The Mainline, Issue #4, "The Boundary Issue"

THE MAINLINE The Boundary Issue Spring 2020, Issue #4

The Mainline is an independent, alternative publication based in Atlanta, Ga. We are a platform for those who have been hushed in mainstream media. Our aim/mission/goal is to support independent thought in a culture that’s overrun by 24/7 news cycles that only graze the surface of the issues that really matter. We aren’t fast news. Instead, we take the time to unpack the stories and events that affect us most.

Resist the meaninglessness.

Founding Editor Aja Arnold

Managing Editor Jamie Jones

Assisting Editor Dan Wakefield

Creative Director Katie Drake

Art Department

On the Cover

Alex Coltrane Katie DiGiovanna Meredith Kooi Linda McNeil Brooke Sprickman

Atlanta four-piece Kibi James at Encyclomedia.

Photographed and styled by Stefania Antonucci. Makeup by Jenny Lova. Lighting by Hailey Hannigan.

January 2020.

Editorial Photographer

Correction from Issue #3, “The Gray Issue”: Photography featured in “Entering the World of Nadia Marie” included make-up by Jenny Lova.

Richard Martin

Contributing Photographers Stefania Antonucci Ashley Bansemer Kevin Brown Kim Ruiz

Contributing Writers

Austin Adkins Aja Arnold Marina Belotserkovskay Meghan Dowlen A.R. Frank Elliot Fullerton Autumn James Charla Johnson Austin Jones Jamie Jones

Meredith Kooi Jay Morris Katherine Paist Kim Ruiz Brooke Sprickman

Find Us

Based in Atlanta, Ga. www.mainlinezine.com @mainlinezine

Contact Us

mainlinezine@gmail.com Printed by Wallace Graphics in Duluth, Ga.

LETTER from the EDITOR March 21, 2020 This is my fourth time editing this letter for our fourth issue, “The Boundary Issue.”

We present this issue to you during a time when we all prepare to embrace what is going to be a unique and turbulent time for the entire world.

(Yes, even more so than it already is.) Every day feels like an entire week, and sometimes an hour feels like an entire day.

I am, of course, referring to the coronavirus, aka COVID-19. As I write this from my bedroom, obsessively listening to True Widow (which is essentially neverending walls of guitar and fuzz), basking in candles, burning incense, all in an effort to ground myself for what’s about to come, I feel both excited and terrified; feelings which tend to feel the same in the body. As with anything, it’s all about perspective.

As of today, Atlanta isn’t in a lockdown, but there is plenty of uncertainty circulating surrounding our futures and well-being. California is in a state of panic running rampant, with lines outside of the grocery stores clocking in at about six hours long. New York City is in total lockdown. Illinois just enacted their “stay-at-home” mandate, enforcing stricter regulations on whether or not people can leave their homes. The National Guard just arrived in San Diego yesterday. By the time this is released digitally tomorrow, more will have happened. (I turned my news notifications off a couple weeks ago — a boundary between myself and the outside world to protect my mental health and emotional well-being. And I’m a journalist. That’s saying a lot.)

We are currently in the “flattening the curve” stage, and social distancing has become the new ultimate boundary. I’d like to remind everyone we are not in the apocolypse stage; we are in precautionary mode and we have a choice in how we move forward. It’s funny, because we at the Mainline have been working on this issue for months and deemed this “The Boundary Issue” back in the fall; and low and behold, everything is about boundaries now. We are all literally being forced to learn to love each other from a distance and respect each other’s space, as well as the different ways we all react to stress.

In my original letter, I raised a question for us, as a country: Where the fuck is our rock bottom and how long will it take for us to get there? Because four years of Donald Trump being president didn’t seem to do the trick. Never in my mind did I think it would be in the form of a pandemic that would drastically affect any sense of stability our country had left. But I urge everyone reading this to lean into this time and be curious about what this pandemic is truly asking of us, and to reflect on why it’s here. (And I know you got time, ‘cause you’re in quarantine.)

Because even though things are happening at an exponential rate, so much is remaining the same, and we all ought to consider what actually got us here and got the ball rolling. Our internal conditions, our broken systems, our programming. As everything is up in the air, suspended in an overwhelming anxiety that’s pushing and pulling us in one direction one minute and throwing us down a barrel the next, everything we thought we knew is being challenged. As we continue to learn more about this virus and how we interact with it, our boundaries are likely to change between us and our institutions, between each other, and within ourselves. The question is, will we be able to adapt and let go when the universe asks? Will we be able to embrace these wake up calls? Will we allow ourselves the grace to be still, even in the grips of fear? And further, will we perservere in spite of these fears and fight for what our planet is desperately calling for?

While the stories in this issue don’t carry the tone that COVID-19 has shed on everything, as it hadn’t really happened yet during our production, we can definitely appreciate the hindisght and the messages they contain. Let’s remember that as our systems attempt to adapt to address this global crisis, the powers that be will do their best to keep certain things the same. That means we continue to make music, write, speak out, and create safe spaces, especially for those of us that were already being ignored and were vulnerable in the first place. Let’s keep in mind that there is a purpose to all of this, and perhaps that is to be a chance for us to challenge these broken systems we have been fighting to repair to no avail for so long. Let this be our chance.

While it feels easy to fall into the idea of nothingness (and I’ll be the first to admit that nihilism is the best disassociation tactic) when the whole world is in a panic, let’s choose the Somethingness behind all this instead. Behind the veil, that Somethingness will reveal itself, as the pollution clears around China and in our oceans. For now it doesn’t make any sense; but let’s keep going. The more we resist, the harder it will shake us to wake us up.

Aja

TABLE OF CONTENTS MUSIC

6 KIBI JAMES IS A BAND OF FOUR AUSTIN JONES 9 ON YOUR RADAR: TAVES AJA ARNOLD 12 SWORD II: BETWEEN II GARDENS AJA ARNOLD 18 STROKE, AT MIDNIGHT AUSTIN JONES

NEWS 21 MASK OFF ON SEASON: AN EDITORIAL AJA ARNOLD, ELLIOT FULLERTON, JAMIE JONES 25 IF THEY CAN’T CENSUS, THEY WON’T PAY US JAMIE JONES 28 OP-ED: SINS OF THE FATHER ELLIOT FULLERTON 31 PRISON GERRYMANDERING: EXPLOITING INMATES FOR POLITICAL CLOUT AUSTIN ADKINS 34 OLD ATLANTA: A LOOK BACK AT A LONG-GONE ATLANTA CHARLA JOHNSON

UNPOPULAR OPINION 38 EATING CROW: A CENTRIST COOKBOOK KATHERINE PAIST 41 AMERICAN MINDFULNESS ELLIOT FULLERTON 44 PATHWAYS OF RISK: HIV IN TRANS COMMUNITIES JAY MORRIS

DEEP CUTS

47 WHO GETS TO HEAL?: A LOOK INTO CHRONIC ILLNESS AND THE USE OF PAIN’S BOUNDARIES FOR TRANSFORMATION IN CAPITALIST SOCIETY KIM RUIZ 51 I GOT THE WOLF BITE, BABY MEREDITH KOOI 55 IN HIS ROOM: AN INTERVIEW WITH TJ MAXXX MARINA BELOTSERKOVSKAY 59 A PROPER DRESS CHARLA JOHNSON 60 LOVING IN THE AGE OF CAPITALISM MEGHAN DOWLEN

CURRENTLY BERNIE SANDERS CAMPAIGN 2.0 | Man, it has been a fucking WHIRL. WIND. To watch something many of us were passionate about in 2016 but was widely rejected because the world wasn’t ready come back four years later to a much wider and loving reception has been an emotional rollercoaster. It’s one full of hope, fear, and excitement. It’s also extremely validating to hear people understand that universal healthcare is not radical. Believing everyone should afford to live is not radical. And you know what, the establishment may very well block Sanders from the White House and 2016 could very likely happen again. But what this campaign — sorry, movement — has done is bring humanity back into politics, become a haven for the working class, re-energized people who have been disengaged for so long, energized people who are entering the fold of U.S. politics for the first time, and given us something real. That is something huge and momentous in and of itself, because it means we are working to reshape the paradigm that we as Americans have been stuck living in for so long. No matter what happens, thank you Bernie <3 Sanders 4 ever!

— Aja Arnold

VOICES | I hear several, two on repeat, and their combined message could not be more poignant. It’s Gwen and Britney, of course, because This (Toxic) Shit Is Bananas. You already know the list of troubling topics, and I’m sure you can concur that shit is indeed B-A-N-A-N-A-S. And also Toxic, both medically on a global scale and the baneful level of misconduct on behalf of basically everyone who serves the rich. IT’S A LOT. But, we must deal with this shit, and it’s even worse than the hellride of a status quo that is foundational to so much of our shared dismay in the first place. Another voice has been urging me to be “ready for anything” — this is not the end of the chaos. Another reminds me that, “We are all in this together, pissed off and bummed out all at once.” It takes a lot of energy to simply exist, even more to feel empathy for every one of our peers below that certain unattainable line.

Maybe we need to hear a voice tell us “it’s okay to feel dejected.” It is, and you are not alone.

At the planetary level even, we are all in this together. I want to be there for that and so should you. I’m currently obsessed with listening to these voices that demand being present and mindful.

For me, that means not drinking alcohol in order to stay sharp and learn everything I can about this mess we’re in. I also need more energy to deal with living through this enigma in a way that elevates others. We’re all we’ve got, and everything is urgent. What will you do to put a dent in the madness?

— A.R. Frank

NASHVILLE, TN | On March 3, 2020, Tennessee was hit by a tornado that not only destroyed homes and businesses throughout the area, but also left many injured or dead. A few of us Atlantans were in Nashville at the time. We had no idea our final outing in East Nashville would end with us huddled in the dark waiting out a tornado that could destroy the building we were in at any second.

Everything changed so quickly — we went from socializing and dancing to realizing our lives were in legitimate danger within minutes. This event was a precursor to the coronavirus outbreak in the U.S., making it especially foreboding in the energy that’s since enveloped the country. In the midst of all of this, let’s remember to support and love each other and remember the reasons why we are grateful to be alive.

DONATE TO SUPPORT NASHVILLE rebuildnorthnashville.com hon.org thenashvillefoodproject.org — Brooke Sprickman Photography Credit: Armando Celentano

DISASSOCIATING THE FUCK OUT OF EVERYTHING | These methods include but are not limited to: reading Wikipedia in a gametype way (I pick two topics that are very different from each other and try to lurk Wikipedia until I get from the first topic to the second; it exhausts me and helps me fall asleep); I Love Hue game on iPhone/ iPad; baths/naps/face masks; reading spoilers to “The Bachelor” and then trying to create spoilers for my own future even though this is logically and temporally impossible (please see: imaginary shower conversations); going to fucking Target; trying to learn code just by Googling it. Full disclosure: I’m doing fine. I am fully aware this blurb makes me sound insane, but hey we’re all trying to survive here.

— Katherine Paist

OBSESSED

OFTEN | Often is an Atlanta-based solo artist I first met at an Intersection event that took place underneath a disco ball in a coffeehouse in West Midtown. It was December — Sagittarius season, and the energies that month were hard for a lot of people. Often (real name Austin McAllister) blew me away with her mix of vulnerability, humor, and amazing songwriting. She called on everyone to sit and close their eyes for two minutes during her set; I think it’s a rare find for musicians to stop their set and divert the attention away from them to have the audience reflect on themselves. Less ego, more compassion. I caught her again at a house show in which there were homemade cotton clouds with string lights and Often played some of her classics along with new songs. Check her out on Spotify; the song “Fire” is literally fire and her upcoming EP Bad Company will be out April 8. New single and video “Blink” out now.

— AA

THIS PIC OF A SQUIRREL SMELLING A DAISY Apparently this photo went viral last fall, so I’m a bit behind the times, but at least I caught on now. Dutch nature photographer Dick Van Duijn travelled to Vienna specifically to take photographs of ground squirrels, and I’m sure glad he did. The series of images leading up to, during, and after the embrace displays tentative investigation, joy, and contentment, and deep surprise after taking a bite and realizing that that is not what I expected! But, it’s all good because that moment of surrender to the flower and the deep embrace of it was worth it. At least, that’s how I’m choosing to read it. And that’s why I’m obsessed with it.

— Meredith Kooi WIEUCA’S “MAN OF THE HOUSE” MUSIC VIDEO | Wieuca’s “Man of the House” Music Video depicts a father-figure with a toxically tyrannical rule over his Atlanta home. That’s really the only thing I know for sure because this video is full of troublesome, and mostly illegible, ideas. I beg you to watch it, as I find it indescribable. I can say that some of the lyrics are things the proverbial man of the house likes: grilling, drinking, guns, country renditions of the national anthem, and being cucked by his friend Stan. It gets really out of control.

This is a joke on masculinity, but it’s also not fully reading as satire. And even if it is parody of some kind, do I want a dude talking to me about this subject? I’m not sure, but “Man of the House” has left me with a myriad of questions for which I do not have answers.

However, I’ve watched the video for “Man of the House” a staggering 50+ times, and I’ve listened to the track even more on Spotify. At this point, I like it: it’s uniquely genrebending, absurdly catchy, and the vocal delivery is a perfect sonic accompaniment to the track’s message(?). I think these Butt Rock-esque vocals are hard as hell, and they’re kind of doing it for me. That’s really fucking me up. Has this song infected me?

— Autumn James THIS BERNIE SANDERS STICKER DESIGNED BY ATLANTA ARTIST LINDA MCNEIL| I wasn’t fucking joking when I said I’m obsessed with the Sanders campaign! That includes some various splinters that arrive in the form of poetry, music, and artwork, like this GEM from the immensely talented ATL resident Linda McNeil. If you’re not familiar, she took the album art of Sonic Youth’s Dirty and repurposed it for Sanders 2020. Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon are already aware and Thurston made an IG post about it. If you don’t know me yet, something that is integral to my existence is my ongoing obsession and undying love for Sonic Youth, so. That’s a whole other blurb, but just with that you now know me 70% better.

— AA

KIBI JAMES IS A BAND OF FOUR

By Austin Jones Photography by Stefania Antonucci

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hat is a band if not a sum of its parts? Guitars, synth, drums, bass — these elements fuse together sonically and manifest as one unit, as “song.” You already knew that, didn’t you?

Well, how about this: we can apply that same logic to the people behind those instruments, to the fingers, vocal cords, and compositional eyes behind every band. Here’s a simple equation to demonstrate: Ariana Abede (drums) + Miranda Corless (bass) + María González (guitar) + Yvette González (guitar) = Kibi James Simple, right? Here’s the wrench: by adding these individual parts, these “players,” we’re left with a transformative by-product. In other words, the equation above is inherently flawed; behind each member of Kibi James is a world’s worth of factors and moving parts, each representing an umbrella of experience. It seems impossible, the idea that four people could merge to create cohesive pop music. “When we’re together, the four of us disappear and Kibi James is like one person,” Yvette notes, an observation she’d made only after a friend pointed it out.

Who is Kibi James, then? All four of the members laugh darkly, and for a moment, I’m unsure if I’m going to get a solid answer on that one. María speaks up: “One morning, we all woke up and we were recounting our dreams to each other, and

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we realized we had this figure in our dreams the past night. Like one of those sleep paralysis entities. And the name Kibi James appeared in all four of our dreams that night.”

So… wait. Kibi James is their collective sleep paralysis demon? “And we found his Facebook!”

Ariana interjects. It stuck, they say, after they used it on a flyer for their first show. Their set was 3 minutes long.

