A collaboration worth noting

Here it is. Worst nightmare for 1960s segregationists and 2020 woke progressives. A white southerner joining a black singer to do a song by a white British band who were mainly influenced by African-American music. The layers of cultural appropriation is dizzying. The white guys involved don’t seem to know they are supposed to self-identify as racists, and the black guys don’t seem to know they’re supposed to resent the white guys. They are all just digging the collaboration, celebrating each other’s input. May those who have taken a wrong turn to the left and those who have taken a wrong turn to the right find this spirit again someday! (Click image for link.)

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Click covers for links

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Why I do and don’t fear (for) my progressive friends

Between the general disgust with Donald Trump and the specific outcry over the George Floyd killing, revolutionary momentum is building, and the possibility of social transformation seems more within grasp than at any time since the 1960s. This might be a good time to review the things that stoked the 1960s radicalism of Martin Luther King and the hippies for both inspiration and cautionary checks.

Of the various rhetorical angles one might bring, I’ll bring this one. Let’s say I’m a 1960s radical fired up about the 2020 movement but fearing that progressives have made some wrong turns. I’d express those fears as below, not to derail the movement but to prevent it from being derailed, not to push the movement back but to push the dialectic forward through counterpoints. Here are the wrong turns, as they might seem to a 1960s radical.

1. We were for chaotic free speech, rough and tumble, for wider freedom to think, speak, dress, and live in whatever unconventional arrangements you choose. Today’s woke progressives seem too much in favor of policing dissent and standardizing options to their own norms. We wanted to obliterate the cultural police; they want to BE the cultural police.
2. While acknowledging race, we struggled to remove race as the definitive marker of identity, to sort and judge people by values/character; today’s woke progressives seem to have restored race as the definitive marker of identity, sorting people into racial boxes and giving moral tags to the boxes. This may not be the intent, but beware lest you let the devil back in through the side door.
3. We saw a recognition of shared humanness (“they” love their kids, laugh, cry, like “we” do) as the antidote to distrust and bias across racial lines; today’s woke progressives seem to see “shared humanness” as a white supremacist conspiracy designed to elide black identity.
4. We worked to marginalize racists and racism; they seem to seek and magnify it everywhere. E.g., when I think of how over the years, I (white) have had black roommates in two different states, I believe by woke standards (parsing for white privilege and white fragility) I am racist because I look back and see only good friendship there, not insidious racial dynamics. I can think of no better way to reverse the gains in consciousness we’ve made since the 1960s than to re-read every instance of cross-racial love, friendship, and collaboration as an expression of insidious racism.
5. We sought to fix persistent racial inequality by identifying with each other across racial lines based on values, not skin color – with a rainbow coalition for justice and equality on one side and those clinging to an unjust status quo on the other. Today’s woke progressives seem to reinstall the battle lines between black and white, or blackness and whiteness. (There is nothing that old-school racists would like better than to peel off whites who would join the cause of racial justice by recasting that cause as a black vs. white battle.)
6. With regard to feminism, we sorted people into those (male and female) who were pushing for equality and those clinging to an unjust status quo. Today’s woke progressives seem to redraw the battle lines as female versus male. (There is nothing that old-school sexists would like better than to drive a wedge between women and progressive men by redrawing the battle line as female vs. male.)
7. With regard to gender and sexual preferences, our instinct was to obliterate all categories and let everyone enjoy whatever consensual arrangements they like, without sorting them into morally tagged boxes. Today’s woke progressives seem to continually generate more and more gender boxes for sorting people, tagging each box with a moral tag or victimhood level, and encouraging each group to defend the wall around its segregated turf.
8. We were (implicitly) in favor of all forms of “cultural appropriation” in every direction. Bust open the cultural lockboxes and play with each other’s stuff, continually wear the other’s shoes – black, white, female, male, every ethnicity and sexual orientation – incorporate, collaborate, and share a laugh when cultural cross-pollination becomes clumsy, as it often will. Woke progressives seem to prefer that each demographic circle the wagons and guard its turf against cultural appropriation. Applied to the arts, this wrong turn is especially devastating. When creatively identifying with people from other races and genders becomes the #1 cultural sin, we’ve pretty much lost everything the Civil Rights movement stood for. Whereas the “truism” today seems to be that whites cannot know the heart of blacks, Asians cannot know the heart of Hispanics, etc., 1960s radicals felt that we CAN and SHOULD see into each other’s hearts across those stupidly reified lines of race and gender, that we really ARE brothers and sisters under the skin, and that indeed all our future hopes lie in that very recognition that heart-to-heart human connection is not limited by race. I.e., we were radically integrationist in a way that must horrify today’s conservatives and woke progressives alike.
9. We were for extending the universal rights and truths of the Enlightenment, however belatedly, to all peoples. They seem to reject the universal rights and truths of the Enlightenment as features of white supremacy, and prefer tribal (“you can’t know my truth because you don’t look like me”) rights and truths. To us, tribal rights and truths are the causes of distrust and bias across groups, not the solution to distrust and bias across groups.

