. I got a lot of social anxiety. Everything feels like a burden. The world around me isn't great, and I don't like being reminded of that. I tend to self-isolate. I got this terrible homework in my DBT class this week. I'm supposed to do one pleasant thing every day. God. It's the fucking worst. Just focusing on the good things in life when there's all this terrible fucking shit going on around me. There are a lot of things that I want to do that I have a hard time doing successfully. My life feels like an endless succession of dull, routine chores.
Going to the grocery store pharmacy to pick up my meds is kind of a dull, routine chore. I mean, it's close, that's why I started going there. I don't drive, and it's within walking distance. It has a lot less stuff compared to other local groceries. The prices are higher. Every month it seems like corporate is doing something to make it more onerous to shop there. Most recently it's putting in security gates. Now if I wanna go in the store, I gotta go through a set of one-way security gates, and if I wanna get out, I gotta scan my receipt. By itself, I mean, I feel entitled complaining about it. That's kind of the thing, isn't it? It's not one thing. It's an endless succession of little things. Besides, it's not like there's anybody to complain to. The people who make these decisions aren't thinking about me, don't care about me. They don't care about the people working there, either. The people working there are like me - underpaid, struggling to get by, represented by a union that works more or less in direct opposition to their actual interests. I guess it's possible to argue about whether or not that's truly "dystopian", but I don't really want to. It _feels_ dystopian. Going there feels like an intrinsically dystopian experience.
Except that it was _nice_. Except that I enjoyed going there. It made me feel better. This dull, routine chore - somehow it was also a pleasant thing for me.
It's December and it's cold, sure. The sun is shining, though. The gratitude thing is hard for me. It's hard to be grateful in a shitty, unfair world. I kind of wanted to say "at least it's not raining", but that's not the same thing. "At least it's not raining" is "it could be worse". That doesn't work for me. I need more than "it could be worse" to get by. No, the sun is shining. It's good to get out of my dark apartment where I only get artificial light and feel the natural light of the sun. It feels good. Not taking things for granted, that's gratitude for me.
I'm glad that they have my meds. Is the fact that I don't have reliable legal access to meds I need to function dystopian? I feel like it is. Am I happy that I was able to get those meds today? Yeah. It's a load off my mind. It's one less thing to worry about. I'm absolutely going to celebrate it. Hell, it gets me out of the house. I'm on a lot of meds. All the time I'm getting texts that I have new meds in, and I don't always go in to pick them up regularly. Because it's a chore. When my psych wrote me the prescription for my ADHD meds, I didn't know for sure I'd be able to get it filled. It's not something I took for granted. Being able to get something I need was actually a pleasant surprise. Why shouldn't I feel good about that?
When I walk into the store I _notice_ the security gates. That's important to me. I'm not going to pretend to myself that I think the security gates are OK, that I think the security gates are normal. I notice them and I acknowledge: This is a dystopia. I live in a dystopia. It's not going to ruin my day or anything. I'm not going to make a fuss or yell or complain. I notice it. If it was up to anybody there, the gates wouldn't be there. I know that. Maybe one day, stuff like that will be up to me and the people around me. It's not now.
There's a line. There isn't always. People tend to not go to this particular store because, well, it's kind of a shithole. The people there are mostly fine, though. In general, the more people are struggling, the more slack I tend to cut them. That's kind of important to me. Part of living in a dystopia is never having enough. Not enough resources, sure, but more than that, not enough _hope_. Obama commodified "hope" in '08 and for some people it's been kind of a joke ever since, but hope is a real thing. That's kind of hard for me. There was a lot of stuff that used to bring me hope that just doesn't. There are things I want, things that I feel like everybody deserves, that a lot of people don't have, and right now, I don't have the power to make that happen. I gotta find other things to hope for. More mundane things.
Which means that hope isn't as _important_ to me, these days, as it used to be. Dystopia makes the world smaller. Being around other people makes the world larger. That's why getting out is important to me, so that my life is something more than a tiny grey room with nothing but electronic shadows to count my hours by. More sunlight. More human touch, human smiles, human breath.
The lady in front of me has a nasal cannula. This means that she is slowly dying. Dying is normal. We are not all always busy being born. Dystopia is death. Dystopia is watching people around you suffer and die, and wanting to change it, and feeling like you _should_ be able to change it, and not being able to. Dystopia is securing your own safety belt first knowing that not everybody on the plane is going to make it off alive. And somehow that means that I feel less sad when I see this woman who can no longer take in enough oxygen on her own.
