Negotiations

You are leaving already? But you haven’t contributed anything yet! His face was darkened by the sun coming in through the window behind him, and for a moment I thought he was mad at me. I replied that I was simply listening because I thought they were sending me to Sudan. Everyone laughed. It was the fourth of July and I spent the whole day with non-Americans, Africans and Serbs, and it was a great day. After coffee at NorthStar with Alfred, we tooled over to SoPo to visit with his brother and have some food. We’ll be there for an hour or so, he said. But you have to be flexible.

Three hours later, my belly was stuffed with Sudanese foods and tea, most of the women and all the children had been kept away from us men, and we were now deep into debates. I quickly realized that I was in an intense meeting over the construction of the school Southern Sudan. People were calling contacts in Jubba, men were offering advice to Alfred on how to handle the ‘locals’, and the whole time we sat in a circle sharing the floor fairly democratically. A few voices dominated the conversation, but even being a total outsider, I felt as though I could have said something and they would have listened.

Alfred drove me back and I could see he was strained. As experienced as he is, the trip he was about to take, going home for the first time in 14 years and overseeing the construction clearly feels like a monumental task. I spent the evening playing soccer and watching Milos Foreman movies. I didn’t even bother with the fireworks.

Constant Gardner

He paused. The rake was cutting into his hand, tearing away a small patch of skin. Some part of him enjoyed the sensation; it wasn’t too painful. He examined his work, the clear patch of dirt, and thought about the people he knew, about good will and trust. Were people generally good natured? Those he knew were, so he believed. He trusted and had been hurt as a result. He trusted again and suspected he was being played now.

Pressing the wooden handle of the rake against the open wound, he went back to work. He didn’t turn to look at his friends, it wasn’t them he was thinking about. He had nothing to offer them, and they nothing to offer him. They were friends because they all wanted to be. He thought about how pain fades and scabs over, like the small wound on his hand. Someone yelled out; a bird was busy scolding him for being too close to the nest, and he felt calmness come over him in that environment. Focusing on a patch of weeds right in front of him, hidden slightly under the burning bush, he went over the ground, again and again, slashing through roots and pulling up stones. His nose was filled with the smell of freshly uncovered dirt. He kept going. Not aggressively, just rhythmically going back and forth.

Beer? Before he answered, the bottle cap was removed and the pressure released with a sucking sound. He put down the rake and held the bottle against the place where the skin had rubbed off. It felt good.

I’ll go see about those rose bushes next. He walked across the newly laid sod and her eyes followed him.

Don’t injure yourself.

Responsibility

He felt the pressure and strain of the day on the bridge of his nose. On that point slightly below the eyes. Rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger did little to relieve the stress he felt. I want some tea he thought. They had been driving around, bouncing inefficiently from place to place. His companion smiled, doing business on his own schedule, in his own way.

But the driving had some calming properties. He had time to think between phone calls. He wasn't driving. He used the time to look out the window, while his companion was distracted by Michael Jackson songs.

I don't want this responsibility. I want this responsibility. But now he was in too deep to walk away. Something about these commitments made him feel ill at ease. Like he was no longer free to walk out when he felt like it. But maybe that was the point; maybe it was time to learn; time to commit.

I'm starting with the Man in the mirror...

PUSL News

It was a rather rough weekend for the league. The kind that makes you question the whole point of what you are doing...

We got through the first two games on Saturday with no problems; the new Ref was outstanding and well in control of the players. He even got a few thumbs up from our lads. But towards the end of the second game a group of oversized rugby players showed up and started to get into kit. It was confusing because we had the space booked for another two hours, but they began insisting that they had it book. They insisted to the point of calling the police on us.

Alfred negotiated for almost an hour, but had to give in and move the final game to Back Bay. So we started the last game an hour late, but basically without any further issues. Thankfully the teams were fairly cool about it. And that is where the good news ended...