So we have this person, this man, Kibi James. What is he defined by? “He’s kinda like our child,” Miranda whispers. She’s having her makeup done, starting to look very Bowie with electric blue liner.

Like any good parent, all four of the girls dote on Kibi; there’s a definite warmth to the nurturing tone they use to speak of the band, with each member taking turns watering the ideas of identity Kibi James toils with.

“ONE MORNING, WE ALL WOKE UP AND WE WERE RECOUNTING OUR DREAMS TO EACH OTHER, AND WE RE ALIZED WE HAD THIS FIGURE IN OUR DREAMS THE PAST NIGHT.”

Kibi Jamies is (from left to right): Maria González, Ariana Abede, Miranda Corless, & Yvette González.

“We look back now [on our first recordings], and we’re like, it’s cute.” And here’s the word, courtesy of Ariana: “cute.” As an adjective, it’s quite loaded, and if you look at any press about the band, you’re sure to find this word (or one of its many synonyms) somewhere in the mix. Back in 2016, Grimes, on the heels of her mega-successful album Art Angels, decried the word “cute” in a DIY Mag interview: “I don’t wanna succeed on the basis of cute naivety, or endearing failure or charming lack of knowledge. I want to succeed because I’m good.”

It’s undeniable, that “cute” is a bit of a benevolent microaggression. We see it with female artists all the time — we compare them to fairies, or aliens, or animals, which then robs them of their natural creative agency. Does it have to be so dire though? As a morpheme, is “cute” inherently cast in the male gaze? As Atlanta’s self-proclaimed sweethearts, they’re the perfect people to ask.

“It’s something we’ve never talked about. We’re always like, ‘oh my god, we’re so cute!’” Yvette says, and it’s earnest — if there’s one trait that binds each member of Kibi James, it’s their honesty, their authenticity. “I think it started off ironically.

We know we’re cute, we have this angelic vibe going on,” María says, followed by Ariana: “But I feel like ‘cute’ is like… we’re happy people. Cute is a way of life!” Their way of life — cuteness is a title, created and ascribed by Kibi James for Kibi

James. In that way, it eschews being reductive; they’re in on it, they like it, they live it.

Sonically, their first EP, Azúcar, doesn’t just hit on “cute.” On your first listen, there’s an array of influences that might strike you before you land on a word as vague or mood-laced as “cute.” Tracks like “Cada Día” sway with an effortless deadpan, drawing on elements of Bossa Nova and slacker sensibility, while “Baby’s Gone” soars with sweeping, honeyed vocals and deliberate drums, with ’50s girl-group hums and realized folk-pop sentiment. “Slow Motion” is defined by its play with time, unique among the other more classically structured (yet lovingly scattershot) tracks on Azúcar. Each song shakes with a panoply of grab bag influences, yet somehow lends itself to a global comity. And it feels like that could only happen here, right now, with these four. “[Azúcar] was us learning the fundamentals of like, what are we, and how are we learning to write songs together. It’s about forming that connection with each other, and that’s what the EP stands for.” As María says this, she looks to each of her friends, eyeing them individually. The three nod in turn. “We really song-by-song were learning how to make music,” Yvette says, continuing “so retrospectively, yeah, it is very sweet to me.

We’re still learning.”

KIBI JAMES’ SWEETNESS IS HOMEY, A PRODUCT OF FRIENDSHIP & CAMARADERIE.

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t all loops back to the saccharine, but not in a bubblegum-pop, hyperactive sort of way — no, Kibi James’ sweetness is homey, a product of friendship and camaraderie. Miranda, now with her makeup done and looking like a young superhero, joins in: “We were all friends before we were in the band, and that aspect makes us being in a band pretty wholesome. It has sweet beginnings. So it makes sense for our first project to encapsulate that,” and here’s the but: “There is this notion that being cute makes things more digestible. Maybe if things were different or we were perceived differently, our efforts wouldn’t be recognized. Especially being in an all femme band, there’s this idea that that’s why people like you, and that’s why people are stanning you.”

Here’s the thing: Kibi James are hyper-aware of optics, and they know how people are going to perceive that. So why not play into it, tug on that string, then tip everyone’s expectations? “I will lend myself to ‘Atlanta Sweethearts’ in kind of a mocking way, but at the same time, this is such a community for us. I think we’re already friends, and there’s an uplifting community around us. So for now I’m fine with people calling us cute.” That doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll be fine with it tomorrow!

When asked about their friendship, Ariana turns

to Yvette immediately. “I met you in high school!”

Yvette laughs. “I met Miranda almost four or five years ago. I met [Ariana] like… around the same time?” And then there’s María. Ariana fills us in on that one: “I met María at Georgia State. I was in the dorms and María lived in a whole ass house.

So everyone would go to María’s house, it was the spot. I met a lot of friends there.” I ask if they’re each others’ mains. Ariana asks for clarification.

“Oh, like main baes.” María, who has been drawing for some time, says she feels like they each have their own separate lives.

HERE’S THE THING: KIBI JAMES ARE HYPERAWARE OF OP TICS, AND THEY KNOW HOW PEOPLE ARE GOING TO PERCEIVE THAT.

Ariana lives in Athens, having transferred recently to UGA. She commutes to Atlanta for recording sessions and meetings. She was the last to arrive for the interview by some time; the other three informed me she left straight after class. It was about 7 p.m. by the time she made it. Yvette just finished undergrad at Georgia State, and María and Miranda are finishing up their Bachelor’s there as well. Their majors couldn’t be more different, too — among the four, English, human learning and development, technology, and biology are represented. The four of them would probably never run into each other in the same hallway, much less a classroom. “We all happen to be at the busiest points in our lives,” Miranda says. It’s a minor obstacle for a young band eager to keep creating.

Yvette follows up, saying “It’s interesting how Kibi James has evolved our friendship, because these aren’t the girls I ask to go do this and this. But when we do get together, I have this respect and love for them. It’s different from my other friends.” I think, if they thought about it, the word they would arrive on is “family.” The four interact in a naturalistic way, often completing each other’s thoughts and well-attuned to the space the others occupy.

They look to one another for answers, and seem, in many ways, to trust each other’s wisdom on any given subject, passing the baton when they’ve exhausted their own thought. It’s, to borrow from their personal lexicon, very sweet to see.

THE GROUP WANTS TO SLOW DOWN, WORK ON THEIR SONGWRITING, & NOT FEEL RUSHED TO COMPLETE ANYTHING NEW.

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hen asked what’s next, Miranda takes the lead. “It’s funny, we haven’t even done that many interviews, but I feel like we’ve talked about the same thing so many times.” This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, as their interviewer — repetitiveness. “I definitely, like, still want people to know I stand for an inclusive community and a queer space and us taking up space in that. But at the same time, it feels like…” It takes her a second to reach it. “Those feel like buzzwords.”

Already thinking about their narrative, the members of Kibi James show an acute awareness of where they’re going. They might not know how they get there, but they’ve got all the tools they need to make it; they want to be taken seriously, and respected for their artistry. “I want to move on thinking like, we can do this. On to the next thing,” María says. As for more immediate, concrete next moves, the group has a music video recorded and ready to release. They’re waiting for the right time to drop it. The group wants to slow down, work on their songwriting, and not feel rushed to complete anything new — Miranda notes they put their EP out not because they felt finished, but because they joined Neon Indian and Sugar Candy Mountain’s tours in support. “What else would we tell them to do, follow us on Instagram?”

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humor, their own territory to fill sonically or physically. Kibi James then might not be a person made from the limbs of four people. Instead, as Miranda put it, he’s a child, filled with the love provided by and precepts taught through his parents.

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s I leave Kibi James — the unit and the individuals — I’m reminded that, when I arrived, I overheard Miranda explaining why she recently shelved Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. She found it didactic, noting each passing chapter was like a moralizing lesson for the girls. Like the four sisters in Little Women, the members of Kibi James possess an unshakeable bond but also individual, diverging lives. In contrast, the four have no need of a Marmee to teach them lessons — they’re perfectly capable of teaching themselves.

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ON YOUR RADAR:

TAVES

By Aja Arnold

Photography by Richard Martin

“Think about how you respond to Black hair and what the fuck you’re saying when you think about Black hair, because a lot of that shit is conditioned. I don’t even know how to fucking feel about it anymore... except to make my ass easily accessible for haters to kiss it.”

(soundcloud.com/tavesfaves) that featured a few demos dating back to early 2018. No Facebook, no “About” page, no Instagram, as far as I could tell. But there’s a reason why Taves isn’t really to be found on the internet; perhaps this isn’t the type of “accessibility” they were referring to.

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Those demos are now the Akátá EP that is to be released at the end of April 2020 via Harsh Riddims (Ryan Park/Fit of Body’s independent Atlanta-based label). In the beginning of our interview, Taves explained that “Akátá” means a “cat away from home” in Yoruba and doubles as a pejorative for Black Americans who were enslaved. Needless to say, I knew what Taves and I would be talking

hese are the words of house/electronic musician Taves, 25, from their live performance at the Mainline/Irrelevant Music/My Illegal Body event in September 2019 in Atlanta, Ga. They were wearing a crop top, a mini, and a blue wig, dispersing some quick jabs of real talk in between the beatific drone tracks that comprised their set.

When I went to find more of Taves’ music online, I didn’t find much outside of a SoundCloud account

about for almost the rest of the interview. Read below to learn Taves’ story, why they are wary about sharing themselves online, and what it means to be POC in America (and more specifically, Atlanta) today. Like, what it actually means. Not what people who claim they’re progressive think it means.

The demos for Akátá go back to around February 2018. Can you share with us about your process, the recording, and what it’s been like for this one?

Usually when I start writing music, it’s either out of boredom, anxiety, frustration, or all three. So that was where that came from. I actually made that project with not releasing it in mind, so that’s probably why it took me two years to release it.

As far as my process, I use Ableton, I build my own beats, I build my own parts, everything I produce myself. Except for the official tracks, [which] a friend post-produced ... But for the most part, I created everything myself. I’m trying to think about the process, it was so long ago (laughs).

I’m interested in the boredom, frustration, anxiety — do you feel that’s where a lot of your work comes from? Can you tell me more about that?

The frustration is the main thing for me, because I feel like it’s difficult to communicate with the outside world in just plain speaking and conversations. So I gravitated more towards music, because it was hard to say certain things without people either getting up in arms, like offended about it, or just like tired of hearing the same rhetoric. My frustration is deeply rooted in my depression from both being a physical issue as well as a socio-economic issue. Because of my family background, most of the time it’s been very dysfunctional. And that caused me to have a hard time in opening up and talking to people and properly [expressing] myself. So I felt like music was the only proper way I could express myself without stepping on toes.

It sounds like your music practice is pretty private and is more for you to cope with things — the human condition. Is that why there’s not a lot of online content?

Yeah, I don’t like the idea of being consumed, because I feel like that’s the end-all-be-all for most Black people in America: to be consumed. It’s so attached to social media for me, where I have a strong protest and disdain for [it]. I don’t use it or I disable it a lot. It’s a huge way to compartmentalize a person of color, especially since we have this racial polarity here. It happens to be the black skin mostly when it comes to cultural trendsetting. Like, it has been based and built off of Black bodies.

The whole thing about people liking Black culture 10

but not Black people is that kind of started, for me, in my opinion, the whole perspective of covert racism. You know, I know many people who are like, “I love this artist who’s Black” or “I love this author who’s Black,” but in their day-to-day lives, I can see micro-aggressions they perpetuate.

I also see ways where the conversations go over their heads. And I’m like, are you actually trying to understand the more human part of Blackness, or are you more attracted to the superficiality of it?

Like what you see, and what you feel from it whenever you see these elements of Blackness and edginess and creativity driven from poverty. You know, those kinds of things, and a lot of white people — especially within my circle, artists around here — who are not making the full connections about how that doesn’t necessarily constitute as understanding Blackness and the struggle of being Black.

Do you have any examples of that, where the connection isn’t coming all the way through?

It usually has a lot to do with the socio-economic part of it. I have a lot of friends who mean very well, but we’re from different classes altogether.

And it’s like, yeah, we’re middle class. We share that in common. But at the same time, I’m more so lower than middle-class, and I have friends who are middle to upper-middle class. And whenever I talk about things like school, like, “It’s too much to go to school,” and they’ll be like, “Yeah, I understand, the mental effect and emotional aspect of not being able to go back to school.” And I’m like, I was talking about money. Then going into certain spaces with my friends who are either lighter than me, or a completely different race, or white all together where I am approached last, I’m addressed last, and people don’t even notice that.

And I notice it every single time. That’s my reality every single day. That’s some people’s reality every single day.

What do you think the local music and art community can do better?

What should it continue doing?

As far as right now, what’s going well, I’m starting to see more people of color on bills that I otherwise wouldn’t see. A lot of alternative bills, or indie rock bills, or DJing, even. Because I noticed that was really white for a second, and a lot of Black DJs weren’t getting as much face time or as much work because they didn’t have the same platforms or that much money. But that’s starting to change now with the DIY spaces that are putting on Black artists and then the Black artists themselves, the DJs, are creating their own platforms. As far as how it can be better, I would like to see people really push what they believe a Black body can be seen doing. So I would like to see a lot more acts where it’s very unconventional, it’s not in the lane of trap, or R&B, or something that’s known for being a Black-based genre or lane. It would be

nice to see Black artists but in the same space and held at the same respect as the white artists.

Are you tapped into politics right now?

I kind of am, but at the same time, I’m not super well-versed. A lot of my political understanding comes from my day-to-day life and how I walk through the world. ’Cause I come from an area where there are little to no white people there. So it’s like, being in that kind of setting… I’m like, in my area with all these different backgrounds within a close proximity — you know, if you’re a compassionate person — there’s different obstacles and discrimination that other groups go through, and just becoming aware of that. So that’s how I’ve been informed politically. I would be in class with a friend, and we were all getting ready to go to college. And one of my friends was like, “Oh, I can’t apply because I’m not a citizen here.” That whole dream for her was stripped away because of that one fact. Being 16 at the time, you’re just like, “What the fuck? Why is that happening to you? You don’t deserve that.” And all these other thoughts that start pouring out. As far as my friends who are part of the Asian community… a lot of my friends are from Vietnam. And learning about the conflict of the Vietnam War and the residual effects of it, on the families’ mental health, on how they operate financially, on how they move through the world, and how they present themselves because of this conflict from the ’70s, it’s just something that spoke to me. And it’s just like, that’s crazy. It’s like how I still see the effects of slavery in my household.

How can visual art and social media be navigated differently for Black artists to feel and be more respected rather than consumed?

In a lot of ways, I kind of just refrain from most visual media. I feel like a part of me is retained and preserved by doing that, by not participating in that aspect. As far as music videos and video interviews and things of that sort, I can’t do it.

Because I feel like once you see the visual of a Black artist, that becomes the only thing people can focus on.

So did Ryan put you up to putting out the Akátá EP or did you reach out to him?

It was a personal decision. I reached out to him.

Because I have seen his work and his performances and what he’s doing in the Atlanta music community, and I was like, “Yeah, I’m gonna work with this person.” This is the most genuine label I’ve seen, and this is also the most genuine attitude, because a lot of people get caught up in branding and aesthetics and appealing to a certain group of people. And he does have that element to his work and everything, but at the same time, it’s like,

it felt like a home, you know? Like this is where you can come as a Black artist and you don’t have to worry about being confined into boxes.