The person in the front of the line is picking up a lot of medications. I'm on a lot of medications myself. I used to be impatient with people who picked up a lot of medications, but I'm not now. Dystopia means that time moves very slow. Sometimes that can feel intolerable, but it also means that there's no reason for me to be in a rush. I find that a lot of the time, I do get to go at my own pace, more than I did when my life was important to people in power, when I was seen as an asset to be utilized.
The lady with the cannula turns around and observes that the person in front of her is picking up a lot of medications. Not with impatience, or anger, like I've seen some people in pharmacy lines act. Not with a sense of entitlement. I used to have a lot more of a sense of entitlement. I'm glad I don't have as much of that these days. She goes on to talk about how much she loves going to this pharmacy. I tell her I agree, that the people here are great. This is so much of why I get out. Shared joy. Something about it feels almost conspiratorial, like we're getting away with something, the two of us. Other people aren't in on the secret, aren't in on how much pleasure we get from getting to talk to the pharmacy tech and the pharmacist. At the same time, the pharmacy tech and the pharmacist hear us. They're working in shitty conditions, working in dehumanizing conditions, struggling to get by. I've been there. I know how much it helps when you know you bring joy to people around you. I also know how seldom people feel comfortable expressing that joy, expressing that gratitude. This, too, feels dystopian. Expressing my positive emotions towards other people in their presence feels like a powerful act of resistance.
"Is it the Adderall?" I ask my pharmacy tech. She's not allowed to tell me what it is, but if I ask she can confirm it. She responds as if I've broken a social code by saying "Adderall", though, which normally she doesn't. God, now that I think about it I shouldn't say "Adderall" aloud. Staying safe is learning to think about all kinds of things one takes for granted. If these shortages go on, at some point I _could_ be at risk of being robbed for my Adderall. Part of getting by under dystopia is learning which things could cause problems in the future and which are less likely to. Another reason talking to people is so important. On the Internet, well, people say a lot of shit on the Internet. I should know - I'm one of them.
The checkout people have left the self-scan exit security gate open. A small form of resistance, even if it's only for convenience's sake. I'm sure corporate will crack down on it eventually. I enjoy it while I can.
There's a line in front of me at the Starbucks as well. Next to me one of the employees is complaining to another employee about how nothing works, how all the equipment they get is outdated and even the new stuff they get doesn't work right. Another key feature of dystopia: Nothing works right. Failure is the norm. Most of the time I don't talk about it. Sometimes it reminds me of my own powerlessness. Hearing her talk about it, though, I smile. She's not _hostile_. That's what causes me the most trouble, I feel - hostility. Her talking about nothing working - it's a form of camaraderie.
The lady working Starbucks is in a worse mood than usual today, however. Funnily enough, even that helps me out. I've seen her smile before. Smiling, I know, is a sometimes thing. Life is hard for all of us. I like smiling. I like being able to smile. I'm not always able to smile. Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep from crying. That's one of the things that makes it hardest for me to go out and do things. Seeing people who are sullen doesn't bother me if I've seen them smile before.
The drink I was going to order is off the menu. I do _like_ routine. In the past, a small unexpected disappointment like that would ruin my day. That's the other thing about dystopia - the way it disrupts the routines of daily life. Everything has to be flexible. It's really hard to make plans. Anything could get cancelled at the last minute for any number of reasons. Couldn't get my meds. Long COVID. Migraines. Broken foot. Car broke down again. People get sick more easily and take longer to heal. All kinds of different things are harder and take longer. My occasional "good days" are really important to me. I'm so tired on the days after the "good days", though. I fail a lot. Every time I get out, to me, that means not letting my failures and inadequacies define me.
The Starbucks employee is filling the complaining employee's water bottle. It's one of those water bottles absolutely _covered_ in lesbian stickers. You see them a lot around here. I can even tell she's cis, because she has a "HANDS OFF MY UTERUS" sticker. It doesn't matter that she's cis, the same way it doesn't _matter_ that she's a lesbian. Which is to say that of course it matters. That's the other reason I get out. Yesterday I finished reading Casey Plett's _On Community_. She talks, towards the end, about how important chance encounters are. It's a strange thing. Dystopia erases all third spaces that aren't under its control. Dystopia disrupts the routines that gives us common humanity.
My friend, who's completely unaware of what I'm writing, just sent me a DM. "There are no coincidences," he said. I can't think of a better way to describe my feelings about the role of coincdence.
