Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

The Physics of Wage-Slavery

A couple of weeks ago I was talking about time. But you know what's really important? Timing, that's what. And I'm not just being paranoid when I say that! I have facts to prove it, too!

Timing is what "the check's in the mail" is all about. When you "take five," you take time, but timing is what makes taking it possible.

Ask most any evolutionist what his beef with creationism is and he'll tell you it has nothing to do with the theology of the matter. It's only about the timing involved.

Timing is what homo sapiens has more than the Wooly Mammoth, probably enough more to account for the recent shortage of the latter. Timing, suitable rocks, a good throwing arm. Likewise, a poorly timed precipitous climate change is poised to do homo sapiens in, with the rest of the planet probably feeling it's not one eon too soon.

Q. What's so hard about relativistic quantum physics? A. Taking into account the timing. The same thing can be said about tuning Lamborghinis or trying to tickle tigers.

Bad timing is almost synonymous with disorder. It's dis-order in the course of events. Mathematical chaos has gobs to do with timing and convolutions of timing, and the inevitable losing track of timing. The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle can be laid to timing. "Hey Werner, what should we measure first? Are you sure? It seems to make a difference."

What's the real answer to the question about life, the universe, and everything? Timing: it's critical to life, while the rest of everything that isn't alive doesn't care.

In good timing, Science cures your terminal disease before you have debilitating symptoms. In bad timing, Science is not at all convinced that your disease is terminal until the day you die from it. Science is then so impressed by the sheer horror of your manner of death that she names the disease after you and proceeds to cure it, so that no one else will ever have to suffer so much again.

Good timing leads to Bliss; bad timing leads to Tragedy. When gene sequences fire in their correct order you get a gorgeous baby with ten little toes. Let the genes fire in the wrong order and your baby might still have ten toes, but they could be growing out of her eyebrows, causing a premature end to her modeling career, and forever dashing her dream of becoming the first non-Sherpa to break-dance atop K2 without an oxygen mask.

If you don't think good timing is important, try this experiment. Get a ride on a lunar landing module to the moon and beg your crewmates to be the one who decides when to fire reverse thrusters during the landing, but don't you or any of them look out the window or use the radar or anything that would tell you where the ground is in relation to the module. If you live maybe I'm wrong, maybe timing isn't important. If you die, my point.

Let's consider one specific variety of bad timing that concerns poor people. Let's talk about the sort of bad timing that can be summed up in the words: "You'll receive your first paycheck a week after your first fully completed pay cycle."

Since a typical pay cycle is two weeks that means the average would-be wage-slave can't get paid until after putting in three weeks of work. But doctors doubt someone in your condition could live two weeks without food of any kind, and think you'll last much less than that if you engage in major activity as required by a full time job. So if you're starting your job with no money in reserve, and if the job keeps you from taking advantage of meal programs, and if you're homeless with no place to cook food bank stuff -- well, screwed again.

But at least you know what did it. It was the timing!

Wednesday, May 4, 2005

Letting Time Go

Let's talk about Edward T. Hall, why White People can't dance, and panhandling!

Why does panhandling seem wrong to so many of us? I'm going to go out on a limb here and propose that it feels wrong for the same reason that moving more than the feet to music feels wrong to straight White men over fifty: our parents never taught us to do things like that.

My parents said there's a time and place for everything, and they were very specific. Edward T. Hall, a cultural anthropologist, came up with a pair of words to describe the results of these kinds of teachings. He identifies two broad categories of styles of cultures, the monochronic and polychronic, arising from two ways of relating to time. White American/Northern European cultures express monochronic styles. The rest of the world, pre-MacDonalds, have generally been polychronic.

Monochronic styles require one-thing-at-a-time. Polychronic styles allow and expect lots-of-things-at-once. In monochronic cultures there's only one time. Your watch has your time. In polychronic cultures they may not even have a word for time. Talking about when something will or should happen may be wildly inappropriate.

How can this affect our panhandling behavior? (Note: By panhandling behavior we are talking not just about panhandlers but also panhandlees!) Let's say you're White, your name is Chris, you're walking to work, and as you pass the MacDonalds another White Person holds up a cardboard sign saying "Hungry/homeless, please help" and sticks out a Styrofoam cup. What might you think, Chris?

Well if you're like me, Chris, you think, "Hey, this is my walking time!" You think, "I didn't come out here to give my money away. I do that at the appropriately designated times. I give to United Way at the office. I pay my taxes every April." You think, "This person isn't supposed to get money now. They haven't just completed work. That's the time you're supposed to get money. Don't they know that?"

It's just like when White People first saw Chuck Berry dancing on a stage. "You can't move that body part like that now! You have to wait until you're in bed alone with a woman!" So over the years it has been necessary for African-American musicians to slowly, step by step, introduce White People to more and more movement, a project that began with the Twist and gradually proceeded through the Funky Chicken, Disco, culminating to date in whatever it is that Britney Spears does.

Now let's imagine someone from an unspecified polychronic culture. Still walking to work, let's say his name is Rongo Diego Yoko M!fumi, and another representative of his same culture appears, panhandling. Same sign, same Styrofoam cup. What does Rongo think?