Why I don’t fear (for) my progressive friends

1. Our long-term vision is the same – a harmonious multicultural society, comfortable with diversity, free from shame and self-loathing on any side, in which we recognize that we are all on spaceship Earth together and are able to celebrate our differences as well as our shared humanness.
2. There is a growing sense that rather than clinging to the left in an old left-right paradigm, people are ready to break the whole paradigm. This means breaking the grip of leftwing Establishments as well as rightwing Establishments. The left still has a hold on the progressive movement, but there is something in the air to suggest that progressives may soon break that hold and cross a new horizon line.
3. There is a gap between the intelligentsia of woke progressivism (in academia) and the grass roots progressives on the street that warrants optimism. Many of my fears above are rooted in the formulations of critical race theory (and critical theory as applied to women and other identity groups). These think-tank products are almost invariably divisive and counterproductive, enforcing a sense of identity defined by race and gender, drawing ever sharper lines and fomenting animosity between them. The kids on the street seem already beyond – or very nearly beyond – the academics in their ivory towers.

Why, one might ask? Why the disconnect between the academic think tanks and the street? We can start with the cynical idea that the main mission of every academic department (at least in Humanities) is getting funding for next year (cynical, yes, but not for one who has seen some of these annual and highly competitive funding battles). If you are in newly formed Identity X Dept, you had best prove quickly (and build a sufficient body of literature to back it up) that X is the cornerstone of identity, and that the struggle of people X is defined by trait X above all else and is a struggle that will continue in perpetuity (hence our need for funding in perpetuity). “Shared humanness” or the idea that one’s value system and not skin color is the defining aspect of identity means your dept is on the defensive in next year’s battle for funding. Call it a conspiracy theory, but at least it is one aligned with the accepted principle that self-preservation is often an operative force behind the scenes of what one thinks and does. It also aligns nicely with Karl Marx’s insight that the economic base is the driver and the political/ideological superstructure evolves in a way that serves the economic base.

Luckily for us, the kids on the street are not invested in next year’s funding for Dept X. The toxic influence of those academic theories is wide across newsrooms and other institutions, but it is not deep. Even where kids on the street mouth the slogans they learned from the academic think tanks, my sense on the street is that deep down they are not at all invested the divisions those slogans are designed to perpetuate. Deep down, they are invested, on the contrary and perhaps to the dismay of the more self-aware of those theorists, in that long-term vision of a harmonious multicultural society, comfortable with diversity, free from shame and self-loathing on any side, in which we recognize that we are all on spaceship Earth together and are able to celebrate our differences as well as our shared humanness. They already intuit, on some level, that there is no retreat back to conservatism, but there is also no future in the divisiveness of academic theories or in the increasingly narrow speech and thought zones of too many of our media outlets. They already know. Turn off the news and love your neighbor. Talk out of turn. Never stay in your lane. Never trust anyone, left or right, who says we need to respect walls of separation.

The ever-prescient LSD guru of the 1960s, Timothy Leary, had the right solution after all: If you want to bring society over the next horizon line, “Drop out, turn on, tune in!”

Or, if you prefer Lennon/McCartney, “All You Need Is Love.” Get that part right and the rest will follow.

Get Together 

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Before you know it

I didn’t even realize it. Hippies is free again this week.

Follow Jazmine and Ziggy through their Age of Aguarius sorrows, joys, and wonders.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01MTGGWZV/

Go on. Do it. Release your inner hippie.

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Just be nice for the freebie and write an honest Amazon review, however brief 🙂

(Click covers for links)

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1960s culture in two clips

You always hear about rapid cultural change in the 1960s. Is it true? Is it measurable?