What are your influences for this EP? As far as influences in music, it stems from all Black music, period. Even going into the UK. A lot of the UK has influenced my music: two-step, their house [genre] over there, garage, just the way they do music over there. And seeing a lot of Black artists that we hadn’t seen here because we live in a huger country, it’s not as concentrated as there. And a lot of the artists there are talking about how Black people are seen. We want to be able to celebrate, we want to be able to live, we want to be able to express our pain, but just leaving it out on the dance floor. And that’s something that really spoke to me, especially Chicago house here. Just letting everything ooze out in beats and melodies and calling and responding to certain lines in music. A lot of Black artists created those kinds of elements, so you could be able to have a fabric whenever you’re in a room with other Black people. And I’ve seen that that’s started to kind of dwindle a little. Like especially [in Atlanta] with Trap. Like, for me, I do enjoy trap music, but as far as the community, I’m not very attached to it, I’m not very connected to it. But at the same time, I can admire it. But also at the same time, I want to be able to create a new space where Black people who don’t feel like they fit in that paradigm can come be like, “Alright, this works. I can be as strange and weird and responsive and reactive as I want to be.”

Keep an eye out for the Akátá EP out via Harsh Riddims in late April 2020.

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SWORD II:

BETWEEN II GARDENS

By Aja Arnold / Photography by Kevin Brown

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ew(-ish) Atlanta indie four-piece Sword II might feel like no big thing at first glance. The band self-released its first EP entitled Between II Gardens — four songs stacked with layers of lo-fi samples and lustrous instrumental textures that are bound to draw oversimplified personifications to My Bloody Valentine, True Widow, and Murray Street-era Sonic Youth — into the vast ether of Spotify on Jan. 9, 2020. But underneath, in the stories of its four members, Carter Sutherland (guitar/vocals), Travis Arnold (guitar/vocals), Maria González (bass/vocals), and José Izaguirre (drums), is something critically relevant to the landscape of Atlanta music and its countless splinters.

For anyone slightly embedded in the local Atlanta music scene, Sword II doesn’t arrive as a total stranger. Izaguirre is the guitarist and vocalist for Latinx punk band Yukons, González plays guitar in Latinx lo-fi garage pop outfit Kibi James, Arnold plays guitar in up-and-coming hardcore outfit Playytime, and Sutherland has been in a slew of Atlanta bands over the years, including Sea Ghost and Trashcan. Both Yukons and Kibi James have received exceedingly positive reviews and reception from Atlanta’s music scene since their inceptions, with their names regularly adorning the bills of the city’s most noteworthy line-ups, seemingly moving them forward at a steady pace for some time.

Combine the factors of two relatively busy bands and the fact that most of the members are college students, and it’s reasonable to wonder how Sword II came to exist at all. Beyond the how, there is the question of why Sword II exists. But we’ll get to that.

As for the “how,” well… Sword II pretty much happened on accident. Sword II began as four friends getting together to play music in a basement at Suther land and Arnold’s Lakewood residence over the course of a year and a half

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Sword II is (from left to right) Carter Sutherland, José Izaguirre, Travis Arnold, & Maria González.

until, boom, they had an EP. But even calling it that feels a little too formal.

“We’re all really close friends in general and we all hang out on a regular basis,” says González. “We started making music at Carter’s like a year and a half ago. This EP is a culmination of different things that we’d worked on. Every time we meet, we work on something new. Then we were like, ‘Oh, we have all these songs. Might as well finish them or something.’”

According to Izaguirre, none of them actually meant for this to be a band, and yet, they’ve created something pretty powerful and potent with the smallest of intentions. Clocking in under 20 minutes, Between II Gardens takes you on a stir-crazy course of zig-zag patterns, regularly oscillating between peaceful harmonies and stoner rock and post-punk clamoring. Along with guitar and vocals, Sutherland mans the sampler, which is full of random sounds and clips of outside recordings that have been chopped and screwed beyond recognition to become something new entirely. Opener “Master Plan,” featuring Arnold on vocals, is mesmerizing and ethereal while simultaneously a little catastrophic and confusing, opening the door to the question, “Where the fuck are we going with this, and how did we get here to begin with?”

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tandout track “Garden” features González singing with Sutherland’s vocals kicking in later along with a switch-up in Izaguirre’s drum beat, successfully showing that the members of Sword II are masters of transitioning from one vibe and sound to another. All fragments work together and are distilled into one sick, hook-driven track that leaves you feeling comforted and on edge at the same time. “Energy” is similar but a bit more dreamscape-y, with Sutherland and González complimenting each other’s vocals once again over wonky and bright loops. One notable lyrical moment stands out when Sutherland sings, “I’m full of apathy / Nothing is left for me,” as his and González’s vocals hover

ALL FRAGMENTS WORK TO GETHER AND ARE DISTILLED INTO ONE SICK, HOOKDRIV EN TRACK THAT LEAVES YOU FEELING COMFORTED AND ON EDGE AT THE SAME TIME. The EP’s closer “Shower” is a course-changer and in some of the best ways, truly making this EP a sort of “sound collage,” if one were to call anything that. Following the light and swerve-y “Energy,” “Shower” begins with a sample of someone saying, “My interest is to have lots of money and buy clothes, to have nice things, and to be someone. I can see it now… ” and it feels as if we are coming to in someone else’s daydream. The words are distorted and delayed over whooshing effects and heavy, fuzzed out barre chords; and then things suddenly lift up, with Arnold singing and González “ooh”-ing in the background.

“Shower” is like three tracks wrapped up into one, but it works — except maybe the autotune bit that overcomes the bridge after a slick guitar solo and tattering drum cymbals, which arrives as a bit of an outlier and confusing as to why they used it.

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arrived to one of Sword II’s band practices with this use of autotune in mind, intending to ask why they chose to use the autotune in that segment of the song. It felt intentional, or at least I thought.

However, five minutes into sitting in on the practice session, I realized it probably wasn’t intentional or something they put much thought into, at all. What I gathered is that Sword II is purely extemporaneous — it happens in the moment as it happens, and many decisions are made on the spot, after being only briefly tampered and fucked with. Further, it’s not to impress anyone. Further, Sword II isn’t really for anyone except for them.

The thing about Sword II that could potentially disturb the egos of many in the music scene and industry who are hungrily chasing the rise, exhaustingly trying to “figure out” that perfect recipe of breaking into the business, frantically branding and re-branding, is this: the natural way Sword II operates, in the most minimal sense of the word, actually works in terms of the resulting “product.”

Why? Because it’s real, without being overly calculated. We call that “organic.” And all with little to no effort — and little to no consideration of what anyone else might think of it.

Why did they wash out the bridge in “Shower” with a heavy dose of autotune? Because they felt like it… at the time. Will they do that live? No. Did Sutherland seem to forget they used it in the recording that eventually became the official EP release when I asked about it? Yeah, pretty much.

Low and behold, folks, not everything is intentional; some things just are they way they are in that moment, never to be seized or regurgitated again.

At practice, Sutherland asked if we could make them “look evil, but like they didn’t care.” Almost everything in the space was on the brink of falling apart, with a sampler resting on two empty upside-down paint buckets and Sutherland’s microphone draped in an old t-shirt for shock prevention. Sutherland was shocked through the fabric a few times throughout practice anyway. In the space, I recall three keyboards, six amps, plus a miniature one on the floor, and a banjo with a message scribed on it that appeared to read, “On June 16, 2017, my feeling grew to something else.”

Nothing about Sword II is about status, clout, or even getting shit done. It’s simply about being in a space that was created by the artists for the artists to be themselves without any intrusion or scrutiny.

NOTHING ABOUT SWORD II IS ABOUT STATUS, CLOUT, OR EVEN GETTING SHIT DONE. This brings us to the “why” behind Sword II, and it’s multi-faceted. Atlanta has no shortage of musical talent. Attending the band’s practice reminded me of the fact that Atlanta has perhaps never fully recovered from the 2015 closing of Thunderbox, which resided near the old Masquerade on North Avenue and was the home of a wide range of bands’ practice space for years. Today, the barrier the city faces far too often is that it cyclically encounters a shortage of both practice and performance spaces for all the bands and talent to go. Naturally, artists and creatives fend for themselves and find other places. They create their own spaces when they have to, because it is in creative expression that many find a gateway to redemption or at the very least relief, therefore constituting it a means of survival. Bands today mostly practice in their homes outside the inner city limits or share spaces located in the less renovated or revitalized parts of town, farther removed from everything else, making creating art a little bit more of a struggle. This is, in part, how gentrification works. And Atlanta sure has a lot of that.

The space challenge the city faces is perpetuated when venues decide to change their booking tastes or in-house booking agents to cater to the demands of people who are moving into these cookie-cutter aspiring neighborhoods, or the venue owners decide they simply don’t want “certain people” in their venues at all. The signs are clear, with windows decked out in flyers touting a multitude of white-washed line-ups as the establishments create even more barriers for DIY artists, especially those in marginalized groups.

Of course, there are alternative solutions to this.

In terms of physical space, DIY venues such as Mammal Gallery’s satellite venue Food Court at the MET, the Bakery, and now New Square located downtown are there to provide a platform for such artists to have their shows. Albeit away from

where the city experiences the most foot traffic, making it even more difficult for artists to become recognized within the local cultural sphere. This is a problem.

Additionally and more specifically within the Atlanta music scene, there is a shortage in terms of its catalog — meaning it is not as diverse as it should be. All of which goes back to the premise that there is absolutely no shortage of musical talent in Atlanta, across the board of genres, cultural

identities, and various communities. Unfortunately, this richness is not reflected in many show lineups.

When one takes a look at Atlanta, at first glance they are still bound to think of the Black Lips or Deerhunter; and it’s fair to say that those days are long gone. Even when someone takes a closer look, they have to dig pretty deep to find where all the really good stuff is. What a confounding state for a local scene to experience when it has so much culture burgeoning within it. However, this is what happens when there are little means for it to really break free and see the light of day beyond the same two dive bars in East Atlanta, consistently being pushed further into corners both in terms of venues and practice space. As a result, Atlanta is widely perceived to only continue echoing the same shit it’s put out for over a decade.

Back to the question: why does Sword II exist and why is it so important? Because even with two other bands, its members still felt a need to create another space that was detached enough from the “scene” to make them feel completely nurtured and free to fully manifest their identities and tastes.

“WHEN I THINK OF A ‘SCENE’ HERE, I THINK OF IT AS SOME THING THAT I DON’T REALLY WANNA BE A PART OF,” SAYS IGUAZIRRE. “IT’S SOMETHING I FIND MYSELF CONSTANTLY TAKING SPACE AWAY FROM AND BEING LIKE, ‘I’M GON NA DO THIS WITH MY FRIENDS THAT UNDERSTAND ME MORE,’ BECAUSE I THINK IT’S JUST TOO MUCH OF THE SAME OR NOT ENOUGH OF SOMETHING I RELATE TO. I LOVE ATLANTA, BUT A LOT OF TIME I’M LIKE, THIS SHIT IS DRY AS HELL.” Both Yukons and Kibi James sing in Spanish in their songs, while Sword II does not — but this doesn’t necessarily make this extension less of a Latinx expression group than the others. When Igazuirre and González met to discuss Sword II, the question about Latinx identity in their music came up.

“It’s like if you have half your brain in Spanish and half of it is in English,” explains González, “and only the English part is getting nurtured, there’s this whole other side of me that I don’t get to express, and it isn’t understood or received by other 13

The little press that Yukons has received doesn’t do anything to dig deeper into the Latinx side of the band, which I deemed “weird.” So when I had my chance, I asked why it is important for them to speak up and be loud, primarily because Yukons proclaims in all caps on its Bandcamp:

“I LIVE IN A COUNTRY THAT’S DISGRACED LATINX PEO PLE. AS A LATINX INDIVIDU AL, I FEEL IT IS IMPORTANT TO CREATE AND SPEAK UP AND SHARE AND BE LOUD RIGHT NOW. PEOPLE GIVE ME DIRTY LOOKS WHEN THEY HEAR MY SPANISH IN PUBLIC NOW. NEARLY HALF THE SONGS ON ‘SOUTH OF THE EQUATOR’ WILL BE IN SPANISH. THAT’S WHAT LAT INX EXPRESSION MEANS.” “People do ask about it,” Igazuirre clarified, “but it’s weird to talk about it, so it doesn’t come out in the final interview. To me, [it’s] something that I want to incorporate in the music and experiment with and see. The future for music I imagine is a future where projects, bands, and a country can have different languages and not have to keep using the language that’s spoken predominantly in the country where the audience is from. But talking about it’s weird, ’cause it kind of just happens and it’s just the way I make music.”

Upon further reflection, yes. It is weird to ask someone why they think it is so important to speak out on their identity, because it’s their fucking identity. It’s who they are — why wouldn’t that be important for someone? So perhaps the question should be different to reflect the disharmonious nature of our outer systems — the music industry and journalism included — when it comes to their interactions and relations with marginalized groups, including Latinx communities, other POC communities, LGBTQ+ communities, and female-identifying artists.

The question should no longer be “why is it so important for marginalized individuals to speak out about their identities?” We should

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know why by now, and there is no question that they should continue to do so. But there should be a time that marginalized communities are speaking out from a place of pride received with immediate acceptance, not as a means to combat the lack of resources or recognition of their communities. Our country should have evolved past the point of needing marginalized groups to scream they exist in order for us to know they do.

dio station at night and NPR during the day — another example of cultural gentrification Atlanta has experienced in the past decade.

THEREFORE, THE QUESTION BECOMES, WHY DOES IT REMAIN NECESSARY TO OUR OUTER SYSTEMS THAT THE MARGINALIZED STAND UP FOR THEIR IDENTITIES IN ORDER FOR THEM TO BE SEEN AND HEARD?

BECAUSE IT’S ALL KIND OF DEVASTATING TO ME HOW EVERYTHING KIND OF PLAYS OUT IN POLITICS, AND IN EVERY COUNTRY, TOO. NOT JUST HERE.

Therefore, the question becomes, why does it remain necessary to our outer systems that the marginalized stand up for their identities in order for them to be seen and heard? What is it within our outer systems, particularly in the Southeast region, that seems to refuse to meet marginalized individuals where they’re at, not only so they can be heard and seen fully, but nurtured, as well? Because the outer systems, put simply, weren’t built for us. They were built for one type of person, and in order for those outer systems to continue to thrive, the marginalized have to stay marginalized.

This interview occurred a day or so after the Supreme Court made a 5-4 decision that cleared the way for the Trump administration to make it more difficult for low-income immigrants seeking to come to or trying to remain legally in the United States. This decision affects immigrants who currently rely on public assistance, including most forms of Medicaid, food stamps, and housing vouchers, according to CNN on Jan. 27, 2020. Basically, if you’re too poor to live here, you can’t live here. Igazuirre heard the story on NPR one morning, with his radio dial left on WRAS 88.5, which is Georgia State University’s independent ra-

“[NPR] was on and it was the Supreme Court or Congress talking and shit,” he said calmly, but annoyed. “I was like, all of these guys sound like idiots. I don’t care what side you’re on. It’s all really disappointing to me, and I feel really detached from politics as a whole.

How can I learn to communicate with the people around me? How can I communicate with somebody next to me and be better at that, and also respect myself and give myself space, too? Because I think even that is political, the way you navigate it.

González added, “For me, it’s more rewarding to work on what I can change and the spaces around me… and through our platform, we are giving it to someone else. People see the stuff we put out and we share things we think people should see. If music is something I can do and that helps make people feel represented, that’s the thing that changes things upward and outward.”

For a band that wasn’t intended to be much of anything, Sword II represents a lot — it represents the void that exists in Atlanta’s local music scene and culture, the need to further create spaces for people to comfortably exist, and it’s a lethal injection of lush into a scene that tends to be subjected to the same, repetitive dryness that many of us have become overly accustomed to.