After getting to Back Bay and getting the game started, everything seemed to be going well and I was watching one of the best games of the season. But in the 60th minuet the coach of one of the teams lost his mind over a call by our linesman, stormed across the pitch and started verbally abusing our man. The game continued for a moment, the opposing team had a free kick, blasted it into the area and scored, what the coach called, an offsides goal. The everything went to hell. The ref came over to check with the linesman, who said he could not see because the coach was blocking him, so the ref gave the goal; this enraged the coach, who proceeded to physically attack the ref. Thankfully his own players restrained him, but he was thrashing away non-the-less.

At that point the ref had no choice to call the game as it stood, and flee... but not before the coach and some of his team-mates accused him of racism... The coach was dragged to his car, we negotiated with the players and eventually got everyone to go home.

Sunday started where saturday left off, because the ref who fled was supposed to officiate the first game, but do you think he showed up?? Nope... We started one hour late, and the final game was fore fit, to the frustration of the team that bothered to show...

A Blue Pill and Alcohol

It was early, but not too early when he lifted his head. Perhaps it was out of boredom with the ground beneath his feet. Dirt and gravel for three and one half mile, changing only briefly as you cross the bridge. Or perhaps something about the view onto the city had caught his eye.

Portland was just beginning to yawn and stir from sleep; the clouds were still thin enough to suggest that there was sun near by, rising somewhere to the east. His heart was pounding and the sweat was running into his eyes. The city has a real skyline to it, and it did, particularly at that moment. He had seen many cities with distinct skylines, but he had returned to this one. He pondered these thoughts as he rounded a corner, heading for the bridge where the ground would finally change, if only for a moment.

He could feel his limbs freeing themselves of the blue pill and alcohol from the night before. He powered on. Before focusing on the last mile, he noted the lack of cars on the streets and thought it was a good thing. Then one more thought crossed his mind as he looked across the bay:

I don't want to get used to this city without you.

Dreamland

I hate people who use the term retard or gay as a slight.
I was sitting next to this person on the couch, though I had no idea who he was. I think he worked with disabled consumers. We watched the TV, and I commented that the show was retarded.
Then I said sorry. I just realized that I used ‘retarded’ to describe the show. He nodded. Yeah, I know.

Sleep was fitful and interrupted all night long, as it has been for a week now. I was overheating and awoke feeling like I was hung over, even though I had had nothing to drink the night before.

PUSL News

Not a bad week for the League. We have established a connection with an organization across the country in San Francisco, Soccer Without Borders. They are interested in helping us develop the community aspect of the league, so we can move it away from being just another soccer league. We will be having our first conference call with them next week. The Portland Police Department has also begun an Athletics outreach program, and they have contacted us to arrange a meeting. We will see how the Police and PUSL can collaborate on a few things. These two developments will enhance the social aspect of the community league, which will get us a step closer to the central mission of the league.

Filmmaker Amy Brown, a native Mainer, has expressed serious interest in developing a short piece on one of the teams in the league (The Misfits, Alfreds outfit). This team really represents the core hope of the league; that we would bring people from the S. Maine multicultural community together and have them get to know each other better, thus de-essentializing their perceived differences. Amy will tentatively be coming up from NYC in a few weeks to meet with us and shoot some footage of the league.

We will also be helping Seeds of Peace with a new leadership test they developed. Tonight at the Coaches Meeting we will introduce the exam in order to generate interest, with the hope that the coaches will sell the concept to their players. Revolution already took it, and C.D. El Salvador has already agreed to take it. We, along with Seeds of Peace, will then follow up at the end of the season in order to see how people reflect their ‘results’. Should be interesting if nothing else.

Most importantly, the league now has a Facebook group! Yups. Since nothings true or cool ‘till it’s on FB, we are now 4 REAL. So if you haven’t already received an invitation to join, just look us up.