Here are two clips:

  • The #1 song of 1962, set in a film clip that captures the cultural moment in all its imagery
  • A song from 1969, set in a documentary clip that also captures the cultural moment in all its imagery

1962

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PU5xxh5UX4U

1969

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfLyK2DVVUU

You can draw your own conclusions. Or you can read on for mine 😊

My conclusion:

The culture shifted more in those 7 years than it has in the 50 years since. Why do I say so? Because if you look at the dress, the haircuts, the sound on that Joe Cocker stage, these guys could pop up at any outdoor festival today and not be out of place. Elvis, though – I love Elvis, I’ve been to Elvis’s house in Tupelo – but culturally, Elvis seems a million miles away in this clip compared to the Woodstock scene.

P.S. If you are wondering what the hell Joe Cocker is saying (and can’t remember the Beatles original), try this “misheard lyrics” version:

(Click covers below for links)

         

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Hippies in the yard

Here’s another small clip from my novel, Hippies. In this one, several characters of the two-house commune are being introduced as they play around in the yard. (The two houses are the Duck and the Island.) Had you the decency to read the book, you’d know about half of these characters from the previous chapter.

Duck common residents: Ziggy, Jazmine, Ragman, Stormy, Rose Petal
Island common residents: Tex, Hoss, Gina, Pepper

x x x

Stormy paused, and Rag walked back into the elongated house, the Duck. Meanwhile, Gina and Hoss came out of the fat square house, the Island, from across the yard. Gina was a tiny, quiet thing, and Hoss a big, garrulous walrus of a man – perhaps too garrulous. Like Pepper, he did not know when to shut up, but with completely opposite results. She was all waspish wit, ready for a smack-down, and he was all love and trust and geniality, with a ready bear-hug for any stranger. Indeed, it was his affability that led him to think that a tray of pot brownies would be enjoyable for all at a faculty/student social his sophomore year. That he was expelled for such a kindness seemed a cosmic injustice, but he was good enough with the guitar to make a few bucks at cafes and on the street, and he did contract work at bigger music venues like The Warehouse, so he took it all in lumbering stride. Gina’s place in the Island was ambiguous, as the best anyone could tell was that she moved between the Island bedrooms of Hoss and Pepper, occasionally shifting to the couch if she needed her own space and no bohemian transients were in town and on it. Tex held the remaining bedroom in the Island and he mostly kept his room to himself.

“Hey, Stormy, where’s the Rag?” bellowed Hoss.

“He’s inside watching Rose Petal.” Rose Petal was Stormy’s two-year-old daughter. Together with Ragman, Ziggy, and Jazmine, this mother-daughter pair completed the permanent roster of Duck residents, at least for the time being. Of course, both the Duck and the Island had their parade of transients and hangers-on.

“Hahaha, that Rag,” roared Hoss inexplicably, shaking his head like a giant potato all covered with coarse, bushy hair.

He unclasped his guitar case, and he and Tex plucked out a few lines together. Then Tex strummed out the first chords of a song, and Hoss laid on with the notes. Hoss would sing this one, mellowing his voice to the sweet timbre of a Jewish cantor on a High Holiday.

A new day is coming, people are changing
Ain’t it beautiful, crystal blue persuasion . . .

In the pauses one could tell — Tex was good, but on guitar Hoss was master.

“My god,” Jazmine said. “Look at that crescent moon and Venus so bright. It’s like something planetary is really happening. A sign of something coming.” Everyone looked at the sky, a velvet blanket full of stars, no doubt, but with the moon and Venus most illustrious.

Stormy, spinning with her dress spread out as the song ended, chanted at the sky: “Gnomes of the earth, Nymphs of water, Sylphs of the air, and Salamanders of fire.”

“Where do you come up with this shit, Stormy,” asked Hoss cheerily, adjusting the guitar on his lap.

“Elemental spirits, baby, you can get ‘em from a book if it ain’t in your soul. Like Pepper says, don’t y’all ever read anything?”

“Hoss never got past picture books,” Tex quipped. Then he strummed another random chord while Hoss took a hit on the joint and sprawled back to look at the stars. But random as Tex’s chord was, Stormy knew what he was thinking, and as soon as he hit the strings again, she was singing along:

When the moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars

She sang it from a soulful, timeless depth, like it was no joke, and kept swaying, her carob skin gleaming a perfect blend of spiritual mystery and sensual presence.

Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars.
This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius . . .

Under that Venus and that moon on that early spring night of 1970, a half dozen hippies believed earnestly, joyfully, that indeed a planetary change was coming. The tragic naivete of their idealism had not yet hit.

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Hippies running free

Hippies is FREE this week on Amazon (Kindle).

Go on. Do it. Release your inner hippie.