More importantly, Sword II is part of the ripple effect; the one that says we exist, too, to those who need to hear it most.

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STROKE at Midnight An Interview

with Cameron Allen, Nolan Georgenes, and Alex DeWahl Written & photographed by Austin Jones

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arely is it that one considers the work that goes on behind a party. Say you’re having some people over, you’re hosting at your own place. You want to provide an entertaining time, but you also want it to be effortless — guests should be able to come in, kick off their shoes, lose themselves to dance, and get to that particular level of inebriation they desire (which might be none!). To tick all these boxes, you need money and you need labor. It’s a thankless job, throwing a party, which often leads to invisible Gatsby-esque hosts who skulk around the party never truly participating as if constantly pulling on an intricate system of strings that keeps all the event’s moving parts in their proper place, ambulating with hip-shaking finesse.

These extroverts, champions of gatherings, and providers of imbibements foster community in a way no one else can. That’s exactly what defines Stroke, the bi-monthly passion project by DJs and event organizers Cameron Allen, Nolan Georgenes, and Alex DeWahl. Dedicated to providing a good time for everyone, the trio aims to bottle what makes a good party so good and provide that, in equal amounts, to everyone present.

Cameron has been a longtime party thrower. For the past few years, he has had a large event with guest DJs at his own apartment for New Year’s Eve, his own way of bringing in the new year with propulsive house beats and a room of smiling friends. “It was quite literally born in my bedroom,” Cameron says. “I’ve been brought to tears because of parties before. And ultimately for me, it’s about community. And how people literally need this. You know, the world’s fucked up right now. And people kind of need this getaway to survive.”

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“YOU KNOW, THE WORLD’S FUCKED UP RIGHT NOW. AND PEOPLE KIND OF NEED THIS GETAWAY TO SURVIVE.”

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olan agrees. “Coming from the concept of house parties thrown at Cameron’s, then moving into this space, it gave us an opportunity to evolve the concept and grow in scale,” he says. “I think there’s a lack of underground parties in Atlanta that have the venue to accompany it.”

Branded as a “queer centric dance party,” the event has a strict “zero negativity” policy, whether that be from blatant hate speech or denigration of bodies. “There’s such a lack of space that is not, like, Midtown for queer people who are artists, who are weirdos, who are just fucking different,” Cameron says. When asked how they represent the queer community, the three were contemplative for a time — this isn’t to say they were stumped.

They were truly ruminating on how they engender a queer space. “Well, it’s not at a venue; it feels special,” Alex offers. “But you still have to be like, invited. But it’s open at the same time.”

The idea is the people make the fun for themselves, without pressure or too many eyes. They provide the entertainment, the space, and the vibe, and the people form that community around it, a microcosm of queer experi-

ence that’s zoomed in and ephemeral. You can feel it in the air when you walk into Stroke — it isn’t dour, or a place where you feel your behavior is under monitoring. Instead, it’s a space where people can come as their best selves, serve a look, have some fun, listen to some excellent techno, and stay for a while. “A while” depends on how long you can last; typically, the music goes until near sunrise. “If you find this place, and you understand it, maybe you’ll hang around longer,” says Cameron. He’s used to bringing the morning in.

ments in the Atlanta house world with cool passion. He informs me on his legacy, and on what he brought to Atlanta. “One of our goals was to be sure to connect the history embedded here with the ‘New Atlanta,’” Cameron writes of the event on Facebook. Cameron is a DJ’s DJ, concerned with the story, with the wisdom passed from dance movement to dance movement. I had long since realized “parties” mean a lot more to the Stroke crew than feverish sweat — it’s about the blood spilled that allows it to happen.

Still, they weren’t satisfied with the answers they gave. Sitting on a couch outside Mammal Gallery, it’s silent as each considers the question at hand: How do we represent queerness at Stroke? Any party-goer would pick up on it, whether they were longtime followers of the DJs or stumbled in off the street. “You can go in and hang out; we got couches,” Alex tells an unaware man who tripped his way into our chat. I noticed him still present as I headed home around 2 a.m.

The most fascinating part of the process was seeing the labor behind it all. Not just the planning, but the amount of hands needed to set up equipment, hang lights, arrange the space, and keep the show running during its more-than-seven hour duration. Everyone involved seemed eager, smiling for the camera and responding with haste when called for.

The three can’t thank everyone involved enough; they express their graciousness nearly every time someone new comes up in our conversation, from the owners of Mammal Gallery to their respectful attendees.

This particular section of queerness is difficult to pin down, that of queer celebration. These three, however, are gracefully humble. Never do they provide an answer so incisive it feels practiced. They consider, organically, the implications of the atmosphere they create, maybe for the first time.

THE IDEA IS THE PEOPLE MAKE THE FUN FOR THEMSELVES, WITHOUT PRESSURE OR TOO MANY EYES.

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hey’re unpretentious when it comes to their influences, too — without Kudzu, Deep South, and other formative party-makers, they wouldn’t even have the name Stroke.

“We’re all good friends and big supporters of [Kudzu founder] Danny Fernandez,” says Cameron. “He’s like, one of the most gracious people I’ve ever met and has made Atlanta home for me for sure. But [the name Stroke] was his idea. He recommended it when we were trying to come up with the name.” I pointed out the mystic allure of “Stroke” — it’s just one punchy syllable with infinitesimal meanings, from allusions to overexertion (from heat or deficiency of blood) to gentle, intimate caresses.

Later, Cameron would tell me all about DJ Ron Pullman and his achieve-

CAMERON IS A DJ’S DJ, CONCERNED WITH THE STORY, WITH THE WISDOM PASSED FROM DANCE MOVEMENT TO DANCE MOVEMENT. As the night went on, I’m left wondering how Stroke manages to be so seamless in its execution. There’s not a hiccup to be seen, despite what appears to be the organizers’ latent anxiety behind the event’s production. Perhaps my favorite thing about them is their indelible desire to make Stroke cool, to create an event that people will remember. As an attendee, you would never suspect that the group behind Stroke would be worried about anything like that. The “coolness” they manifest is less that of style, but more of who is allowed to feel included in the event. Establishing an “inclusive exclusivity,” queer and differently abled people of any race can feel like they belong, like they’re an integral part of the Stroke experience without feeling needlessly surveilled. It’s harder to achieve than you might think.

They’ve already attained what they might fret about — a placidly sophisticated and seemingly effortless mark on everyone’s calendar. A day after the show, Cameron would message me, thanking me (displaying his vigilant courtesy yet again) for the questions. He says the answers are “still revealing themselves” to him. I wonder if he’s arrived at a satisfying conclusion… or maybe partying is all about the journey.

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AJA COLLAGE

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MASK

OFF SEASON: an Editorial

By Aja Arnold, Elliot Fullerton, & Jamie Jones

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kay, let’s be real. There is way too much shit going on… and we have no idea how to write about it. Mostly because, well, we’ve never seen shit quite like this before.

This piece was originally entitled “Mask Off Season” after we saw the disastrously serendipitous (mmhmm) events leading up to and transpiring on Super Tuesday. Fast forward a week and a day later to Wed., March 11: the World Health Organization (WHO) has declared the coronavirus, aka COVID-19, a pandemic. So we guess it’s “Mask On Season” now. Who fucking knows, man. By the time you’re reading this it could be over, it could be worse, or we could all be dead.

“Life changes fast.

Life changes in the instant.

The ordinary instant.

You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.”

— Joan Didion There’s no easy way around this: we are living in a pandemic. To say that folks are “on edge” feels a bit of an understatement. On top of the very real concerns regarding the coronavirus are the even bigger fears surrounding economic insecurity and entire societal collapse — which, yes, are also warranted. If there’s a silver lining in any of this, though, it’s that the coronavirus could be the accelerant our country requires to sober up to the systemic changes that we need.

What makes our situation over here in America even more anxiety producing, at least for the three of us, is that the coronavirus should be surging Bernie Sanders and Medicare For All in the polls, shining an undeniable light on what’s truly needed in this country. And for some reason, it’s not. Instead, we got Uncle Joe up here, caravanning around racking up endorsements from everyone and their mom, with the DNC establishment deeming him The One to unite the nation. Why the fuck is that and how the hell did we get here?

This brings us back to our original thought for this piece: it’s motherfucking Mask Off Season, and it’s been a doozy. To revert back to just a few weeks ago, in a matter of three days preceding Super Tuesday, we witnessed the pendulum swing from Sanders surging in the polls — something many have been vying to see since 2016, and what a rush it was — to Biden being the

Collage Credit: Alex Coltrane

sudden frontrunner of the election. It was nothing that couldn’t be whipped up with the help of a few well-timed endorsements, such as those from former opponents Amy Klobuchar and Pete Buttigieg, who both dropped out of the race two days prior to its biggest primary. Additionally, Sens. Cory Booker and Kamala Harris have also lined up with their official endorsements for a man they both regularly criticized on the debate stage. Former candidate and Biden critic Andrew Yang has also followed suit.

We feel we have nothing, absolutely nothing, to gain from another round of a Trump presidency or a Biden presidency. Apparently though, the DNC establishment does have something to gain, because what we are witnessing in the primaries is nothing short of self-sabotage — and that can lead us down some dark pathways of thought and to some even darker imaginary shower arguments (ahem, Aja).

It appears that Biden’s colleagues have started to take some big ol’ gulps of the DNC Kool-Aid — and none for you, Sanders supporters! You don’t get any of this moderate, centrist flavored Kool-Aid! Go back to the corners of systematic oppression! Silence! And now hear this: your creepy Uncle Joe is the person best suited to unite this godforsaken country. Sanders, on the other hand, has created a serious divide. Nevermind the fact that when the DNC says “divided,” what they really mean is that he gives a voice to the systematically excluded, exposing the divide that has long existed between the oppressors and the oppressed, even within the supposedly liberal Democratic Party itself. But no matter! Shit is bananas, and we need Uncle Joe to bring us back to “business as usual.”

But is business as usual even what we really want or need?

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robably depends on what line of business you’re in. If it’s being an old white dude, living off your meaty 401(k) and biding time ’til your next Disney cruise, then sure. We can see how you’re ready to eradicate this damn virus, revive the market, and get back to it. But if you’re in the business of living paycheck to paycheck, either showing up to work or getting fired, whether your uninsured ass has coronavirus or the bubonic plague, then “usual” is a less alluring state of the union. Either way, you’re gonna be one illness, one broken down car, one forced pregnancy away from losing all financial and bodily security. And guess what: that older gentleman, the one with the cush retirement plan and the hard-on for Mickey Mouse? He’s not secure either.

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“THINGS ARE NOT GETTING WORSE, THEY ARE GETTING UNCOVERED. WE MUST HOLD EACH OTHER TIGHT & CONTINUE TO PULL BACK THE VEIL.” — Adrienne Maree Brown

Because if nothing else, this virus has revealed not just the fragility of the human body, but the fragility of the systems that are supposed to sustain it — government, economy, education, health care. We are always on the brink of systemic failure, and perhaps this realization is what has driven many of us to the conclusion that any meaningful change must, accordingly, also be systemic. The reality is that for the vast majority of us, returning to business as usual in the U.S. means grinning and bearing unaffordable health care, stagnant wages, wealth inequality, trillions of dollars poured into the 22

continuing wars on terror (aka the “Forever Wars;” you guys, 9/11 was almost 20 years ago), mass incarceration, denial of women’s rights, denial of LGBTQ rights, the insistent marginalization of the marginalized, and so on. And staying home from work to help contain a nasty pandemic is a cute idea; but what are a few flu-like symptoms compared with not being able to eat or pay rent? Additionally, for individuals without paid leave, continuing to work hard to support themselves in that honest, old-fashioned American way could very likely increase the magnitude of this pandemic for everyone.

It doesn’t have to be like this.

While the coronavirus has unmasked the insufficiency of U.S. infrastructure, other countries who have seen cases of the coronavirus have demonstrated that it can be managed successfully. According to the Washington Post and Aljazeera, both Vietnam and South Korea took swift and effective measures to limit the spread and mortality rate of the virus. South Korea, with a mortality rate of only about 0.71%, is particularly inspiring, since it demonstrates that a democratic government can mobilize efficiently.

Here, on the other hand, exposure to the virus has simultaneously exposed the disorganization and disconnection of all our many moving parts.

Toss a widespread pandemic like this into the mix of our ongoing health care catastrophe, and we could end up on the brink of a full-blown nationwide existential crisis.

But, again, maybe there’s a silver lining in that, in the brinkitude of it all. Perhaps, in the thick of all of this, the coronavirus will ultimately pull back the veil of late capitalism until the mask is completely torn off.

In a time of increasing uncertainty and what feels like a swelling tsunami of fear amid unpredictable conditions, doesn’t it follow that we need more “radical” responses? And sure, implementing Medicare for All in a country that has resisted it since the New Deal era is a bit of a risk. But isn’t ensuring the health care and well-being of all our citizens worth that risk — especially now? And if you heard this argument before but didn’t really feel it — in the face of mass panic and unfolding pandemic, do you feel it now?

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ur question is: Is this the bottom? Could this truly be the rock bottom we have to hit in order for America to accept that nothing short of a complete overhaul can fix our broken health care? And while we’re at it, let’s take a look at our other faulty systems, too, in regards to climate change, war, food, children, and poverty.

Because it’s only from the bottom that we can begin to move along the upward trajectory toward progress. In other words, can we look out into the brink of these systemic failures and use our fear in this moment to change course?

By the time this is published, our primaries in Georgia will be over, but there will still be 1,427 delegates up for grabs. Political pundits on certain news outlets have already started echoing the narrative that this primary is over; it’s as if they want to snuff out any hope that remains.

To apply the words of Stacey Abrams, “Ignore the noise,” fellow Sanders supporters. Carry on, and stay mad as hell — but let’s not lose sight of the big picture. Not the big picture as in the end of democracy as we know it, or the downfall of human civilization at the hands of the coronavirus, or another four years of Trump, or even a Biden presidency; the big picture as in the long road of fighting ahead if we’re to see our principles become realized in actual policy in America.

Because you know what’s really hard to do when you’re on the brink of an existential crisis?

Literally care about anything else, especially anything you can actually do in that moment.

And you know what doesn’t get cancelled in a coronavirus outbreak? The U.S. Census and the ongoing presidential election. So, for a few moments, let’s return to life. Back to reality.

the ballot box.” In effect, the Secretary of State is refusing accountability for the likely election problems expected to result from the new voting machines that his office spent $150,000,000 to purchase. (Remind us how much Kemp cut from the healthcare budget?) Instead, with SB 463, he’s passing the buck to the counties, which are already underfunded and undertrained.

We’re based in Atlanta, Ga. And let us tell you, we’ve had our own version of Donald Trump running the show here for quite some time. First as Secretary of State and now sitting in the Governor’s Mansion, the last place we ever wanted him. Since Brian Kemp became Governor of Georgia in 2019, “business as usual” down here has included a more than $80 million slash in health care programs, major cuts to the public defenders’ budget, a six-week abortion ban, and a proposed “anti-gang activity bill” that, in Kemp’s original form, could have resulted in the death penalty for children as young as 13. On top of all this, Georgia has enacted the largest voter purges in the country’s modern history and closed 214 polling locations, which is only one less than those of Alabama, Mississippi, North Carolina, and South Carolina combined. Further, Kemp and his constituents have been working toward these voter suppression tactics since at least 2008, when we got the first sneak peek of “exact match.”

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With a governor like Kemp, it’s easy to see why many view Atlanta as a “bubble of blue” in a “sea of red.” That’s the general conception of Georgia, to be sure; and our state’s history on paper lends itself to that conception. But it happens to be incorrect.