The answer can vary from one polychronic culture to another -- Mr. Hall's categories are very broad -- but here are some possibilities: "Sure why not? My money came from everyone and so it belongs to everyone." Or, "I'm sure that if this fine person had money, and I needed some, he/she would help me. People have always helped me." "Maybe we could go have a coffee and sandwiches somewhere and talk. I can go to work tomorrow." "I feel like dancing." "Whoa, look at all those stiff White People staring at us."

To Chris, we work and THEN we deserve pay. To Rongo, we can always be deserving. "Work? Sure we do that. We give, we take, we work, we rest. What's the problem?"

Do you know for a fact that the panhandler HASN'T worked? What if the panhandler worked years for an exploitative employer who paid him less than what his work was worth? Now you have extra change in your pocket. Could that mean you've been paid too much lately? You could help to even things out. Or you could hurry to work, letting the universe run by itself, like a clock that never has to be wound, even though there are people stuck in it.

Wednesday, March 15, 2000

Guest Column by Anitra L. Freeman

This is Anitra, Upon Whose Kitchen Floor Wes Has Sometimes Slept. Wes has a bad cold right now, which he says is my fault (because he's sleeping closer to me than the kitchen floor these days), and therefore I have to write his column for him.

Wes says I am starting out very well, staring at a blank white computer screen. He then gave me a tip to get started:

[insert column here]

Wes has just left the room, leaving me clear to talk about him with Cindy, Muse of Few Words. I ask Cindy, "I want to structure this column like Wes does, in the form that I have called a Wessitur: an apparent sequence of non-sequiturs that sneaks up behind a political subject and bonks it on the head. How do you suggest I start?"

Cindy says, "Say something about Wes now."

Wes was skinnier when I first met him (he also says that this is my fault, in spite of the fact that he does most of the cooking.) We were both homeless at that time, in October 1995. Wes attempted to teach me the use of acrylics, at StreetLife Art Gallery.

He still attempts to teach me math. I retaliate by singing sea chanteys at him.

Soon after I started going to StreetLife Gallery, Wes drafted me for the Real Change Editorial Committee. I retaliated by starting StreetWrites, to help more homeless and low-income writers develop material for publication. Wes said, "Okay, I'll attend, but you have to do the work."

How am I doing, Cindy? "At about this point, Wes says something else."

Speaking of something else, last week I attended the Seattle Police Department's first organizational meeting attempting to put together a Homeless Advisory Council. I was unhappy to see that I was the only person there who was a "community member" (still counted as low-income and formerly homeless) instead of a service provider or public official-- and I was only there because Timothy "Editor-God" Harris, Director of Real Change, was in production crunch on the paper. Tim made me feel a bit better by explaining that invitations did go out to SHARE, WHEEL & HOP -- but they went out very recently. Membership-driven grassroots organizations need more lead time to make decisions than top-down structured organizations. Adding in that the strongest memory most homeless groups have of such advisory councils is the sensation of having one's butt turned to rubber with the raised words "Whatever You've Already Decided" lettered on them, then pounded up and down -- and caution lengthens the lead time.

Speaking of caution, caution lengthened the lead time in the relationship between Wes and I. Within weeks of meeting each other we were spending large amounts of time together -- we were both officers of StreetLife Gallery, both writing for and editing Real Change, and we just hung out, because we made each other laugh, we sparked ideas for each other, I could say one sentence and he instantly knew what I meant, cutting my tendency to discourse at length and earning the undying gratitude of thousands.

But first, I was staying in shelters and he was Camping Out on Fern Hill (the exact location of which he still keeps secret in case he might have to use it again.) Then I got housing but Wes didn't; he could only visit me three nights a week at The Union Hotel, where he really did sleep on my kitchen floor, and we talked for several hours each night like kids at a slumber party. It was July 21st, 1997, at 4PM (I got the date and time from Wes) that Wes walked into the Real Change and handed his last pack of cigarettes ever to Tim Harris because I had mentioned that I wouldn't get intimate with a smoker's mouth. Then he didn't sleep on my kitchen floor any longer.

Speaking of lengthening, we were both divorced. Wes had a history of severe child abuse and suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had a history of relationships disrupted by my bipolar disorder (manic depression). We were both used to being prejudged, misjudged, and making bad judgments about others. A lot of reasons for caution on both sides. We're now regarded as the happiest couple in the Union Hotel, mainly because we come in about 3AM each morning laughing manically over such things as the application of the policy of Harm Reduction to late-night transit.

Maybe homeless people and the SPD will someday be cracking jokes together, working comfortably side by side, hanging out together. Also the physically disabled, and those with mental health / chemical dependency / developmental issues: other groups that the SPD is hoping to have new Advisory Councils for. If there's enough common ground; enough support; enough patience. If someone gives up their cigarettes, or whatever other habits are in the way.

How did I do, Cindy? "You left out poetry."

Haiku for Wes

He sleeps on my kitchen floor
while I check my email.
I need no Valentines.


Write On!
© Anitra Freeman 2002