Enjoy Symptom

In economic strife, I love all the little attempts to assuage this new trauma. If trauma is the inability to comprehend what one witness and the repetition of this event through dreams and other acts...in the current economic crisis, we need a trauma triage.

We never seem to grasp what passes before us. We always miss it. Because of this we mindlessly use words to try to figure it out, try to luckily hit the right sequence of words to discover for ourself the right narration so that we can build a monument and forget about it.

Funny isn't it? We are always trying to forget these events. Allow the truest history, the history that defies narration, to pass into narration to allow us to forget it. We have monuments so that we don't have to remember. Build a monument for the World Trade Center, so the memories i have of my teacher cursing and pulling down the radio fade into some sort of physical manifestation of the glass tower. Make a monument to World War II so that I don't have to think about the sacrifice. Make a monument, or just a ton of commercial movies, about the Holocaust so I don't have to have that trauma passed to me.

The problem is, when you whack a mole, another comes up. All these attempts to forget, cause a new remembering in another place. If truth is not forgetting, aletheia, then what is a culture that wishes to forget everything?

So how to forget an economic tragedy? How did we forget the old ones. Time, monuments, cliche photos, books. It is easier to read Steinbeck than to experience depression, or talk to a relative. The untold stories, where the madness and the history resist narration are exactly those traumas that can't be expressed. But we need them. They constitute our being, our ethics, our memory.

Work Pays America

The New Deal polciy, WPA, the work progress administration, was one of the most fascinating enterprises in the course of American history.  Entering into a time when the finanicial crisis is worsening, when the stock market seems on the edge of collapse, as banks fail and countries seem to teeter on the edge of collapse, I am reminded of the Great Depression.

Not the black days and the sad photos, but rather the memories of my relatives, those who experienced those dark days, but still proud days.  My father's side of the family were farmers; they experienced the hurt of the great depression, but the farm was self sustaining and they were able to take care of themselves.

My mother's side of the family, however, experienced the worst of it.  My great grandfather owned a grocery store.  That was a big deal back then.  He had five children, a driver, a house servant and a cook.  All within this nice little compound in the downtown of the city.  He was a generous man, always giving to those in need, extending credit to those who needed it.  However, the day before that fteful market crash he made a deposit.  All the cash in the store.  The next day, it was gone.  Nothing had been spared, they went from socialites to paupers.  They were forced to move, fire the servants, sell the cars to those who could afford them and moce to the wrong side of the tracks.  My grandfather used to talk about how everything changed.  As a young child he didn't understand why his nanny left, why the driver was gone, why his nice clothes soon gave way to those made in the home.  My great grandfather worked all sorts of odd jobs, just to put food on the table.  He worked though.  Being a once proud store owner never stopped his work ethic.  He worked as if he owned everything he worked on, as though it were to be sold in his shop.  My proud greatgrandmother, not to be outdone by her husband took over the entiriy of domestic duties, from the standard child raising to laudry to sewing and repairs.  They pulled through.

My other gread grandfather was a railroad man.  My grandmother has all kinds of stories of them moving with the railroad across the country.  Depression hit.  They fired the railwaymen.  My great grandfather went from being an engineer to building dams with the WPA.  My grandmother found work as soon as she was legally able to work, or when a shop presented itself.

The amazing thing, the thing that makes me most proud is that we are proud.  Not proud to the point of hubris, but always proud in what we do, not too proud to do something.

Perhaps that is what we need.  To be proud for the jobs that we afre never too proud to perform.  The Depression allowed for so many things, that we Americans never realised we had.  Art and music soared as New Deal policies commissioned arts and plays.  The sad tired look of the stock broker, never disapeared, for the past always drives us forward, but instead those once too proud to dirty their hands, had to do it.  

Sitting here in a room full of books, on a lap top wearing too nice clothes and an overpriced jacket, I wonder how we will respond.  If our government will institute a new WPA a new way to bring us forward into history.