"Have a nice Friday at school son." "Thanks." "When you get home I'll probably be in jail." "Oh, that's right."
Okay, let me back up a sec.
The past three weeks I'd been completing the paperwork and training to be allowed to volunteer in the DC jail as a teacher of insight meditation. For several months I've been meeting with the group IOI, or 'Insight on the Inside,' whose mission is to lead such classes. These are volunteers who meet with inmates on a regular basis - usually incarcerated folks who have some interest in the concept. I say usually, because some classes have been made mandatory - presumably because they have proven somewhat popular. Or perhaps for other more practical reasons - e.g., the jail administrators might have wondered 'what do we do with the inmates who don't go to the class?' Don't know.
Anyway, before I go any further, I feel the need to speak to the issue of appellation, that is, what do you call the people who are incarcerated by the criminal justice system? Historically, they've been called convicts, detainees, prisoners, offenders. And even a few more pejorative terms. In recent times, the somewhat less judgmental term inmate is commonly used. IOI volunteers will often say residents, which some might consider a euphemism, as the term is usually associated with voluntary habitation. Regardless, for the purposes of the mission of IOI (as opposed to political correctitude), the question is relevant to determine which nomenclature would best foster that mission. That is, what term might help in pursuing the goal of teaching a set of practices which have helped us volunteers find some freedom from suffering in our own lives? Not a freedom from loss, pain, sorrow, grief, etc. Or freedom from incarceration. These are sadly facts of life. Rather, it is freedom from what Buddha called the 'second arrow' of suffering. How can we learn to stop inflicting on ourselves seemingly tireless and creative attempts to cogitate, replay scenarios, anguish and lament, etc.? Isn't the 'first arrow' quite enough?
As to the question of naming, my friend and mentor that first day, Carolyn, uses the term student. Of course, I thought: no need for euphemisms - after all, that's who they are in our relationship.
Students, which of course we all can be in all of our endeavors - and me obviously on this day of my first class with Carolyn. First we go to the Residential Substance Abuse and Treatment facility (RSAT), where jail residents who need it, get help with recovery. (Actually I was not allowed to bring my cane into other higher security facilities - without which, of course, I can't get too far. Won't go into this topic here, but the ADA does come to mind. . .). After putting my wallet, keys, coins, and other pocket litter in a locker, we passed through something like what you are familiar with at the airport, with a pat down at the end. Cleared to go, we follow a bit of a Get Smart maze to the 83rd floor. Actually it's the fourth floor according to the elevator readout, but apparently they make things a bit Orwellian or Kafkaesque to help thwart any potential jailbreaks. Or something like this. (Note to any nefarious plotters reading this: some of these descriptions, especially the numbers, have probably been changed in this post.)
We arrived in what appeared to be a common area, off of which we entered a room with five or so plastic chairs. We managed to get help from a couple students who'd already arrived, to round up a few other participants, and some more chairs. Our class of 9 was made up of eight African Americans and one white student.
This aside will take more than a parenthetic line, so I will boldly begin a new paragraph (or more). From what I've heard and read, this ethnic breakdown is more or less consistent with national incarceration rates in the U.S. Some regions have more Hispanics than others, but in general, people of color, especially blacks, are overwhelmingly overrepresented behind bars, resulting in whites being by far in the minority status. I don't say in correctional facilities, as for me - and for many others - the jury is still out on whether these places do much at all to 'correct' as opposed to simply punish. (Which opens up a whole new area for discussion and debate, which I won't pursue here.) Suffice it to say that, with stunning rates of recidivism (there are many variables, but some are approaching or well in excess of 50%), something really isn't working. Of course, it is our belief and hope that IOI can be a small part of the solution to such a giant problem.
The biggest issue at work, I believe, is the racially biased criminal justice system. Whether it's at the policy level - such as recent cases in Arizona or 'stop and frisk' in New York - or just the nature of 'color blind racism' which results in a much larger percentage of people of color getting arrested for drug use or possession, for example, even though their rate of drug use is the same as it is for whites. By the same token, ex-offenders seeking jobs are greatly disadvantaged according to many studies (including the one in this article - http://www.nytimes.com/2005/06/17/nyregion/17felons.html?_r=0). The article says, "White men with prison records receive far more offers for entry-level jobs in New York City than black men with identical records, and are offered jobs just as often - if not more so - than black men who have never been arrested." Italics mine. Did you catch that? A white ex-convict is more likely to get job offers than blacks who have no such criminal background. I find this stunning - and deeply shameful in our theoretically post racial 'land of the free.'