In 2018, Stacey Abrams narrowly “lost” the gubernatorial race to then-Secretary of State Brian Kemp, trailing him by just 50,000 votes in a state of more than 10 million people. In other words, this means that good ol’ boy Brian — who as Georgia’s Secretary of State purged 1.4 million people from the state’s voter rolls, and then suspended the 53,000 registration applications of mostly black voters just before the election, and then literally presided over the electoral integrity of the very race in which he ran — STILL barely beat Abrams. Damn. That’s gotta be embarrassing.

But the thing about the supremely privileged is that they don’t embarrass easily. Hell, Kemp’s administration is still at it. With the support of current Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, several Republican senators introduced Georgia SB 463 at the end of February. While the proponents of this bill claim it will reduce long wait times at the polls, organizations like Fair Count and the Georgia NAACP released a joint statement arguing that, “In an environment where counties are already undertrained and under-resourced by the state, this new burden threatens to further frustrate counties’ ability and capacity to ensure voters have equal, meaningful, and non-burdensome access to

et’s pan back out to the broader view and consider why Georgia’s SB 463 is so important on a national level. First, if we have any hope of moving this country in a progressive direction, we must recognize and end voter suppression tactics. This shit ain’t just happening down here in backwoods of the South, either. No, voter suppression is also a pandemic, a dangerous one that has spread across the country. Second, everyone deserves the right to vote. Period. We feel strongly that voter suppression needs to be at the top of the national agenda in 2020.

And here’s another important way that the local will significantly impact the national in 2020. In addition to the presidential election, this is also a census year. As detailed in Jamie’s article “They Won’t Pay Us If They Can’t Census,” the census has enormous political and social ramifications, impacting everything from education funds to highway infrastructure to political representation.

Prior to the 2022 elections, each state apportioned more than one Representative will draw new congressional districts based on the reapportionment resulting from the 2020 Census. Based on projections of population growth, Northeastern and Midwestern states such as Pennsylvania, New York, Rhode Island, Ohio, Michigan, Illinois, and Minnesota may lose seats, while Western and Southern states such as California, Oregon, Arizona, Colorado, Texas, Florida, North Carolina, and Virginia may gain seats.

To our fellow Sanders supporters: there is a very real chance that our man will not win the nomination (although, this is not a time to give up). As of writing this, we don’t know. But we do know one thing is true either way, and this is that regardless of the outcome, we will continue to fight. Even if this part of the journey doesn’t end with a Sanders nomination — though after 2016 the DNC should know that nominating Sanders is the easier, softer way, but it appears they would rather fuck themselves and us again.

THE PATH TOWARD PROGRESS DOES NOT & CAN NOT CEASE.

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DEMYSTIFYING the 2020 CENSUS

By Jamie Jones

IN A WORLD

where the mega-rich buy their way into politics, where corporate dollars are protected as “free speech,” where the Electoral College warps and demeans the value of each American voter — what dedicated, intrepid coalition of superheroes will dare to fight for our democracy?

Enter THE ENUMERATORS. (aka the United States Census Bureau)

We’re looking down the barrel of another four years with our current Commander-in-Queef, and it’s scary: from future federal court appointments to adequate funding for the CDC, there’s a lot at stake in the 2020 presidential election. But while the DNC has been busy making awkward eye contact during that sloppy circle jerk we euphemistically call the primaries, there’s another massive effort unfolding to preserve our fragile democracy: it’s the census, and it’s sexier than you think.

Did you know that, technically, all adults residing in the U.S. are required by law to participate in the census?

Personally, I don’t give a damn about this law. I’m not a nerd.

However, I do give a damn about ensuring that each of us has fair representation and an equal voice; and getting an honest, accurate count of the folks who live here is fundamental to this process.

Admittedly, I have never filled out a census survey. In the past, I’ve chucked them right into the trash with the rest of the junk mail. I think that, looking back on it, I was reluctant to help a government that I don’t even trust. And frankly, I didn’t understand the point of the whole thing.

That was, of course, before I sat down with the staff of Fair Count.

Fair Count is the nonprofit, nonpartisan organization created by Stacey Abrams to “achieve a fair and accurate count of all people in Georgia and the nation in the 2020 Census.” Back in December, the Mainline team was able to meet with Fair Count’s CEO Rebecca DeHart and Vice President Dr. Jeanine Abrams McLean at their Atlanta headquarters. We learned a lot.

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F

irst, the decennial census — meaning that it occurs every 10 years — is actually mandated by the U.S. Constitution. Each decade since 1790, the government has been obliged to count all people living in the U.S. As the nation’s population has grown from just under 4 million in 1790 to well over 300 million today, this task has become significantly more complex. The enumerators (and yes, that’s actually what census takers are called) really have their work cut out for them.

I’m feeling cross-eyed just thinking about it. Why even bother with the gargantuan undertaking of counting each human in the nation?

Well, hold onto your calculators, because the figures gathered in the U.S. census play a critical role in our democracy. In a geeky but well-earned flex on their website, the Census Bureau makes sure we know just how important their work is to our nation, reminding us that these statistics provide “the basis for reapportioning congressional seats, redistricting, and distributing more than $675 billion in federal funds annually to support states, counties and communities’ vital programs — impacting housing, education, transportation, employment, health care and public policy.” These numbers dictate how many congressional and Electoral College seats we get; they affect how state political districts are drawn; they help determine the quality of our schools, our roads, and important services like Medicare and housing assistance. And not only does the census impact all these vital components of our lives and communities; it does so for a full 10 years. If you’re doing the math, that’s around 7 trillion dollars up for grabs over the next decade. To bring this astronomical figure back down to earth, this means that for those of us who live in Georgia, each uncounted person will result in a loss of an estimated $2,300 per year.

IF YOU’RE DOING THE MATH, THAT’S AROUND

7 TRILLION DOLLARS

UP FOR GRABS OVER THE NEXT DECADE. Alas, according to the Census Bureau, “Response rates for Census Bureau surveys, and for surveys and censuses in general, have declined as citizens are overloaded with requests for information and become increasingly concerned about sharing information.” It’s me. I’m citizens.

But that was the old me, worried about some half-formed conception of my “privacy.” The new me realizes that I’m not Ted Kaczynski over here, living off the grid in the Montana wilds, writing deranged manifestos designed to usher the collapse of the industrial-technological complex. Nope, I’m sitting in Atlanta, typing on my MacBook, eating leftover curry I ordered from UberEats, and trying to not check Instagram, which is currently listening to my conversations and cooking up targeted ads for sweatpants and mint Kit Kats. And, like, suddenly I’m self-righteous about the government knowing my address? Spoiler alert: they already do, and they know yours too.

So let’s just fill out the form so that some kid in our district can have improved access to a Head Start Program.

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he reality is that the census is one of the few truly democratic institutions in this country. It aims to count each of us, regardless of age, race, citizenship status, or political party. Unfortunately, this does not always work as planned: some communities are more difficult to assess than others, which leads to these populations being undercounted — and consequentially, underserved and underrepresented. The Census Bureau designates these groups as “Hard to Count” or HTC populations.

As Fair Count explains it, HTC populations are undercounted “because they may be hard to locate, hard to contact, hard to persuade or hard

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ONC E M O R E FO R TH E F O L KS IN TH E B ACK:

THERE IS NO CITIZENSHIP QUESTION ON THE 2020 CENSUS. to interview.” They go on to clarify that the populations who tend to be most affected are “immigrants, people of color, small children, renters, lowincome people, undocumented persons or people who move around a lot.”

This past December, the Valdosta Daily Times reported that the U.S. Census Bureau estimates that over 1.5 million black and Hispanic residents were missed by the 2010 census; white homeowners, on the other hand, were overcounted.

Such disparities ultimately result in the misallocation of federal funds and diminished political power for HTC communities, which are disproportionately communities of color. On top of this, inaccuracies in census data are vulnerable to exploitation by those seeking to consolidate power through map manipulation. The late Republican strategist Thomas Hofeller, for example, relied on census data to gerrymander the shit out of North Carolina, nipping and tucking and math-ing and redistricting until the Democratic vote was all but neutralized. You can read more about this chump in Elliot Fullerton’s op-ed, “Sins of the Father,” but suffice it to say that Hofeller fully recognized the opportunities that arise when certain demographics go uncounted. Essentially, populations rendered invisible on a map pose less of an obstacle to partisan (read racial) gerrymandering. Hofeller even advocated adding a citizenship question to the census because, as he put it in notes uncovered after his death, asking about citizenship would be “advantageous to Republicans and Non-Hispanic Whites.”

And guess what! The Republicans actually tried to enact this scheme, with the Trump administration claiming that a citizenship question would somehow help protect minority votes by enforcing the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

Luckily, the Supreme Court saw through this baloney justification and voted to block the question.

Long story short, this is how it’s all going down with the decennial, straight from the digital mouth of the U.S. Census Bureau: In March of 2020, people living in the United States will receive notice through the mail along with a Personal Identification Number (PIN) to go online or call a toll-free number to complete their census. One person per household will complete the census for the entire household and that person should count everyone—even if someone staying with them is outside of the family or is temporarily living there.

To all of our readers in Toksook Bay, Alaska: you and some other remote locations of the country should have begun receiving the census survey back in January. As for the rest of us, it should have appeared in our mailboxes sometime in mid-March.

Look, y’all. I hate participating. In anything. I just wanna sit in the back of the classroom, preferably in a corner, narcissistically doodling my own name over and over, without ever having to engage with anyone.

But I’m participating in the 2020 U.S. Census, and I hope you will too.

BECAUS E THIS IS WH AT D EMO CR ACY LO O KS L I KE.

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nce more for the folks in the back: there is NO citizenship question on the 2020 census. In fact, according to the Census Bureau’s website, “Federal law protects your data responses. Your answers can only be used to produce statistics. By law, we cannot share your information with immigration enforcement agencies, law enforcement agencies, or allow it to be used to determine your eligibility for government benefits.” Nonetheless, the mere threat of this question has already done some damage. Like the folks at Fair Count told us, “You can’t unring the bell.” For those undocumented residents who fear the dirty and shameful tactics of ICE, just the specter of immigration surveillance may be enough to dissuade them from participating in the census. And who can blame them?

To better serve HTC populations and assuage concerns about privacy and citizenship, the U.S. Census Bureau has teamed up with community partners across the nation. In Georgia, for instance, Fair Count and the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church are working together with the Bureau to mobilize outreach and education programs in HTC sections of the state. Additionally, Fair Count created Black Men Count, an effort to increase census participation among Black men, who are one of the most historically undercounted demographics (remember that whole Three-Fifths Compromise thing? Hell, get a load of “prison gerrymandering,” which Austin Adkins discusses in an article entitled “Prison Gerrymandering: Exploiting Inmates For Political Clout.” Fucking gross, right?). And since 2020 is the first census to be online, Fair Count’s Technology Department is installing internet connections in centrally located places, such as barbershops and community centers, in areas that have limited or no internet access. The goal is to meet people where they live.

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I

n September 2019, Stephanie Hofeller had a random but overwhelming feeling that she should Google her estranged father and Republican strategist Thomas Hofeller, the man who gerrymandered America.

Her quick search revealed that he had recently died in summer 2018, so Stephanie returned to her fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s home. While going through his things, she discovered several external hard drives filled with files of secret plans and strategies that the Republican Party had used to retain power as its voter base ages and its policies grew unpopular.

Stephanie did what any badass, defiant, rebellious adult would do in this situation.

She She dumped dumped all all the the private private files files of of her her wicked wicked father father in in aa massive massive Google Google Drive Drive folder folder and and shared shared itit online online for for journalists, journalists, activists, activists, and and all all the the world world to to see. see.

At the center of these plans is a highly advanced gerrymandering technique fueled by census data, as well as a simple scheme to add a census question about immigration status that aimed to manipulate the census itself. This scheme did, in fact, come to fruition last year in the form of the citizenship question which, although ultimately struck down, created an atmosphere of fear around the 2020 U.S. Census.

Fi rs t, wh at is ger r ym ander ing?

Gerrymandering is the process of redrawing the political lines of districts in a state to benefit a political party.

For example, if you have a state where half the population votes Democrat and the other half Republican, these two halves can be spread out into the districts within the state. The concentration of each of these groups in each district can be manipulated by the shape of the district itself, with the effect of skewing the district toward a desired political makeup.

Illustration Credit: Linda McNeil

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The two main styles of gerrymandering are known as packing and cracking. Packing is when a district is redrawn to isolate a political population into one single district; cracking is when a district is redrawn to break up a population and dilute it across several other districts.

What does this all, in reality, look like?

Let’s say you are a Republican gerrymandering in Atlanta, and you notice a large concentration of Democratic voters in the city. If you were packing, you could isolate this population into one giant congressional district, thus limiting all these voters to electing one congressional seat. This way, no matter how many votes the Democrats get, they are only voting for one seat. However, if you wanted to crack it, you could split it into several different districts that extend into areas like the suburbs and Buckhead, diluting those votes with Republican ones and drowning out the political potency of a Democratic mass.

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ack to the exposed villain of this story: Thomas Hofeller, “the Michelangelo of Gerrymandering.” While sorting through the hundreds of thousands of Hofeller’s files, journalists at the Intercept were able to piece together a plan it seemed the GOP utilized to use racial data from the census to keep the South under Republican rule, even as its demographics change. The method used in the South has been to pack voters of color into majority-minority districts such as Georgia’s Randolph County and many others, limiting them to one or two congressional seats while ensuring that the districts surrounding them are majority white and Republican, therefore tilting the power balance strategically to the right.

Hofeller was practically a genius with his packing and cracking tactics, with his efforts in North Carolina being considered his masterpiece.

In 2018, North Carolina was voting for 13 congressional seats, and in those elections, about 50% of the population voted Republican and 40% voted Democrat. Now it would make sense that this would come down to six seats for the Democrats and seven seats for Republicans; however, the Democrats only got three. Hofeller racially packed most of these votes into just three districts, restricting the influence of 40% of the state’s population. Therefore, no matter the number of votes, the absolute best the Democrats could come up with is three seats.

In a C-SPAN recording of a 2001 speech, Hofeller describes the benefit of this process, explaining that “usually the voters get to pick the politicians; in redistricting, the politician gets to pick the voter.” This idea spread across the states, and in 2010, Hofeller’s packing and cracking methods were used to consolidate Republican rule in Wisconsin, Florida, Texas, and others. Just as in North Carolina, while margins between Democrats and Republicans might be close, the Republicans have been able to tip the scales in their favor, consolidating their congressional power through aggressive gerrymandering tactics.

2020 is a momentous year for a lot of reasons, with the presidential election at hand along with other key local elections such as Georgia’s Senate race. Additionally, we now have the privilege of enduring a potential epidemic with the coronavirus during a Trump administration while we continue, as a nation, to bury our heads deeper in the sand away from the climate change crisis we are all, as a human race, facing.

Stephanie Hofeller’s leaks revealed how dismal our system actually is and that our country really isn’t based on a fair and free election system. It has been purposefully and intentionally modified to benefit one party and one group of people.

And while we are not quite at the stage of revolution yet, we very well could be by the time November rolls around.

The fuel for Hofeller’s gerrymandering schemes is census data; the geographical location of racial and political groups is the very core of gerrymandering. Hofeller’s leaked files reveal that, to further the interests of the Republican Party’s power consolidation, he not only plotted to use census data to manipulate political districts, but he also attempted to manipulate the gathering of that data itself.

Some might recall the recent political battle over whether or not to include an immigration status, or “citizenship,” question on the 2020 census.