Commitment to Poverty

I have accepted a position with Americorps VISTA which will last one year (August 2009 – August 2010). The position will entail seeking out service opportunities for USM students within the greater Portland Non-Profit community, with special emphasis on the Multicultural organizations in the community. Americorps is at its base a poverty reduction program seeking to give the volunteers, as we are called, first had experience with the struggles of poverty. They achieve this by putting the volunteers into poverty; we are paid less than $800 per month, not allowed additional income, given access to some of the welfare benefits (such as food stamps and health care), and we are expected to see out this commitment for a full year.

I have accepted the job, or position, because I believe in the type of work I will be doing. I think it will be building on some of what I did in Serbia: capacity building within civil society, project development, and working with minority / multicultural communities. These things I am very excited about, and I do believe this work will be challenging and provoke personal and professional growth. Where I have issue, is with the treatment of volunteers and the forced reduction to poverty, and we shall have to wait and see where I end up, if I can indeed manage everything on less than $800 a month. I can continue to live rent free for the next two months, which will help me save a bit of money (provided I get a bit of work between now and August, when I start my year of service).

I think the aspect that is hardest for me is that I will be 30 next April, and I will still be living pay-check to pay-check, relying on handouts and the kindness of others. I have spent all of my 20s in this system, and I hoped after I worked for the OSCE I would find opportunity that was professionally satisfying and financially rewarding. But I have found it much harder than expected, with the VISTA position being the only interview and job offer in over a year. In some sense I still depend on others for survival, which dents my pride and challenges my masculinity (see the previous two entries...). But I must also recognize that my work will be contributing to the development of a more vibrant and open community in Maine. I think that we are at a critical juncture, particularly in places like Portland and Lewiston, and there is a great need for us to give time and resources towards fostering the connections between institutions, such as the University, and the poor and immigrant / refugee community.

I have begun to get to know this community over the last few years, and thus it makes sense that I will spend a year working closely with them. I feel that is important and I want that, but I would love to have about 200 – 300 more dollars a month. Technically that would still make me poor (by both Maine and Federal standards), but would be enough to survive, make a few savings, and perhaps take a trip to Italy, or England, or France, or home to Germany. Well, it isn’t to be this year. I will have time to work on building the PUSL, and I may even find a way to bring that into the VISTA position, which would be great. For that and the other positives I mentioned above, I think it is worth it.

Day in Moments

Having gotten over the initial shock of having one of his close friends turn vegetarian, he cracked a huge smile and showed his white teeth. Maybe you need to be more flexible! You should be a flexitarian! His laugh was full and it made me smile. In that moment, I was thankful for his friendship.

We sat down after ordering our food and he said it was important that we all find ways to make a difference in the world, even on a small scale. If this was my way of doing it, I support it. But I’ll still give you a hard time. We laughed. The food arrived and our conversation floated on to other things.

Three Men in Nature

We set off at 845 a.m., heading north-west for half a day of hiking at Burnt Meadow Mountain. I think each of us may have had different reasons for getting out of dodge, even if only for a few hours. For me it was a chance for fresh surroundings, the calmness one only finds in the mountains and room to reflect on relationships and job opportunities. For that it was a perfect half day.

As we climbed through the cool forrest towards the top, the subject of my last entry came up: Man-ness. We were, all three of us, not fitting the image of what men should be (as I defined it in the last entry), and to some degree, we are all suffering as a result. As we talked I realized that what was missing from my argument, my last entry, is the fact that it is not the car as such that causes the stress. Rather, it is the lack of independence that comes in a commuter society when you lack your own transportation. It means that as men without a car, we are essential dependent on others. Independence is considered a masculine trait, and dependence is thus feminine.

As Men without this essential component of masculinity, independence, we are castrated. It is of course, a constructed reality, and not something we need to be subject to, and I think the three of us do fairly well in bucking the trend. Being aware of this fact is half of the battle and essential to be able to counter act such false standards.