All of this and more adds up to what some have called the 'new Jim Crow.' This of course refers to the system of laws and statutes which codified racism and apartheid in much of our country, particularly the south, prior to the adoption of the Civil Rights Act in 1964. Is the modern criminal injustice system the new Jim Crow? Looking at the shameful statistics, I'm inclined to agree. Though the man titularly at the helm of this great nation is African American, I think most of us know that racism is alive and well here. Recent Supreme Court cases have showcased how this struggle is far from over, and if anything is being actively pushed back toward a much darker time. Anyway, enough soap box for now.
So, the 11 of us sat in a room together. I was a tad nervous, but Carolyn assured me beforehand she'd do most of the talking, which she did - and quite well I will add. She's been doing this for four years already, and her composure, sense of ease, and self-effacing humor were infectious for all of us. Talk about a role model! There were a couple of short meditations, some easy stretching, and some discussion about what the students were experiencing - in the moment.
I'm not sure what I was expecting - hardened psycho-killers? - but I was blown away by the warmth, sincerity, intelligence, and interest of these guys. Not unlike my time in the Peace Corps, I walked away from our class with the feeling that I had learned far more than I could ever teach.
Outside again. I took the metro down to the Stadium/Armory station, where Carolyn had picked me up. Our class over, she now indicates the way back (she had another class to go teach). I saunter and hobble my way over the pavement and sidewalks asking occasionally for directions (every 150 paces or so, or some seemingly interminable distance). I call to a man as he climbs into his car, Friday after work, but he couldn't quite hear me over his radio, so gets out and comes over to me, and points, "there, right there, just to the left of that building." He reminds me of Ray Charles, short hair, Ray-Bans, a smile to melt any iceberg. I'm hearing him, believing him, and nodding, but not actually seeing what he's pointing at, as I am rather near sighted - fine up close, even reading, just have to wear glasses to drive - so keep them in my car, not in my shirt pocket. I thank him, bid him adieu and hobble on my way. By now I'm going really quite slow - even for me. Thirteen years into this hobbling meditation, and still it's rather challenging to avoid the second arrow. Ray, who went over to speak with a colleague, seeing now how excruciatingly slowly I'm moving across a wide grassy area, calls and offers me a ride. Knowing the long metro ride to come, walking through stations, etc., I am quite happy to accept. He offers to take me to the next metro station, or even all the way to metro center (where I would have to change trains). I disabuse him of such generosity, assuring him I'm fine from here. And besides, it's Friday, "you need to get on with your weekend, man!" He wishes me a blest day, and drives off.
And it is a rather long trip, the final 'insult' of which greets me after coming up the elevator at the Friendship Heights station (hallelujah, home at last!), only to see that I am at the far end and have a very long block to go to catch the bus that would take me the rest of the way home. I slump against the building to my left, and am hit with a sweet redolence wafting from the windows open for spring - 'Frozen Yo!' I'd never been there before, but just like Garrison Keillor's rhubarb pie, I consider whether this might be just the time for it.
And it is.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Who's steering this boat?
There is a parable I've heard in various Buddhish traditions called something like 'the empty rowboat.' In case it is new to you, let me tell it, now with my own small embellishments:
Imagine I climb into a fishing boat on a very early, cool, dark, and foggy morning, and untether from the dock. It is very quiet out, though some small chirping of crickets, and the murmur of the paddles dipping in the water are just enough noise to call attention to this deep silence, the earth not yet ready to awaken. Pushing off and rowing into the gentle stream, I'm thinking ahead to the morning's catch, scanning - with some difficulty in the darkness - to the lake some thousand yards downstream. Suddenly another craft coming from upstream rams into my starboard! I drop my oars and turn to face. . .what? An empty boat! Just as suddenly as my righteous indignation had formed, it vanishes.
Where did it go? While this scenario seldom if ever plays out in just this way, the story is told, in didactic fashion, to illuminate just how ready and willing we can be to put somebody in the boat, whenever something unfortunate might happen to us. Which is perhaps part of our human nature, our genetic inheritance, a stress response to get our blood pressure up, our pulse and breath quickened, in case we need to deal with the jaguar or rocky precipice we were just about to bump into. Perhaps.
But is there a way in such a moment to find the Buddha nature some believe stirs within every one of us? Perhaps even when there actually appears to be somebody in the boat? Can we just in the moment manage to step out of the instantaneous urge to take it personally? To blame someone else? Or even to blame oneself? In the case of blaming oneself, have we made ourselves the oarsman of the boat?