There was a lot of hype last year considering the idea that this year’s census would include a citizenship question — something that hadn’t been included in the census since 1950. It’s clear in the Constitution’s definition of the census that it is not intended to count only U.S. citizens, but rather, every person that lays their head down to rest in the United States of America.

T

here was a lot of stirring and controversy in response to this, with Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross and other Republicans claiming a citizenship question would actually help enforce the Voting Rights Act of 1965 (which was, to be clear, gutted by the Supreme Court in 2013 when they ruled racism no longer existed in America). Democrats clapped back in response, criticizing the question as being irrelevant and unconstitutional, only used as a tool to create an even greater atmosphere of fear around the census. Other critics, like some at this magazine, would go so far as to say this question is an extension of white nationalism, hoarding federal dollars for some people while alienating and harming others. It should also be considered that this question was introduced as early as January 2017 — the same time the Trump Administration began making moves on its “zero tolerance” immigration policies, which came to a head in summer 2019.

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T H E E N T I R E C O N C E P T O F PA R T I S A N G E R RYM A N D E R I N G I S VAST LY C O R R O S I V E TO A F U N C T I O N I N G D E M O C R AC Y.

According to reporting by the nonpartisan grassroots organization Common Cause, the immigration question was designed with a specific purpose. Within the files his daughter released, Hofeller explores what would happen if legislative districts were drawn based on the total number of voters in the area instead of the total population of that area — a move that would favor Republicans. Because, as Hofeller himself put it, this would be a “radical departure from the federal one-vote-one-person rule presently used in the United States.” Further, he needed to devise a plan to achieve this goal without having to convince the Supreme Court to support the change. So, he came up with another way: if he could prevent immigrant populations from being counted at all, it would eliminate them from the redistricting process all together. This is antithetical to the spirit and purpose of the census, which is mandated by the Constitution to count every person in the U.S. where they live, regardless of citizenship status.

The next step in the plan was to pack the remaining voters of color into as few districts as possible.

Playing around with district boundaries in order to disenfranchise entire populations is nothing new to American politics, but the science of perfecting it is especially disheartening. In a political landscape that is already overwhelmingly bleak, the idea that all mobilization efforts and hope for change are being strangled out by some bureaucrat drawing a line through your neighborhood, no matter how many people support a candidate or policy, is almost too much to bear. When one party can entrench itself in power that is separated from the support of the people, we no longer live in a democracy.

One place to start combating the strategies of Hofeller is to get an accurate census count; that would at least slow down the more ambitious attempts of outright erasure that was attempted with the immigration question. With that being said, ending gerrymandering altogether is a much trickier task and will take more than one election cycle and one census year. One effort that the democrats have come up with is to simply out-gerrymander Republicans. In fact, the Democrats have a plan. It’s called Advantage 2020 and they hope to fund it with 70 million dollars. We’ll see how that holds up in comparison to the Republicans’ Redmap 2020 that holds a spending goal of 125 million dollars.

Another attempt has been to place independent experts in charge of redistricting. Arizona has experimented with this idea, but by 2011, the independent experts had been accused of colluding with both parties. According to the New Yorker, one group had ties to Democratic Party officials and another was funded by the Koch brothers. One would think that the judicial system would be the most logical place to defend constitutional issues like gerrymandering, but Trump has stacked federal and circuit courts with hand picked judges and has had two appointments on the Supreme Court. We have seen that Trump is willing to push the Hofeller agenda by continuing to push the controversial citizenship question. The only hope for putting an end to partisan gerrymandering seems to be either state-level legislation or a federal congressional bill, both of which will require an enthusiastic and large scale movement of concerned citizens, or maybe a whole lot of pissed off people wearing yellow vests.

(Wink, wink.)

The entire concept of partisan gerrymandering is vastly corrosive to a functioning democracy. It feels like one more category of governance where all scales are tipped against the people. When the ruling class is able to manipulate the very boundaries of its own power and reduce the effectiveness of public consent, maybe it’s time to hit the reset button.

T H E E N T I R E C O N C E P T O F PA R T I S A N G E R RYM A N D E R I N G I S VAST LY C O R R O S I V E TO A F U N C T I O N I N G D E M O C R AC Y.

It’s a lot to follow, especially with Trump in the White House and during an election year.

While a question about immigration status may seem benign on its face, Hofeller’s leaked files revealed the sinister intentions behind it. And this was ultimately realized in a July 2019 federal court case decision that permanently blocked the Trump administration from including the citizenship question in this year’s census.

WHEN THE RULING CLASS IS ABLE TO MANIPULATE THE VERY BOUNDARIES OF ITS OWN POWER AND REDUCE THE EFFECTIVENESS OF PUBLIC CONSENT,

MAYBE IT’S TIME TO HIT THE RESET BUTTON. 30

PRISON GERRYMANDERING: EXPLOITING INMATES

FOR

POLITICAL CLOUT

By Austin Adkins

Illustration Credit: Katie Drake

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hen the United States Census Bureau counts the American population every 10 years, they use the information they collect to redraw state district lines and report on demographic shifts across the country. As we approach this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s census, one issue that often goes overlooked during this process but is worth examining is the gerrymandering of prison populations. Federal guidelines currently count incarcerated people as residents of the county or district where the prison is located, rather than where those incarcerated actually live. Since prisoners cannot vote in most states and their permanent residence is often in a completely different district from the prison, this practice can dramatically skew the data used for determining legislative representation and community planning.

Although most state constitutions specifically note that incarceration does not change a personâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s permanent residence, federal census guidelines supersede this and allow the states to decide how they want prisoners to be counted. This practice goes back to the early days of the census, when state populations were only used to calculate representation in Congress and the location of people in the state did not matter. Now that state and local governments use population data from different areas for redistricting purposes, the specific location of residents matters considerably more.

Most prisoners come from densely populated cities, but most prisons are located in rural areas. Prison gerrymandering gives these rural 31

areas a greater amount of state representation without the prisoners having any say in the democratic process. This displacement can have extreme consequences on the political clout of rural districts on both the state and local levels. Obviously, there is a partisan bias at work here as well; rural areas tend to vote Republican, while urban areas tend to vote Democrat. If prisoners were counted as living at their permanent address rather than where they are incarcerated, nearly every state would need to redraw its legislative districts.

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n New York, seven different state senate districts only met their minimum population requirements after the 2000 census because of prison gerrymandering. Four out of these seven counties were home to state senators who sat on the legislative committee responsible for drafting the state’s criminal law statutes. All four of these senators opposed reforms to the state’s drug laws, effectively ensuring that the prisons in their district would stay full. Republican Sen. Dale Volker, for example, was quoted in a 2002 Newhouse News Service article on redistricting saying that it’s a good thing inmates can’t vote because “they would never vote for me.” Fortunately, after the 2010 census, New York became one of the first states to end the practice by passing legislation that specifically counts prisoners at their permanent address instead of where they are imprisoned.

When we look at the scope and demographics of prisons in America, the racial overtones of prison gerrymandering become clear. America has the highest per-capita incarceration rate in the world; in a country of roughly 330 million people, approximately 2.3 million people are currently incarcerated. According to a 2019 report by the Bureau of Justice Statistics, people of color make up more than 60% of the current prison population. Black men are nearly six times more likely to be imprisoned than white men; Latino men are 2.7 times more likely.

In the context of this extreme racial disparity, prison gerrymandering can be seen as a systematic attempt to disenfranchise people of color in order to give more political clout to rural white people.

Some of the most extreme cases of this can be seen in Illinois.

According to the Prison Policy Initiative, “60% of Illinois’ prisoners are from Cook County [Chicago], yet 99% of them are counted outside the county ... The average distance from Chicago to a prison is more than 200 miles.” The Census Bureau reports that 1,265 black people live in Brown County, making up 18% of the county’s total population.

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However, 1,260 of these people are incarcerated residents of other counties, meaning that Brown County actually only has about five black residents. This absurd distortion of the size and demographics of whole communities leads to some extremely misleading data for politicians to exploit.

This widespread disenfranchisement and population manipulation has a historical precedent: the infamous “Three-Fifths Compromise,” a clause in the U.S. Constitution which allowed Southern slave states to only count three out of every five enslaved people towards their state population totals before the Civil War. Essentially, the Three-Fifths clause gave Southern states more political clout in Congress by counting enslaved black people for purposes of legislative representation while still denying them the right to vote or have any say in the political process. Like the rest of the system of slavery, it was a dehumanizing practice that exploited black people to benefit white people, and the echoes of this institutionalized racism can be seen in the gerrymandering of prison populations today.

The good news is that as awareness of prison gerrymandering grows, more states and local governments are taking efforts to stop the practice.

As of March 1, 2020, California, Delaware, Maryland, Nevada, New Jersey, New York, and Washington have all passed laws to specifically ensure that prisoners are counted in their home county.

More than 200 counties and local governments have also implemented solutions to ignore prisons when drawing district lines.

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nder Georgia law, a prison cell is not a residence and should not be counted as such. According to the confusingly worded Georgia Code 21-2-217, “A person shall not be considered to have gained a residence in any county or municipality of this state into which such person has come for temporary purposes only without the intention of making such county or municipality such person’s permanent place of abode.” Despite these state laws, Georgia continues to count incarcerated people by the federal census guidelines.

With the 2020 census just around the corner, it is too late for Georgia to pass legislation that would explicitly ban prison gerrymandering before redistricting happens. Until the Census Bureau addresses this problem on a federal level, we as voters need to petition our state and local governments to end this practice so that politicians can no longer exploit prisoners for political clout.

OLD ATLANTA:

A LOOK BACK AT A LONG-GONE ATLANTA

By Charla Johnson

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t’s no secret that Atlanta is widely and rapidly gentrifying, changing the geography and culture of a city that seems to perpetually seek “progress.” Gentrification, the typically planned process by which individuals in the upper-middle class displace poorer individuals in traditionally working class or poor neighborhoods by purchasing property and upgrading it through renovation and modernization, is evident along the city’s Beltline from the Old Fourth Ward to the West End. Breweries, boutiques and brunch spots! Oh, my!

In fact, according to a 2019 Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia study, Atlanta is the nation’s fourth fastest gentrifying city behind Washington, D.C., Portland, and Seattle, and this fact is faced with mixed opinions. Using data from the 2000 census and the American Community Survey from 20102014, the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia identified neighborhoods in the dynamic, or high-pressure, stage of gentrification: Pittsburgh, Capitol View, West End, and Bankhead. The rest of the westside communities are also speeding through the gentrification process, including Vine City, Sylvan Hills, Venetian Hills, and on over to SWATS — from Adamsville as far as Greenbriar. Proponents claim that gentrification is a sign of economic growth, bringing improved infrastructure, increased access to retail and recreation, and opportunities for small businesses in previously “blighted” communities. However, the social costs of this speedy development include the loss of established small businesses and involuntary displacement of long-time residents who cannot afford the exponentially rising property taxes and rental prices. While warehouses are transformed into live-work-play spaces, an affordable housing crisis looms over the city like a thick cloud of pine pollen.

This is not the first (or second or third) time Atlanta has faced this crisis of identity, seeking economic growth and making high-minded claims to social progress while sacrificing the under-privileged inhabitants that compose the city’s culture. Think back to the construction of the Atlanta airport, the development of government housing projects, the decades-long battles over the interstate system, and the welcoming of the world to the 1996 Olympics. As far back as the postReconstruction era and the early 20th century, Atlanta has wrestled with ideals of social and economic progress alongside a deep-rooted commitment to racist and classist oppression that accompanies city planning.

The burning of Atlanta during Sherman’s March to the Sea marks the genesis of the mythology of Atlanta as the great and flourishing city emerging triumphantly from the ashes. The late 1800s and early 1900s saw an influx of poor white and black laborers and farmers creating a tension through fierce competition for jobs and residences. Additionally, there was an emerging African American middle class thriving along Auburn Avenue and Ph. D Row, a residential area

Photography Credit: Ashley Bansemer

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near the Atlanta University Center. Jim Crow was brutally and systematically enforced. Atlanta faced a severe housing crisis. City planners, policy makers, business owners, and community organizers from both white and African American communities found themselves in conflict at the intersections of economic power, racial equality, and geography. In short, who would live where?

This ongoing frequently-violent conflict culminated in the Atlanta Race Riots of 1906, when mobs of white Georgians, inspired by racist comments by Georgia Gov. Hoxe Smith and a series of sensational headlines about black men raping white women, for days attacked and killed innocent black men and destroyed homes and businesses in and around Atlanta. Again invoking the phoenix mythology, the city wanted to move on from this “burning” and into the 20th century, creating policies and practices around zoning cloaked in the hope of “avoiding another riot.” This often looked like establishing “present Negro areas,” proposing “Negro expansion areas,” and the widespread construction of segregated Federal Housing Authority housing projects.

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lames would engulf the city in the Great Atlanta Fire of 1917, yet another literal context for the phoenix metaphor. The fire originated from four separate fires on the morning of May 21, 1917: a downtown cotton warehouse, a fire in the West End, homes ablaze on Woodward Avenue, and a fire on the roof of a Grady Hospital “pest house”/quarantine house/ storage facility on Decatur Street, where firemen found stacks of cotton mattresses on fire. It was fueled by heat, wooden cottages, and strong winds. In approximately 11 hours, over 50 blocks of Darktown (guess the etymology of that town name!), now known as the Old Fourth Ward, up to the edge of Piedmont Park were destroyed. Adding to the damage inflicted by the fire, many properties were demolished by dynamite to create gulfs to trap the fire, resulting in the displacement of 10,000 African Americans (almost a tenth of the city’s population) and millions of dollars of damage.

Homes (including author Margaret Mitchell’s birth home) and businesses became ash-covered ruins in the weeks that followed. The newly homeless Atlantans set up camps in Piedmont Park, vacant lots in the area, and shelters of churches. After the fire, the area was forever transformed, with apartment buildings replacing single family homes.

Which brings me to the point of this article.

In the name of progress, Atlanta, the city I love, has surrendered geographical spaces of social and cultural import. It has allowed for the displacement of some of its most vulnerable citizens, many of whom shaped (and continue to shape) the city’s cultural identity. Here is a glimpse into an old Atlanta, older than what we commonly refer to as Old Atlanta (pre-770 area codes). What were these communities like? Who lived there? What was the geography?

Also, what currently exists in their place? These former Atlanta communities from over a century ago may no longer exist, but the current city literally follows in their footsteps.

JOYLAND Not long ago, Atlanta’s motto was “Every Day is Opening Day.” Maybe that’s still the motto, IDK. At any rate, this motto would have applied to Atlanta over a century ago, when there was an abundance of amusement parks all over the city. There was Ponce Springs or Ponce de Leon Amusement Park in 1903. The White City Amusement Park, now the site of Parkside Elementary School near Grant Park. The Lakewood Fairgrounds became a summer resort and musical venue in 1895. Yes, indeed, every day was indeed an opening day… and every day was a segregated day. These parks admitted “negroes and colored people” as servants only. Enter the construction of Joyland.

In 1921, Joyland, known as the “colored Lakewood,” opened as an amusement park for African Americans. A creek ran through its center and was flanked by tall oak trees. The park opening was attended by the mayor of Atlanta and several prominent preachers from black churches around

the city. Joyland Park was a civic victory for proponents who campaigned tirelessly for a park African Americans could attend. Fun fact: the Race Riot of 1906 was quelled by African American residents of the area around Joyland who smuggled guns and arms into the post office from Macon and Savannah. There’s some mystery surrounding what came of the amusement park, though folks speculate that it closed some time during the Great Depression.

