Sunday, September 25, 2011

An open letter to Occupy Wall Street

For those unaware, there have been hundreds of people demonstrating on Wall Street around the clock since Saturday, September 17, 2011.  Their progress can be seen at http://occupywallst.org  On Monday, September 26, 2011, the following letter will be sent by me to the protestors, an open letter to which I direct your attention below.

Addressed to:

The UPS Store
Re: Occupy Wall Street
118 Fulton St. #205
New York, NY 10032


24 September 2011, Portland OR
My dear brothers and sisters
You inspire and convict me.
I am writing to express my solidarity with you in this beautiful, long overdue action in keeping with the highest, most central values to humanity in general and to America in particular.  I am humbled not to have taken a similarly bold, clarion stand against the citadel of greed, oppression and hypocrisy yet.  But this is not about me, this is about all of us.
I have learned and hope to better embody, that it is impossible to be neutral, to remain sitting on the fence, in a democracy.  When our leaders, our lawful representatives, behave in ways clearly contrary to our interests and beliefs, we lend them support and give their actions legitimacy if we do anything fhort of adamantly opposing them and their actions.  By remaining silent, the “silent majority” not only forfeits its prerogative, but effectively becomes complicit in the wrongs perpetrated by their representatives.  Thank you all for helping to drive this point home to me.
I particularly appreciate the concept of your “one clear demand” which cuts me to the quick.  you are absolutely right in your expectation: the just respect for each individual’s dignity, and each deliniated facet of this demand is right on point.
In closing on a personal note, there is a young woman in our number with orange hair who was photographed with a brown cardboard sign with blue lettering stating “Wall Street is screwing us so take off your clothes.”  Plese tell her that her smile made my week!  I love you all.  Please be safe and never give up!
Sincerely
Josh von Kuster

For more on the protests, follow the hashtag #occupywallstreet , on the occupywallst.org link above and the "One Clear Demand" can be read, with analysis, at http://october2011.org/blogs/kevin-zeese/one-clear-demand-occupy-wall-street-0.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Trip to Nicaragua

You take three flights from Portland, spanning 13 hours, and finally touch down at Augusto C. Sandino International Airport in Managua, Nicaragua, just before 9 pm local time, right on schedule.  You grab your bags through the remaining fog of coach class dozing and make your way to the front of the plane to exit at the main cabin door.
And it hits you.
The tropics bombard you with humidity, heat, closeness and life: a constant presence for the duration of your 11 days here in the poorest country on the American mainland.  The sun will rise and set, the rain will come and go, the birds, frogs, insects and assorted other fauna will be more or less vocal in the same rhythm, but the tropicality remains ever-present.
Clearing customs is always interesting for gringos.  Perhaps due to too many Hollywood portrayals, likely influenced by the California and Florida boards of tourism, you have a foreboding of prison guards interrogating you in Spanish in a decrepit stucco jail.  Occasionally you are greeted by alluring young locals with flowers and rum drinks.  Tonight, you are simply asked to pay the 10 dollar entry fee and permitted to enter the country.
You then pile into the short-bus, bound for Ciudad Sandino and the Center for Development in Central America by way of the Pan-American highway with very few delays thanks in large part to the numerous roundabouts (yes, there is hope for Sandy Blvd.).  While you are intrigued to see men both in and out of uniform standing in the back of the police pick-up as it hurtles down the road past you (all transportation is communal in this country), the ride is fairly uneventful.
The bus turns off the highway onto a side boulevard by way of a U-turn and a hard-right.  The street is cobbled and bumpy but far superior to the unimproved driveway up a steep bank as you enter the Center’s compound behind a 2 meter concrete wall and members of the security company required to comply with international trade conventions (thank you CAFTA).
The bulk of the Center’s staff welcomes you as you disembark the bus and give your thanks to Chico for the safe, speedy journey.  The greeting is brief as you’re exhausted despite sleeping on all the flights and soon you collapse on your top bunk under two fans, naively optimistic that the sweating will soon stop.
In the morning, you awake to the reality that you are indeed in a third-world country.  The bathroom comes equipped with trash bins next to all the toilets with prominent placards requesting you to put your toilet paper in said bin rather than the toilet as it causes the septic system to back up.  In case the point wasn’t clear enough, another placard at the door on the way out by invites you to return to the toilet and fish out the offending paper with your hands if need be (and then wash your hands “really really well”).
Now the best part begins: superior coffee grown less than 100 miles distant and roasted even closer.  Despite being ground days in advance and its plastic brewer, this coffee’s incredible flavor cannot be vanauished.  And gallo pinto (pronounced GUY-o PEEN-toe, meaning “speckled rooster”), the national dish, accompanies 2 meals a day, everyday.  Yes, that’s right, your author is indeed big in Nicaragua.
Following breakfast, you discover what blue collar life was like before automation and the assembly line.  Your job is to make adoquines (ah-doe-KEY-nays), or paving stones, to improve the driveway with which you will become intimately familiar over the next week.  This gives you the opportunity to meet Pedro “the Baptist” who presides over every step of the process in the manner of Leonard Bernstein.  
It is a fairly simple process: mix concrete, pour and then pack it into a steel mould, then stack the formed stones to permit them to set.  The trouble is, it’s all by hand.  And there is a seemingly endless supply of all the constituent materials.  And Pedro is not easily impressed by your exertions, having overseen similar projects for numerous years and countless volunteer teams including aspiring civil engineers.
The critical step in the adoquine process is wetting the concrete just enough to be able to form it easily into the mould.  This is where Pedro proves his worth (and entertains quite thoroughly) by spreading the water over the pile of concrete mix as if it were the newest-born Catholic and he the priest; blessing each paving stone before it is even formed, the source of his name.


This is life in Nicaragua: arduous labor which you must enjoy or go crazy, fueled by rice and beans.  And that’s for the healthy ones.  You see a number of obese people as do your colleagues at the clinic in Nueva Vida, thanks in large part to the introduction of highly processed foods into the diet available at the numerous pulperias (octopus shops) or convenience shops run out of residences.  Malnourished pets abound and all the children are skinny, some showing the reddened hair indicative of kwashiorkor, chronic protein deficiency.
Yet you are not so aware of the problems with society in Nicaragua as you are of the happiness and determination of the people.  Through horrendous living and working conditions, the people remain happy and jovial.  On the occasions when you get the opportunity to converse with the residents, they all seem incredibly aware.  They are informed of the futility of the political process (the father of the 1979 revolution is now establishing himself as an autocrat) and the great odds against their situation improving either personally or nationally.  Yet they enjoy life, love their family, and work hard with and for each other.
The most striking absence is greed.  While there are clear boundaries placed on personal space (every home has a structural perimeter ranging from substantial concrete walls to an insignificant piece of string).  But resources are shared.  Things asked for are readily rendered and returned just as readily.  Complimenting a person on their ear rings often elicits a spontaneous exchange for the item.
Everywhere you look, you see the human spirit triumphing over the material realities of the situation.  In dirt streets with open storm- and gray water-sewage in front of homes boasting the latest in latrine technology, you see people laughing as they sit in the shade on their porches and waving at the passers-by.  With our fiber-optic internet and wireless clouds and high-definition, 3D tv’s and glass-smooth asphalt, do we ever ask ourselves the price?  Why you can walk down the streets of the most opulently wealthy country in the world and never see a soul?
After 11 days, your trip comes to an end.  You feel this Nica world escaping you as you walk through Augustino C. Sandino airport, with its duty free shops and manequin-like sales women.  As you board the Continental flight, the artificiality of western life welcomes you back with air conditioning.