Before considering that last question (itself quite worthy of at least another blog post. . .), a question which may strike some as arcane, or even pointless - as in 'of course it's my boat (i.e. my fault),' whose else could it be? Let's look at a possible understanding of what an empty boat could mean. In the case of a random stranger, somebody who may have cut you off at a traffic signal, say, or darted ahead into your lane during rush hour. Whatever the specific detail, doesn't matter, point is, you felt harmed - or at least threatened - by an action. Perhaps you look at the yuppily-clad jerk in his BMW, see his Ray-Bans and Rolex, notice his tapping and fidgeting hands on the steering wheel, and instantly know his story - or imagine you do. We do not so readily guess that he is rushing across town to be with his wife in the ER having gone into emergency pre-term labor. Or a million other possible - if not probable - causes for his reckless driving. Doesn't matter, what we seem really adept at is instantly assuming malevolent intent, and quickly finding the 'evidence' to support it.
But, what would the Buddha do? Other than walk slowly, or ride a bike (judging mind, judging mind. . .), I imagine a response with compassion might wonder what could be eating that other driver? Not to say this is anything remotely relevant (he writes, oh so self-effacingly), but I recall once driving Miller to school one morning. After coming to a four way stop, from the street on our right, instead of waiting her turn (which would have allowed mine), the SUV driver just plowed right on through the intersection without stopping. After feeling the surge of reaction in my veins, I said aloud 'may you be free of suffering' as we watched her speed off. I recall a stressed and tortured look to her profile as she steadfastly glared straight ahead. To a certain extent, it was not empty words, I think there was some feeling of compassion. Miller expressed shock at my statement, and so we discussed some of the issues raised in this post. Do I normally do that? No, normally I would feel judgment arise, and just as often give voice to that, or just remain silent. These knee-jerk reactions are also in my comfort zone. Is it better to say the compassionate thing? I think it depends. If I'm feeling judgmental and speaking words of compassion, I think perhaps over the long term would not be very mentally healthy. Perhaps by simply noticing the surge in physiological stress response, and also the rising judgments and an urge to voice harsh words might be a start. Moment by moment, noticing the reaction unfold, and even commenting as it happens to a passenger or child. 'My goodness, that scared me, I wonder what's going on with her?' Is that any less true than 'what a stupid f-ing bitch'? Seems more relevant to me.
Just read a really long article my wife showed me about the fundamental differences that various cultures have in shaping what social scientists have considered 'normal' for the human brain, and what we come to accept as human nature: http://www.psmag.com/magazines/magazine-feature-story-magazines/joe-henrich-weird-ultimatum-game-shaking-up-psychology-economics-53135/ It's a great article, but quite long. Suffice it to say that what we consider to be human nature is very culturally specific and varied - even perhaps the physiological stress response, though the article didn't go there. I recall once as a Peace Corps volunteer in Nepal witnessing a villager working at a bridge project smash his thumb between a large hammer and the head of a sixteen penny nail. He calmly set the hammer down, looked at his hand held up in the air - there was a quarter inch split in the flesh and thumbnail - folded his thumb into his fingers, and set back to work, using his knuckles to hold the nails. Do I know of any Westerner who would not drop a massive F-bomb if this happened to them? Or instantly faint? I don't know, but this seems evidence to support the idea that, created equal or not, we surely don't all end up the same.
I think there are many other empty boats (possibly nothing but empty boats in this big lake, our world), but the closer they are to us - friend, co-worker, spouse, etc. - the more difficult it is to see their possible 'empty' nature. Next time your boss is spouting inanities at you, imagine instead a toddler standing behind a baby gate with a droopy diaper, having a tantrum, and perhaps you can come to see that he is a kind of empty rowboat after all, full up with a life of conditioning - and maybe you can take his diatribe just a little bit less personally. Might it be worth some inquiry?
Imagine I climb into a fishing boat on a very early, cool, dark, and foggy morning, and untether from the dock. It is very quiet out, though some small chirping of crickets, and the murmur of the paddles dipping in the water are just enough noise to call attention to this deep silence, the earth not yet ready to awaken. Pushing off and rowing into the gentle stream, I'm thinking ahead to the morning's catch, scanning - with some difficulty in the darkness - to the lake some thousand yards downstream. Suddenly another craft coming from upstream rams into my starboard! I drop my oars and turn to face. . .what? An empty boat! Just as suddenly as my righteous indignation had formed, it vanishes.