In 1926, community members formed Joyland Park, an African-American subdivision in the area surrounding the park. Those who lived here were mostly farmers, farmhands, and laborers. To address the city’s housing crisis, the Joyland Park housing project was later built. The George Washington Carver Homes were completed in 1953 to house 990 African-American families. During Atlanta’s historic wave of closing and/or demolition of all public housing at the turn of the 21st century, Carver Homes was replaced by the Villages of Carver, a mixed-income development community. A number of Atlanta’s civic leaders are from Joyland, including Arthur Langford, Jr., after whom the current public park was named in 1995. Arthur Langford Park includes a playground, a skate park, some of the same old trees from the original park, and the creek still cuts its path through the center.

TANYARD BOTTOM Just south of Georgia Tech along Techwood Drive (Centennial Olympic Park Drive), Tanyard Bottom was a de facto integrated neighborhood during the early 20th century characterized as a “shanty town” or “slum.”

Tanyard Bottom was an impoverished, mixed-race settlement composed of poor white and black laborers who worked in the warehouses and on the railroads. This level of integration (one-third of the 1600 families were African American) provides a contrary narrative to the state of segregation in Atlanta during the time, borne out of the necessity for members of both races to live close to the factories in which they worked.

In June of 1933, demolition of Tanyard Bottom began, and in 1935, the first Public Works Administration — a branch of FDR’s New Deal — housing project, Techwood Homes, was dedicated. Construction was completed in 1936. It’s interesting to note that the PWA established a “neighborhood composition rule,” stating that federal housing projects should reflect the previous racial composition of their neighborhoods. So, in theory, Techwood Homes should have been integrated. But, of course not. Techwood Homes was designated as “whites only,” and further exacerbated the housing crisis for the evicted African Americans who crowded into other “established Negro areas.” Furthermore, the new housing development was designed for lower-middle class white families, so the previous white residents of Tanyard Bottom were either forced to live in other areas or illegally double-up in housing units to meet income requirements.

Techwood Homes was demolished in preparation for the 1996 Olympics and is now Centennial Place Apartments. The area is surrounded by an increasingly sprawling Georgia Tech University and popular tourist 35

attractions such as the World of Coca-Cola, the Children’s Museum, the Georgia Aquarium, and Centennial Olympic Park.

BEAVER(’S) SLIDE Beaver (or Beaver’s) Slide was an African-American settlement, also designated as a “slum,” in the area near Morris Brown University, Clark College, Atlanta University, Morehouse College, and Spelman College, known collectively as the Atlanta University Center. City and university authorities frequently cited the area’s high levels of criminality and need to be “cleaned up.” Most of the inhabitants of Beaver Slide were lower-income laborers. Legend states that the town got its name from then-Atlanta Police Chief James Beaver observing the community from a hillside, losing his footing, and “sliding” down into the slum. There’s also a blues song documenting the area entitled “Beaver Slide Rag” by musician and bootlegger Peg Leg Howell.

Like many of the communities in this article, Beaver Slide was identified as a “slum” during Atlanta’s aggressive public housing project development, largely to justify its demolition. It was argued that the area simply needed investment to improve infrastructure for electricity and running water. Beaver Slide homeowners were bought out at low prices and renters were evicted.

Those homeowners struggled to find affordable housing. They also lacked the support of leaders from the nearby black higher learning institutions, many of whom lived on Ph.D. Row in Vine City, who felt the area around the schools needed to be “respectable.” So, Beaver Slide was replaced by University Homes, the second PWA housing project in Atlanta. University Homes, built in 1938, was the African American counterpart to Techwood Homes, housing hundreds of lower- and upper-middle class families.

University Homes was demolished between the years of 2008 and 2009, and the land is now fields of grass dotted by the remains of apartment buildings, brick steps leading to imaginary entrances, bordered by barbedwire fences. The property is currently a part of the University Choice Neighborhood Housing Plan, which claims to bring mixed-income housing to the former site of Beaver Slide by 2023.

BLANDTOWN There was a time, some years ago, when I first began hearing the term “West Midtown.” My response was typically, “Da hell is that?” Well, it’s that area west of Atlantic Station, north of MLK, Jr. Drive and along the Marietta Street corridor. West Midtown, a rapidly developing area, including the Westside Provision District, is an explosion of high-end restaurants, retail stores, and residences. The area’s current aesthetic is a nod to its industrial roots. What is now West Midtown was home to much of Atlanta’s industrial and Civil War history. Gen. Sherman used the extant Norfolk Southern rail lines to invade Atlanta and, in the wake of the city’s recovery, several residential settlements popped up, including Knight’s Park/Howell Station, Underwood Hills, and Blandtown.

Blandtown is located along Huff Road between Howell Mill Road and Marietta Boulevard. It was one of the first black settlements around postCivil War Atlanta. The community was named after Felix Bland, a freed man to whom Mrs. Viney Bland bequeathed the land in her will. One story behind this bequest is that Mrs. Bland, a white landowner, paid for the university education of her former Felix and later willed him her estate. However — and get this — Mrs. Viney Bland is listed as “Negro” in the 1880 census, along with her husband Samuel, who was also black and purchased four acres for $200 in 1871. The pair had four children, including Felix, none of whom were ever enslaved. Fascinating story, either way.

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Bland lost the land due to unpaid taxes, and it was subsequently bought and developed into a residential area by Bob Booth. The mostly African American community had four churches, schools, and a health clinic; many of its residents worked in industries nearby — a mill, the railroad, a fertilizer factory, and a stockyard. A fire burned through Blandtown in 1928, incinerating 15 homes, two restaurants, and a church.

True to Atlanta’s phoenix spirit, the town was rebuilt and continued to thrive into the early 1950s.

Encroaching rail lines, interstate construction, and industrial rezoning contributed to Blandtown (and Knight’s Park and Underwood Hills) becoming a residential island. The neighborhood was eventually swallowed up in a sea of industrialization, being officially rezoned in 1956. By the 1990s, many of these factories and warehouses would be abandoned, save for some really good discount warehouse retailers where one could cop three suits for $99.99, including a matching pocket square. The current wave of gentrification was initiated in this same decade with the repurposing of warehouses into art centers, lofts, retailers, and restaurants.

At its height, Blandtown was made up of at least 200 homes. In 2020, only four remain. On English Street, artist Gregor Turk, owner of one of the four last Blandtown homes, has created a nine-foot art installation that marks the legacy of Felix Bland. It is a billboard that reads “the Heart of Blandtown,” and it is surrounded by homes exceeding values of half a million dollars.

BUTTERMILK BOTTOM/BUTTERMILK BOTTOMS/BLACK BOTTOM Sisters are fine and foxy The prettiest thing you’ve ever seen Tall, black and sexy And every time you see ‘em they’re clean They all wearing different gangsta hats Cause they think that’s where it’s at They switching and walking and talking And driving them Cadillacs On Saturday night they’re drinking Come Sunday they all start thinking And praying to the Lord to save us Save us all from Buttermilk Bottom Buttermilk Bottom (1973) — Spirit of Atlanta The lyrics from the song above by Spirit of Atlanta accurately describe this old Atlanta neighborhood that was razed a decade before in 1963.

Buttermilk Bottom, aka Buttermilk Bottoms, aka Black Bottom covered some of the terrain in the Old Fourth Ward along the edge of downtown in the floodplain of Atlanta. Folklore suggests that the community earned its name from the smell of backed up water in the downward sloping sewers in the area. An alternate explanation has the source of the smell run-off from a nearby dairy processing factory. Buttermilk Bottom was an impoverished and severely under-developed African American neighborhood. It suffered from a lack of investment or interest, having no telephones or electricity, and minimal running water — many buildings still used outhouses — in the mid20th century. That’s right. You read that right. In the middle of the city in the middle of the 20th century, there was an area called Buttermilk (or Black) Bottom that did not have telephones, electricity, or running water.

Off the main roads, the streets in Buttermilk Bottom were dirt roads well into the 1960s. Along these streets were hundreds of wooden-framed homes with lively front porches. Music permeated the area, pouring out from cars, homes, churches, and juke joints. Many of the Bottom’s residents worked as

domestics in the wealthier homes nearby along Charles Allen Drive or in one of the “garden neighborhoods,” better known as Inman Park and Coppin Hill. Buttermilk Bottom was a culturally generative site, despite and because of harsh conditions inflicted on the community through oppressive racial and class discrimination.

“How big was Buttermilk Bottom, anyway?” you may find yourself wondering, probably trying to mitigate the shock of that fact by hoping it was maybe a square block or two. Nope.

While it’s difficult to mark the exact boundaries these days, the land that was annexed and developed by the City of Atlanta in the 1960s in the name of improvement consists of the now-defunct Atlanta Civic Center, the Georgia Power headquarters, Bedford Pine apartments, Renaissance Park, and Central Park. A fire in 1970 along Boulevard destroyed several homes, and the homes along Peachtree were replaced with office buildings.

The annexation and redevelopment of Buttermilk Bottom was particularly controversial and underhanded. Ivan Allen, Jr., and the City of Atlanta completed a series of maneuvers that placed the spectre of urban renewal over the lives of the city’s residents. For example, there was the coordinated evasion of the Federal Housing Authority’s rule that the destruction of existing housing must be accompanied by replacement public housing. Allen’s administration allocated 300 units in Bowen Homes; unfortunately, these units were already allocated for other relocation services. The City of Atlanta also directly lied in negotiations with the Urban League regarding promises

to provide housing for the displaced mostly-renting Bottom residents, with Mayor Allen having no intention of doing so. No residential land was allocated in the redevelopment plan for the affected area.

Community members would eventually organize under the group U-RESCUE (“Urban Renewal Emergency: Stop, Consider, Understand, Evaluate”) to resist the persistent demolition of homes and to protect the rights of residents. Despite their efforts and some victories, very little low-income housing was ever developed for the folks who called the Bottom home.

U-Rescue Villa, a public housing complex, was a result of the organization’s work, and the Cosby Spear House remains as a home for senior citizens.

These neighborhoods are just a small fraction of communities that have either prospered or gone the way of the steam engine through Atlanta’s prevailing desire to reach the ever-moving horizon of the “New South.” This survey of a teeny sample of Atlanta’s community development since the Civil War surely holds some parallel points worthy of consideration. What are the social and human costs of urban renewal and economic development? What cycles are we reproducing? What would an Atlanta that truly lived up to its ideals look like? Through periods of fire and destruction to periods of renewal and “opening days,” Atlanta has latched onto the phoenix. This is inspirational, sure. Here’s hoping that one day Atlanta will mature enough to know it doesn’t need to burn the whole shit down in order to grow and bloom.

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EATING CROW:

A CENTRIST COOKBOOK

By Katherine Paist

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riting against centrism is personally difficult, because I want to be sure I’m not implying support for either the Democratic or Republican Party in the process. The main point I’m trying to scream out is this: our party system is trash and centrism is definitely not the answer.

Being a non-voter my whole life, a lot of this article is also fighting against myself.

Yet, I feel the tide slowly pulling me back to my core belief that voting is an illusion of choice, and not voting is a message to those in power that they do not, in fact, have control over me. There is always the option to not choose at all.

Dipping my toes into the world of United States politics from a stance of “I Might Vote This Election” is a huge personal step, and I’ve got cold feet. I don’t want to be coerced into a vote. “Vote Blue No Matter Who” is fucking scary, especially when we see how easily Mike Bloomberg bought his way onto the Democratic ballot. Voting blue means shit, so socially punishing people for not voting when the options are so dismal is invalid and alienating.

I’m sympathetic to the non-voters out there: I see you, I am you — this is my thought process in and out of a “Bernie or Bust” mindset. According to the U.S. Election Project, there were almost 92 million non-voters in the 2016 presidential election, constituting about one-third of the country’s voting population. While the defiant nihilist in me couldn’t be prouder, I’m also reconsidering how much of that number is due to voter suppression and how much of it is people not voting as a political stance. I’m also interested in how much this number will change in 2020 depending on who becomes the eventual Democratic presidential nominee. How much larger can a non-voting population grow before it becomes symptomatic of political resistance?

Societies with extreme disparities similar to those of the U.S. either succumb to overthrow, revolt, or solidify into a police state. That’s not a hypothesis; it’s a historical

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Illustration Credit: Katie Drake

fact. Take, for instance, the Arab Spring or the rise of Nazi Germany as examples of overthrow, revolution, and police state solidification. Currently, with the Democratic party’s infighting yet overall opposition to the swiftly ossified and dominating Republican agenda, the U.S. is teetering on the cusp of what feels like the political unknown. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is watching us and wondering when we will ever make up our minds about what it is we actually want. Our political climate overall is reactionary and full of contradictions. I blame this on centrism.

I think it’s time we all take a deep breath and finally accept that centrism is not a solution to black-and-white thinking like many believe it is. Centrism is as colorblind as it is fencewalking; it is befuddled with contradiction and naive, selfish conceptualizations of peace; it does not properly acknowledge struggle, oppression, nor disparity; it is a pacifier. Centrism in the U.S. is still right-leaning and largely a tool of conservative parties to quell the polarization of the left.

CENTRISM, IN AND OF ITSELF, IS A CONSERVATIVE TACTIC. Tactically, centrism favors the conservatives, because historically we are a conservative country. Our middle ground is not actually a middle ground; instead, it is small shifts away from the far right. So, if we were to mark on a line where centrism falls on our political binary, I’d say it’s here: [———————————————————————————-x——————————]

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ecause when what is identified as a leftist strategy surfaces in America’s political world, the right responds with criticism via hysteria, false facts, and strawmanning. Then, centrist beliefs form in reaction, saying, “Hey! Not all of us want proposition X. That’s asking a lot. We will settle for Y.” And boom, apologist strategy

masked as compromise surmounts as a little pacifying X on a nonexistent binary and we label it centrism. Because it’s definitely not left or right; so on a binary, that means it must be somewhere in the middle.

But it’s not. When we view U.S. politics as a Republican/Democratic binary, it’s unfair and historically inaccurate to place centrism exactly in the middle of them.

Rather, centrism is a bipartisan tool used in bargaining; as we’ve seen, it usually lands in favor of conservatism or the political right. In my head it looks like a pulley system, making a machine out of this whole binary concept. Centrism is like the truck bed of a Ford F-150 that shuttles back and forth between the polarized parties with people hopping on the proverbial bandwagon and riding it down party lines, like we blatantly saw executed in the Democratic primaries when Mike Bloomberg bought his way into the races.

Bloomberg has notoriously flip-flopped his political identity in order to suit his campaign interests, going from Democratic to Republican to Independent to Democratic again. Shortly after 9/11, he began running under the Republican ballot to help set the stage for a successful mayoral bid. We saw this move again after he switched back to the Democratic Party after a hint of a presidential run in October 2018. He’s cunning in these movements, making the Democratic and Republican parties pawns he can manipulate. He’s a billionaire, and money is a bipartisan tool. Either party is happy to have him and his assets.

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lthough it’s glaring in the case of Bloomberg, we can see the same distraction strategy used to destabilize voters in the Democratic primaries. Like Bloomberg, Elizabeth Warren has utilized party identity as nothing more than a convenient means of self-advancement to higher stakes of power. (Warren was also once a Republican; Sanders, on the other hand, has always identified as an Independent.) Ultimately, it’s irrelevant which party these candidates ran under, as the problems that arose with them (regardless of party registration) are much more critical, such as Bloomberg’s infamous stop-and-frisk policy he commandeered while he was mayor of New York City, Warren’s sudden acceptance of super PAC money in the name of feminism, and Buttigieg’s flip-flopping on universal health care for endorsements from health insurance companies. In the end, all of these candidates were nothing more than red herrings in the Democratic primaries used to coalesce behind one candidate. Warren siphoned votes away from Sanders in the primaries while emulating untrustworthy behavior and a questionable track history, and Buttigeig, in the end, came out as exactly what he is: a white man with centrist, neoliberal politics that harmonize with Joe Biden, a man whom the media has deemed “electable,” but who can’t seem to tell his wife and his daughter apart, calls Super Tuesday “Super Thursday,” and apparently needs multiple candidates to drop out the day before Super Tuesday and endorse him to make a “comeback.” Ultimately, Warren and Buttigieg both played different roles for the same team: Team Biden, brought to you by centrism.