The man in me

I look around me from time to time. I mean, I look around in the abstract sense, obviously I look around everyday, when I cross the street, etc. It has been particularly interesting to look around in these months where I have been idle and dealing with my less-than-stellar circumstances. I have felt a certain level of impotence as a result of unemployment and being cash poor. It has dented my self-confidence and made me question my ambitions. I find that, as I think about what “A Man” should look like, what he should possess, and how he should behave, I realize that I in fact have very few of the “masculine” qualities. As I think about it, that goes for traditional as well as modern.

I’m not a provider, a procreator or a fighter, I don’t have a car, a job, a house, etc. This makes me insecure, because I see many men who have these things. I had a car once, and the experience was kind of a disaster; I don’t even really care for driving. The point being, I clearly don’t fit the mould, the GQ stereotype of what a Man should be. But fine, I survive right? My masculinity is not really in question, at least not with people who count. So why do I care?

Because when-ever I do venture into abstract thought, I realize how alienated I am from the world; from the modern concept of what I am supposed to be. I’m not that competitive, relatively of course, and I prefer quiet reflection over fast development. This begs, in my mind, the question: where is the problem? Is it with me or with the definition of masculinity? Well, I’m not perfect, far from it. But I’ve also never met anyone who fits the GQ stereotype, not really. I’ve met chumps who try hard to be that way, but they are totally transparent. So is the definition of masculinity even an attainable thing? Clearly, if I’ve never met a Mr GQ, then there must be a whole host of insecure men in this world, because it means the perfect man is few and far between.

I’ve always been insecure about the car thing, particularly in my relationships with women. In America, the car is such a defining object, and traditional roles would dictate that I should be mobile, and behind the wheel, but 99% of the time, I have people drive me around. In my relationships, the women have always driven me around. The car, amongst men, represents status, and I don’t have one, so I feel, stupidly perhaps, that I am always starting with a negative, that even when a woman is attracted to me, and clearly doesn’t mind that I have no car, I still fear losing her to some dude with wheels. Madness!

Well, I digress. My argument is that the definition of masculinity is in fact the problem, and not me. In reality, insecurities aside, I do fine. I don’t fit the mould, but I still get jobs, respect, love and attention. The next question is: why is it like this? Why do men, none of us being Mr GQ, and thus perpetual failures, accept this condition? Perhaps it is the product of a competitive, marked based economy: in order to expand the market, and get people, in this case men, to invest in the product or image you are peddling, you need to offer something new on a regular basis. People need to be convinced the product is necessary for continued enjoyment of life (hence Adorno’s pleasure industry). If we don’t feel like we need it, we would not, and do not, buy the damn thing. This goes for image as much as for ideology or material. Ard also mentioned that American culture defines itself through productivity and ‘being busy’, thus idle time is problematic, anti-social and counter intuitive.

So, here I am, with my natural state of being, preferences and routines, all of which are being defined by the fact that I somehow feel inadequate. I am driven forward by this fear, by the fact that people are buying into this folly, and if I don’t do so myself, I risk being left behind. And ye gads, we cannot have that! So the unattainable image is in fact the perfect market mechanism. We men are like a bunch of starved and crazed donkeys chasing after that magically floating carrot that is just in front of us, yet always just out of reach. But because we are hungry, we must give chase.

I Shall Be Released

This morning I thanked God for tea. I meant it too, not the God part, but the bit about the tea. There are few things as comforting as tea in this world, and this morning, I needed that crutch.

I left her apartment and returned to the place I went to make a decision about K all those years ago. I went and looked out over the airport again. My heart was so heavy and my eyes damp with tears, but the music was different this time. Maybe I was different too, older, more experienced perhaps? I didn’t have a destination in mind, I just ended up there. The sun was emerging from behind the clouds for the first time in days, the air was heavy and warm, and the ground was still wet from an overnight rain shower. Like me, the place had changed in the six years that had passed since I last sat there. Six years, it seems like so much time to me now. The stairs leading down to street below the park were gone; there were lamp posts and a well paved path, winding its way down. I remained there for only a few bars of the song; not like last time I had sat there with a heavy heart. Back then, I sat for the whole album.

