Waking up: freeing ourselves from work

In Greek "necessity” (anangke) serves also as the word for "force," "constraint," "compulsion," "violence," and "duress." ...Apparently the Greeks understood very well the connection between necessity and violence, and the requisite that a citizen be a man [sic] of leisure indicates that necessity had passed from his life, and he could avoid violence in his thought and behavior. Freedom to the Greeks could only exist after the conquest of necessity, which demeans man, causing him to have to live with force and violence, his very existence under duress. In that condition he could not be political. Under the pressure of necessity, he resorted to violence. (Earl Shorris)

If truth and justice, and the better principles of our nature, cannot exist unless enforced by the statute-book, how are we to account for the social condition of the Typees? … They deal more kindly with each other, and are more humane, than many who study essays on virtue and benevolence, and who repeat every night that beautiful prayer breathed first by the lips of the divine and gentle Jesus. I will frankly declare, that after passing a few weeks in this valley of the Marquesas, I formed a higher estimate of human nature than I had ever before entertained. But alas! since then I have been one of the crew of a man-of-war, and the pent-up wickedness of five hundred men has nearly overturned all my previous theories. (Herman Melville, Typee, ch. 27)

Unless you’re black or a youth, or especially unless you’re both, you may never have had the unexhilarating and infuriating experience of being trailed around a store, or considered a leper as you walk down the street, or felt you should check yourself for tail and horns when you find yourself alone with that white woman in an elevator, or had the feeling of deep longing for “the freedom that comes from not feeling watched” that Barack experienced (as blissfully world-rocking) when he first visited Kenya.

But even if you aren’t a young black male, you’ve probably felt, whether you’re aware of it or not, the disquieting sensation that you must be ‘bad’ to warrant all the scrutiny and rigid insistence on compliance with so many towering and monolithic rules (that for some reason are more important than oneself) that all ‘workers’ and ‘citizens’ are subjected to from our first tottering steps in shady and shaky-edificed America.

Starting with our parents slapping our legs or smacking our bottoms, on to teachers grabbing and shoving us about, * onward again under our present boss’ watchful eye to the investigation by the next one – coercion and surveillance dog our lives.

That step down from the auction block may not be as long as we think.

Subliminally and not so subliminally most of us get it that our goodness is continually in doubt, and that we cannot be trusted to ‘do the right thing’ – unless we are forced.

As working people our every move is drenched in the stench of podrunk fear. Perhaps it’s time to return the package unopened, with the words, “Wrong Address Sucka,” written in big, bold, black ink all over it.

But before we can do that we have to be clear on the point that this bundle belongs to them, not us.

If I were hiring people to work, I’d try naturally to pay them a decent wage. I’d try to find out their first names, their last names, keep the company as small as possible, so I could personalize the whole thing. All I would ask a man is a handshake, see you in the morning. No applications, nothing. I wouldn’t be interested in the guy’s past. Nobody ever checks the pedigree on a mule, do they? But they do on a man. Can you picture walking up to a mule and saying, “I’d like to know who his granddaddy was?” (Mike Lefevre in Studs Terkel’s Working, p. xxxvii)

All the force and surveillance we’re subjected to is not because of who we are, but because of who they are. As Saidiya Hartman points out:

Like ruling men everywhere, they [dread] the hewers of wood, the rabble, the multitudes. They [fret] about the course of events that might place the bottom rail on top. They nervously [anticipate] the retribution of slaves. The lives sacrificed for clothe, guns, rum, and cowries [leave] their traces in the anxieties of the ruling class. (Lose Your Mother, p. 160)

(This ‘past’ is not past – yet.)

I’m sure it’s not news to you but I’ll say it anyway: the entire global system that enwraps us is erected on force, on the lie that we must be coerced to contribute, harnessed before we’ll help.

But of course it’s a lie. We know this in our bodies – and once we’re bludgeoned into doubting our bodies, each new child comes along to remind us (“Why aren’t we helping?”) that we want to help each other out, to make a difference, to contribute.

But the system – with the weight of its concrete and glass, the tension of its cinches and grasp, the fanaticism of its insistence on conflict and command – projects the opposite message.

Is this “progress?”

Each of us starts out trying to work with these coercive structures, bringing our flexible, open, funny, generous selves to the table, and our faith that Goodness will work miracles on closed grinch-hearts and a Grinch-epiphany will occur – a heart will grow where none had been before.

But, instead, our hearts get broken – or hardened.

This system cannot allow us to be our best selves, which can only expand and be realized when we can offer ourselves – and our gifts – freely.

It’s time to consider the possibility, even if only as an act of faith and solidarity with all our relations, that the world could have been unified – our energy concentrated and organized – through cooperation rather than through force.

It might have taken a hell of a lot longer, we’ll never know, but, having absorbed in our bodies, if not in our consciousnesses, the results of the breakneck destruction of our planet and the grossest violations of our mutual trust and solidarity, I think we can agree: speed is overrated.

Continue to "Progress" - Part 6

* One journeyman I worked with (a white man, if it matters) told me a story about how he and one of his teachers in high school did not get along. One day the teacher announced that his wife was going to have a baby, so Paul asked, “Have you figured out who the father is yet?” The teacher threw him against a wall and ordered him to the office, where the principal called Paul’s father. When they told Paul’s father an edited version Paul spoke up, “don’t forget to tell my father how you threw me into the wall,” and Paul’s Dad exploded, “You put your hands on my son?!” Great Dad. Great story.

Nascence to End Work

Waking up: freeing ourselves from work

Chapter III: Progress (Part 5)

Waking Up: Freeing Ourselves From Work