Click the cover below to link through. (Read some excerpts below that.)

hpp snow

So get your copy now. Or if you have a copy, gift a copy or two to friends. Just tell them to be polite and write a brief and honest Amazon review in return for the freebie 🙂

Excerpts

Tripping on tan acid

Magic mushroom head shop and dry cleaners

Beach scene from Hippies

Day tripping with the hippies

A past-life regression

Rebecca’s place

(Click images below for links)

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Beach scene from Hippies

A beach scene from Hippies

Summary of novel: In this Age of Aquarius epic, a group of hippies moving through the sights, sounds, and ideals of the 1960s counterculture discover an LSD-spinoff that triggers past life regressions and leads to a dramatic climax.

x x x

As Ziggy ambled naked toward the water, Jazmine thought there was a hint of Apollo in his stride. “But a little skinny,” she added in her mental narrative, smiling to herself, as she watched Ziggy plunge. She’d never had a guy best friend till Ziggy, someone she could love with all the doors and windows open. But not sexually. Maybe that was her problem. She had to separate sex and love, as if love were pure and sex were dirty. Like she was defending something inside but she didn’t know what it was that was being defended.

“You look hot!”

Jazmine started out of her reverie to see a lanky teen boy with black frame glasses hanging over her.

“Thanks.” The teen boy could see she was nervous.

“No, I mean sweating hot. I’m not hitting on you, I swear.” He grinned. “We got some beers over by the Plymouth.”

“No Thanks.”

Zig was walking up, squeezing water out of his long hair.

“Hey, man,” said the kid, “I was telling your old lady we have some beers over by the Plymouth.”

“Thanks. We’re good.”

“Y’all hear about the cops out here yesterday?”

“Never seen the cops out here before,” said Zig. Jaz kept sunbathing in her own mental space, trying to put closure on her thoughts.

“Yeah, cops took my friend’s weed and sent him packing.”

Zig commiserated: “Shame, man. Cops getting into everything.”

“Hey, I know you,” said the kid. He scratched his big toe in the sand, as if he were trying to draw a secret symbol. Then he looked up and straight at Ziggy.

“I know where I seen y’all before. Y’all part of Ragman’s army,” he said, grinning a little more cautiously.

Ziggy laughed. “If we’re the army, I feel sorry for whoever we’re defending.”

“Don’t laugh, man,” said the kid. Weird, Ziggy thought. That’s the second time somebody told him that today.

“Be careful around Rag,” continued the kid.

“Rag’s cool,” said Zig. The kid had touched on a point he felt strongly about. “Rag’s the coolest guy I ever met.” The kid fidgeted.

“Ever,” Zig repeated, letting the kid know that this was not negotiable.

“I know, man,” said the kid. “But be careful.” Now he was nervous, whispery. He looked over at a small group standing across the beach by a palm tree.

“That’s the problem,” he hissed, under his breath. “Ragman’s the one thing the cops can’t stand. An idealist in the drug scene. You think they give a shit about speed and heroin dealers? Shit, the cops are dealing half the drugs in this town. And cocaine and downers? The Man loves that shit. Speed to keep people working; downers to keep’m tame. What the cops hate is LSD. And maybe pot. And kids with the vision to change things. Fuck things up. And it ain’t only the cops.”

The more the kid hissed and whispered, the more Zig became intrigued.

“What do you mean, it ain’t only the cops?” Zig asked.

“Those fucking dealers coming in with the heroin and the coke. They just want money and zombies. They’d get rid of Ragman faster than the cops. Yeah, they got their fucking ways too.” He rolled his foot along the sand, smoothing over forever whatever imaginary symbol he had started. “Their own fucking ways, man.”

“Why are you telling us this?” asked Zig.

“I don’t know. I like Ragman. I admire the guy. And your chick there looks cool.” He thought for a second. Someone from the group by the palm tree gestured to the kid. “And because I’m a fucking idiot,” the kid said, and he walked briskly off.

x x x

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A Hippie Status Report on Civil Rights and Progressives

When I see Facebook memes from my social justice oriented friends about how we should vote for, value the opinion of, or pronounce someone guilty or innocent based on skin color or sex organs, it reminds me of how things change and remain the same. Too many of my generation – black, white, male, female, gay, straight, and other – fought too long and hard against judging people based on generalizations about skin color or sex organs for us to start doing it now, even if those encouraging us to do so call themselves “progressives” instead of “conservatives” (as they were called in the 1960s).

x x x

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 (Click images for links)