This time, there is no decision to make on my part. I made my mind up a while back, and I stand by it, even now. I chose to take the risk of being in love. But because these are matters of the heart, matters involving people, it just isn’t that easy. Both sides have to find consensus.

I know I cannot sit around and wait for consensus to appear, nor will I. But you could call me a lair if I told you I didn’t want to sit around and wait for her. Of course I do, but that simply would not help either of us make headway in this bitch of a life, as Guevara once called it. In the mean time, I will be there for her if she needs. I’ll be an ear to whisper into or a shoulder to rest on. She may wonder if she deserves this, and I can only say that deserves got nothing to do with it. I have everything I need, so this decision to be a friend and to give her time is based on what I want. C’est tout.

I thought about all the messed up people I know, including myself, and was shocked to conclude that almost everyone I know is in the shit at the moment. So much of the source of the misery comes from failed relationships. Is this how it goes? Is it supposed to be like this? I have Chris Martin’s voice in my head, telling me that they said it wasn’t going to be easy, but no-one said it would be this hard. Here, here.

I thought about the abusive son of a bitch who won’t leave her alone, and I wanted to blame him for everything, for destroying something that was once so beautiful it made others want what we had. I wanted to show him the damage he has caused in her, in us. Yet I could not. It was only her and me to blame, and me more than her. In that moment I didn’t know what the future would bring. I too, can not see the light at the end of tunnel. I only have experience and Plato to tell me that it is there, somewhere. I found it last time, so I know I will again. With or without you at my side.

Je t’aime avec tout mon âme. J’espère que tu serrait a ma côté pour les prochaines aventure.

            

501c What?

I'm helping start up a non-profit with the director of PUSL. My idea is to turn this non-profit into a community development organization, of which the PUSL will be a branch, as we want to do more than just sport related activities. Our guiding philosophy will be drawn from deconstructionist thinking and critical multiculturalism, so that "community development" comes to mean broader and more open minded citizens as a result of exchanged experience with the 'other'. I will need to read Augusto Boel and Paulo Firere I think, as well as refresh my memory of Peter McLaren.

In any case, how ever it ends up, I think the process of developing this structure is interesting, and not so cheap either! I am already slightly confused by the IRS requirements for submitting an application for nonprofit status; and the approach may be to bring someone on board who has started a nonprofit and who can guide us through the process.

Well, watch this space! I'm sure there will be tales of fear and loathing as we try to navigate the deep halls of American bureaucracy....!

You were supposed to dance and sing

Faith is a state of openness and trust. To have faith is to trust to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float. And the attitude of faith is very opposite of clinging to belief, of holding on. In the other words, a person who is fanatic in matters of religion, and clings to certain ideas about the nature of God and the Universe, becomes a person who has no faith at all. Instead they are holding tight. But the attitude of faith is to let go, and become open to truth, whatever it might turn out to be. I want to know the truth! ~ Alan Watts

Portland United

Portland United Soccer League kicked off its season again yesterday. It started with a one day tournament in honor of James Oryem Angelo and Wilfred Okot Omal, which was won by the reformed North Atlantic. Angelo and Omal were members of the refugee community in Maine, and both were tragically killed in recent years.

It was great to see the teams running out again, to be down at KP and to be around all the players again. Not only does it speak to my love for soccer but also, it reminds me how much I love being in the multicultural setting. It is nice to hear all the languages around me and to see the great, and growing diversity here in Portland. I’ve spilt a lot of ink on the paradox of soccer as a force for social change, but when you witness the level of fun people were having on the field, when you see the Somalis buying food from the Latino stall, when you see old friends coming together to have a good time and tell stories, it is impossible not to be moved and feel that on some level, that this is worth investing in.

The question here is, how do we take this raw energy and get some of it dedicated to giving back to the community; how do we break down the national divisions in the team compositions?