The last thing I can think to say about living under dystopia is that it does not end. Nothing is finished. No conclusions can be drawn. I don't know how to say something that's not interrupted in mid-thought, in mid-sentence
― Kate (rushomancy), Thursday, 5 December 2024 22:29 (three weeks ago) link
fr fr
outline sketch for unwritten essay - why i am nonviolent
(1) "murder is wrong" - universal, fundamental norm. defense and justification of this social norm. justified political murder as indicative of a state of exception and/or misrule - inversion of fundamental social norms.
(1a) political violence as a privilege of white cisgender men - if i'm violent, i won't just be judged as an individual - collective guilt will be placed on trans people
(2) aside about william t. vollman, writer of long autotheory text attempting to be a comprehensive examination of violence - peak white cisgender man
(2a) aside on william t. vollman as cisgender man - "the book of dolores", stephanie burt's new yorker review of that book titled "mansplaining crossdressing". vollman's (at the time, 2014, just pre "transgender tipping point) privilege allowing him to make sweeping, essentialist statements about gender that _override_ the experiences of trans women like burt
(2b) leading to examination of the benefits white AMABs accrue by self-conceptualizing and presenting as cisgender man, and the hidden costs of that to those of us who are not, in fact, cisgender men
(3) unique ways in which patriarchy hurts men - instilling patriarchal social norms valorizing patriarchal political violence and sometimes compelling it (i.e. imperialist war)
(3a) history of "ptsd" as stemming from research into the suffering experienced by vietnam veterans who _inflicted_ trauma, who were socialized and often literally conscripted into killing
(3b) larger consideration of the personal costs of inflicting violence on the person inflicting it. reiteration of this framing stemming from widespread celebration of a perpetrator of political violence being celebrated, within current social context, as a hero.
(4) consideration of the relative moral value placed on being a perpetrator of political violence as opposed to being a victim of political violence. consideration of the ways public response to the open murder of a trans woman as a political act might differ from the public response to the open murder of a healthcare ceo as a political act. observation that white cisgender men have the unique privilege of being judged solely for what they have done, not for who they are. callback to point (1a) re: collective guilt placed on marginalized groups. agreement with wilhoit's postulate that, under dystopia, outgroups are not protected by the law.
(5) rape. that rape is normalized in conditions of civil conflict. that the lysistrata is not an effective model for women to oppose patriarchal violence, since rape is a central component of patriarchal violence. that the cost of war is, under patriarchy, measured overwhelmingly in terms of man-upon-man violence, that men ignore, excuse, or actively promote sexual assault in conditions of civil conflict. stressing that while men are victims of patriarchy, they are not the primary victims of patriarchy.
(6) loop back to the trans thing - transness as violation of fundamental patriarchal social norm. contrast with "murder is wrong" social norm established in point (1). argument that "murder is wrong" is justified as a universal social norm, whereas anti-trans social norms, ubiquitous in my youth, are not justified. rumination on malleability of social norms. comparison of my own permanent rejection of "bad" social norms to the indoctrination of men into coerced militaristic violence. argument that men in war are conditioned, coerced, or forced to reject the social norms of civilian life on an allegedly temporary/conditional basis to the detriment of everyone except, arguably, the ruling elites who condition, coerce, or force these men to reject nonviolent social norms.
(7) metathesis: political violence as temporary disruption of universal social norms as a means to permanent alteration of "bad" social norms, of norms which enforce a permanent state of misrule. argument that patriarchy consists of "bad' social norms. concluding argument that individual members of marginalized groups seeking to change the social norms which marginalize them personally benefit from nonviolence more than violence. subarguments: (a) political violence leads to reprisals against the whole of the marginalized group or groups the perpetrator of political violence belongs to. (b) nonviolent resistance by members of marginalized groups, particularly collectively, argues for the inherent worth and value of members of those marginalized groups as well as the cultural norms held by those groups. since nonviolence is justified as a universal cultural norm, political violence by individual members of marginalized groups threatens group solidarity and undermines the larger cause.
(7a) concluding tangential observation that this urge towards political violence is categorically different in members of marginalized groups than it is in members of hegemonic groups (i.e. white cisgender men) - oppression hurts the oppressed, and further makes violent action tremendously emotionally attractive as a form of resistance. since violence by members of marginalized groups is not effective, members of oppressed groups, individually and collectively, are under tremendous personal stress, articulated in works such as "harlem" by langston hughes. observation that i, as a white woman, am not misrepresented by hegemonic culture as being _inherently violent_ in the way that Black men are. this bit probably shouldn't be the conclusion, since the alleged point of the essay is why _i_ am nonviolent, but it feels like something important that i need to point out and i feel i've already adequately explicated the reasons for my own personal commitment to nonviolence.
― Kate (rushomancy), Sunday, 8 December 2024 17:35 (two weeks ago) link