Where did it go? While this scenario seldom if ever plays out in just this way, the story is told, in didactic fashion, to illuminate just how ready and willing we can be to put somebody in the boat, whenever something unfortunate might happen to us. Which is perhaps part of our human nature, our genetic inheritance, a stress response to get our blood pressure up, our pulse and breath quickened, in case we need to deal with the jaguar or rocky precipice we were just about to bump into. Perhaps.
But is there a way in such a moment to find the Buddha nature some believe stirs within every one of us? Perhaps even when there actually appears to be somebody in the boat? Can we just in the moment manage to step out of the instantaneous urge to take it personally? To blame someone else? Or even to blame oneself? In the case of blaming oneself, have we made ourselves the oarsman of the boat?
Before considering that last question (itself quite worthy of at least another blog post. . .), a question which may strike some as arcane, or even pointless - as in 'of course it's my boat (i.e. my fault),' whose else could it be? Let's look at a possible understanding of what an empty boat could mean. In the case of a random stranger, somebody who may have cut you off at a traffic signal, say, or darted ahead into your lane during rush hour. Whatever the specific detail, doesn't matter, point is, you felt harmed - or at least threatened - by an action. Perhaps you look at the yuppily-clad jerk in his BMW, see his Ray-Bans and Rolex, notice his tapping and fidgeting hands on the steering wheel, and instantly know his story - or imagine you do. We do not so readily guess that he is rushing across town to be with his wife in the ER having gone into emergency pre-term labor. Or a million other possible - if not probable - causes for his reckless driving. Doesn't matter, what we seem really adept at is instantly assuming malevolent intent, and quickly finding the 'evidence' to support it.
But, what would the Buddha do? Other than walk slowly, or ride a bike (judging mind, judging mind. . .), I imagine a response with compassion might wonder what could be eating that other driver? Not to say this is anything remotely relevant (he writes, oh so self-effacingly), but I recall once driving Miller to school one morning. After coming to a four way stop, from the street on our right, instead of waiting her turn (which would have allowed mine), the SUV driver just plowed right on through the intersection without stopping. After feeling the surge of reaction in my veins, I said aloud 'may you be free of suffering' as we watched her speed off. I recall a stressed and tortured look to her profile as she steadfastly glared straight ahead. To a certain extent, it was not empty words, I think there was some feeling of compassion. Miller expressed shock at my statement, and so we discussed some of the issues raised in this post. Do I normally do that? No, normally I would feel judgment arise, and just as often give voice to that, or just remain silent. These knee-jerk reactions are also in my comfort zone. Is it better to say the compassionate thing? I think it depends. If I'm feeling judgmental and speaking words of compassion, I think perhaps over the long term would not be very mentally healthy. Perhaps by simply noticing the surge in physiological stress response, and also the rising judgments and an urge to voice harsh words might be a start. Moment by moment, noticing the reaction unfold, and even commenting as it happens to a passenger or child. 'My goodness, that scared me, I wonder what's going on with her?' Is that any less true than 'what a stupid f-ing bitch'? Seems more relevant to me.
Just read a really long article my wife showed me about the fundamental differences that various cultures have in shaping what social scientists have considered 'normal' for the human brain, and what we come to accept as human nature: http://www.psmag.com/magazines/magazine-feature-story-magazines/joe-henrich-weird-ultimatum-game-shaking-up-psychology-economics-53135/ It's a great article, but quite long. Suffice it to say that what we consider to be human nature is very culturally specific and varied - even perhaps the physiological stress response, though the article didn't go there. I recall once as a Peace Corps volunteer in Nepal witnessing a villager working at a bridge project smash his thumb between a large hammer and the head of a sixteen penny nail. He calmly set the hammer down, looked at his hand held up in the air - there was a quarter inch split in the flesh and thumbnail - folded his thumb into his fingers, and set back to work, using his knuckles to hold the nails. Do I know of any Westerner who would not drop a massive F-bomb if this happened to them? Or instantly faint? I don't know, but this seems evidence to support the idea that, created equal or not, we surely don't all end up the same.
I think there are many other empty boats (possibly nothing but empty boats in this big lake, our world), but the closer they are to us - friend, co-worker, spouse, etc. - the more difficult it is to see their possible 'empty' nature. Next time your boss is spouting inanities at you, imagine instead a toddler standing behind a baby gate with a droopy diaper, having a tantrum, and perhaps you can come to see that he is a kind of empty rowboat after all, full up with a life of conditioning - and maybe you can take his diatribe just a little bit less personally. Might it be worth some inquiry?
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