The Democratic Party portrays Biden as their carry, someone who started out in the periphery of the Democratic spotlight since he’s already well known as Obama’s Vice President. He’s still in everyone’s recent memory, and stayed low on the back burner until Warren, Buttigeig, Bloomberg, and Amy Klobuchar burned bright and dropped off. Centrists are now stuck in the voids of their own indecision where all these candidates used to be, and they’re panicking: it’s Bernie vs. Biden now.

Lacking the ability to weigh the risks at stake, they fall for facades of security and stability fabricated by Biden and the Democratic Party and those like Klobuchar and Buttigeig who now endorse him, forgetting that it’s not only about defeating Trump in a presidential election. The battle is the undoing of Trump’s presidential empire, the redistribution of justice and equality, and the systematic placement of health over wealth.

that are masked by his flatlined, Democratic identity. To call racist pragmatism a mere political failure seriously undermines how dangerous and toxic it actually is. Sanders may not have the rap sheet that Biden has, but it is possible that people are finally willing to risk alleged inexperience over repetitive oppression, because Americans are literally dying in need of change. All Biden would do is solidify the fortresses Trump constructed. This makes him an enemy, and enemies are charismatic and excellent at convincing us otherwise. What Biden says on the pedestals of his campaign are beside the point; when the Democratic Party quietly co-signed a budget in the billions for expansion of ICE, the construction of the border wall, and the military, all while failing to impeach our president — then it’s raining red flags. It’s no longer time to play it safe.

This is further evidence of how centrism is a conservative tactic: it stands to depolarize the left through internal strife and leave them settling for less than what they initially sought. Centrism is pretty much Reddit trolling, arguing against other people not to prove a crucial point, but only to tear them apart and gaslight them.

Isn’t that “winning” in its basest form? We’ve seen this so many times, notably in the queer/gay assimilation split in the 1990s, the anti-war movement in the early 2000s, and currently with the U.S. healthcare crisis (and I call it a crisis because when 27.5 million Americans are uninsured along with 43.8 million who are underinsured, it is one).

This might not seem problematic to some, but the reality is that centrism is not centrist or anywhere in the middle. Centrism is just as much an outlier, and this is where a binary system fails us as people. This issue is reiterated in other aspects, including race, gender, and sexual orientation. Thus it’s important to address the construction of our political climate being entirely suffocated by the binary so commonly used to illustrate it. Centrism sucks because it acknowledges and reinforces a binary political system in and of itself, fabricating some bullshit “middle ground” between two parties that doesn’t exist. We need to stop thinking of politics under umbrella terms such as “left” and “right” and realize that conservative and progressive modules aren’t diametrically opposed; they’re just different schools of thought. Once we disband this idea of black-and-white thinking, centrism suddenly becomes useless because it’s seen for what it is: the constant mixing of oil and water just to watch them fight to separate again.

As we’ve seen, centrism is complicit to the systems of injustice created by the means of capital, sympathetic to the hierarchy and privilege it perpetuates, and ignorant to the world outside of the Fortune 500; therefore, it is pro-capitalist. I know that may arrive as a grandiose statement, but centrism is toxic and dangerous because it has the ability to appeal to those who are commonly frustrated with the dysfunction within our current two-party system, wistfully aiming to find some sort of “happy medium.” They commonly ask, “Why can’t we all just get along?”

— a question that airs as ignorant to those who are paying close enough attention to what’s going on.

CENTRISM IS A FAILED ATTEMPT TO TRY AND FIND A NEW WAY WHILE STILL USING THE OLD DIRECTIONS. THROW THE WHOLE FUCKING MAP OUT ALREADY.

SUCH THINGS ARE NOT BIDEN’S AGENDA, ALTHOUGH THE MAN PURPORTS GOOD INTENTION (WHICH WE ALL KNOW PAVES THE ROAD TO HELL).

I’ve heard some centrists co-opt the JFK quote about “idealism without illusions,” which, like, what the fuck does that even mean in practical terms? Utopia without unicorns? There’s absolutely no footing here and it just sounds pretty. It fails by appealing to what sounds good but is ultimately meaningless to anyone who’s actually struggling on a day-to-day, paycheck-to-paycheck basis. It’s like when former presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg quoted Martin Luther King, Jr., in his speeches while criticizing the “revolutionary politics of the 1960s.” It’s dangerous, because while I want to believe that “idealism without illusions” would easily be met with a “Fuck You” from anyone who isn’t a billionaire, I know there are so many of us with our hearts on our sleeves, running out of luck and looking for a quick fix to this awful thing we call reality.

he storyline of Biden being essential to carry this election to a Democratic victory is a fallacy. Calling out Biden isn’t an attempt to attack or analyze his “successes and failures.” Rather it’s about highlighting fundamental, ethical flaws

I think one of the most vital components in all of this is the anger and discomfort that centrists possess. That’s instinctual: the ability to look at the current state of affairs and say “this is wrong and it makes me mad.” The real question is what is it

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that centrists find wrong and why does it make them mad? Centrists are a group of lost souls who don’t even necessarily agree with each other; it’s like they ended up in a political purgatory to be upset and bond on the commonality of their emotional state. Thus, centrism is an alignment on discontent, and that’s about it. I call this the Danger Zone.

It reminds me of the Occupy Movement in 2011. Once it caught momentum, it exploded across the U.S. and hundreds of people showed up in parks or city squares.

Why? Because they were mad! At what? Literally everything. It didn’t take long for organizers of the demonstrations to realize they cast a very wide net and that there was a lot of ego with no elbow room. Everyone was mad, but they couldn’t for the life of them agree on why. A lot of what the Occupy Movement brought to the table was semantic foreplay — hours and hours of people arguing point of processes about what terms like “radical” and “violent” meant and how they were to be put into action. What does it mean to have radical leftist beliefs? Why are certain concepts such as universal healthcare viewed to be radical in their demands? As one meme on the internet says, it’s “kinda wild how the most far-left, extremist, militant position you can take on health care is that people should have it.”

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n the same vein, how is throwing a brick through a bank window violent in comparison to how that institution aids in the systematic exploitation, de-housing and displacement of marginalized peoples? What is violence — and is it a necessary tactic, or just the taboo expletive that liberals and centrists alike deem it to be? These terms are subjective, loaded, and therefore empty and meaningless. Meanwhile, the presidential debates are mentally exhausting and distracting from getting anything done. Terms like “radical” and “socialism” have deep-seated roots in the U.S. and are used to scare people, and this was amplified in the Occupy Movement.

Sociologists and psychologists were fascinated by Occupy because it was like a LARPing of socio-political self-organization and fragmentation that happened in a matter of days, and was self-documented meticulously by the participants of the movement on social media.

In the end, the left tragically alienated centrists and anyone else that wasn’t quote-unquote leftist (whatever that means), and their numbers dwindled until it became an academic circle jerk.

NOT ONLY DID CONSERVATIVE AND LIBERAL NEWS NETWORKS USE THIS AS RICH FODDER AS THEY VILLAINIZED THE FAR LEFT, BUT THEY WEAPONIZED THE CENTRISTS. Thanks to the Occupy movement, we now know who is a reactionary: the centrists.

By “reactionary,” I mean that centrism is not founded on one core belief system that sets it apart from the rest. Rather, it is constructed by bargaining and compromise with the opposition. Thus, centrism is what makes it impossible for progressive movements such as the civil rights movement to ever see their full manifestation. If it weren’t for centrism or compromise, there is a good chance we’d know what true equality is, rather than the half-ass measures we’ve gotten. Sure, slavery doesn’t exist as we learned about it in our history books — but it’s still very much alive in our prison-industrial complex and the $2.13/hour service industry wage in Georgia and a few other states.

“Reactionary” also means highly motivated by fleeting emotions. It’s the opposite of being pragmatic, which means “dealing with things sensibly and realistically in a way that is based on practical rather than theoretical considerations.” Centrists

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are highly emotional, possessing the most vague political framework. The system isn’t working. Poverty sucks. Education is important. Be active in your community.

We have rights. Blah. We know. Expand on literally any of these topics and it’ll be really difficult for any centrist to have set core values. At the risk of sounding like an asshole, I’m fucking tired of centrist political routes regurgitating opinions and beliefs that are already obvious. Their porousness leaves them vulnerable to disinformation, making them easy targets of manipulation. They’re one clickbait article away from reiterating something fascist, or believing that something that could be done for the betterment of humanity would actually be done maliciously by Them (whoever they are).

For example, there was a graphic from a right-wing meme page circulating amongst liberals on social media outlets that demonized Sanders’ Medicare For All through a math equation based on misinformation. The math was correct, so therefore, it is factual! It was a blasphemous claim that Medicare For All calls for a 52% tax increase in one of the lowest tax brackets, subjecting the working class to losing half of their salary to their health care expenses, and rendering them to an hourly wage of $7.20/hour, five cents below the current federal minimum wage.

It’s all misinformation and it’s effective, causing just enough hesitancy to spiral into mass hysteria. It aims to convince people that there’s some ulterior motive to utilizing tax brackets to provide every person in this whole damn country with access to affordable healthcare. We spend trillions of dollars on wars to kill strangers and their children, but for some reason spending taxes on each other to ensure we can all afford to see a doctor if we are sick is egregious. That’s exposing some shallow roots — completely unsustainable, short-term, reactionary thinking. That’s centrism, baby: a non-ideology effectively being used as a political weapon to appeal to the parts of masses that question everything, but are also impartial to all the answers because they sound good.

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n the topics of black-and-white thinking and race, centrism does not acknowledge “black” or “white.” If you’ve ever met a person who said they “didn’t see color,” you could maybe find it in you to appreciate the sentiment of what they were failing to say correctly; but otherwise, it’s infuriating. Racism is deeply ingrained in this country, and the inability to see that is something better known as privilege.

Yes, I’m daring to say that the ability to possess centrist beliefs is a privilege in itself, albeit a considerate one that aims to never offend and strives impractically for this greater good that would only ever exist at the expense of someone, somewhere else. Again, this is a failure of centrism: the inability to connect the small and large and see the tragic relations between the U.S. and the rest of the world. Maybe it’s a lack of self-awareness. But if we’ve ever documented anything accurately in history, it’s the way paradise for some is born from the sufferings of many.

The blindness and cognitive dissonance associated with centrism is what stifles it greatly. Acknowledging that everything sucks, even in the prettiest rhetoric, doesn’t light the proverbial fire of revolution. This is where fencewalking comes into play.

Centrists, by definition, are leaning in no direction at all, so there’s effectively no call being made. It’s political heckling and trolling; treading water in the wayside saying “shit’s fucked up,” but then tearing apart any efforts to revolt. What’s the fucking point then? To eventually drown? There’s no one out here tossing us life savers because we can’t afford them: our taxes go to fund international war and are muddled in the interests of big business.

IF OUR LIVES ARE REDUCED TO MISCOUNTED VOTES, WHEN ARE WE GOING TO FINALLY CROSS THE LINE INSTEAD OF PATIENTLY WAITING IN IT?

AMERICAN MINDFULNESS

Collage by Meredith Kooi

By Elliot Fullerton

“ALL THAT IS SOLID MELTS INTO AIR, ALL THAT IS SACRED IS PROFANED, AND MAN IS AT LAST COMPELLED TO FACE WITH SOBER SENSES HIS REAL CONDITIONS IN LIFE.”  KARL MARX

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e live in an era of “life-hacks” and “secret quick tricks.” Promises of finding just the right amount of well-being and self-care practice that can relieve our tortured souls from the constant hammering of late capitalism’s bleak emptiness. The internet is littered with bits and pieces of mostly Eastern spiritual and holistic practices that are reimagined, commodified, and marketed to pacify the magnificent tower of anxiety that haunts us all as we work longer hours for stagnant wages, all while marching ever closer to climate catastrophe.

The most popular of these techniques by far is mindfulness, the practice of intentionally being aware of one’s experiences in the present moment. The concept of mindfulness has helped spawn a more than billion dollar industry, with thousands of smart-phone apps and even more content creators and experts spreading its tenets across the globe.

Derived from Buddhist traditions, mindfulness owes its modern manifestation to a man named John Kabat-Zinn, a practicing Western Buddhist who once had an epiphany while on a meditation retreat. He came up with the idea to standardize some practices from Buddhism, stripping

them of their religious and ethical roots and creating the secular system of Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction (MBSR). His program includes medimedi tation, concentration and breathing exercises, plus some yoga. Kabat-Zinn first used this system to treat anxiety and manage pain for hospital patients.

This worked incredibly well, and he was soon spreading his system to other markets, later gaining traction in the corporate world and the military.

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indfulness has become a dominating ideology in the corporate world, Nationespecially in Silicon Valley. According to a recent study by the Nation al Business Group on Health and Fidelity investments, 35% of all companies offer mindfulness training and 26% of those not offering are considering it. Prominent communist philosopher Slavoj Zizek has argued that mindfulmindful ness has even replaced the Protestant work ethic in influence, claiming that 80% of corporate managers and business figures admit to practicing some form of mindfulness. The massive corporation Google has even created its own permanent position for an MBSR guru called “A Jolly Good Fellow.”

From Coca-Cola to Goldman-Sachs, MBSR is redefining the corporate psypsy cho-sphere.

But why?

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Illustration Credit: Meredith Kooi

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he medical origin of MBSR is vital to understanding its practice in the corporate world. Being sick or injured is extremely stressful. Patients who practiced MBSR were using it to treat side effects associated with their medical conditions — mainly anxiety and pain management. MBSR allows patients to separate themselves from their material reality and offers a sense of internal solace. So, in a sense, it offers a type of psychic escapism to alleviate the anxiety and pain caused by illness and injury, which is extremely helpful. When we compare this to the stresses of corporate America, the same principle applies. MBSR offers the business world a remedy to the tensions of late-stage global capitalism. Managing soul crushingly long work hours and increasing productivity to avoid job insecurity is something that MBSR excels at.

So what we have in the corporate world is a massive spiritual movement — a transformation, if you will — but how does that play out? One might think that a company like Google embracing Western Buddhism would have positive moral and ethical ramifications, but one particular event at a Google mindfulness convention suggests otherwise.

In 2014, Google had some unexpected guests at its Wisdom 2.0 convention. A group called Heart of the City crashed the event to protest the rise of forced evictions in San Francisco. Google’s massive presence in the city had caused a housing bubble to form, with housing costs skyrocketing to unprecedented levels as techies flooded the city and its metro area, leading to mass evictions.

anxiety spreads across the room as the audience realizes that their own company is being accused as the cause of these evictions. Security begins to remove the protestors, and the Guru takes back control of the room, guiding the audience to “check in with their bodies.” He leads them into meditative practice as a security guard and a protester have a tug of war over applaud the protest sign. Moments later, the room is applauding themselves for, according to the Guru, “Checking in with themselves to see what it’s like to be around people who think differently than we do.”

What happened in this conflict? A group of mindful corporatists were confronted with the negative actions of their group, which induced anxiety, and then their MBSR practice alleviated that stress. This anecdote seems to be an apt representation of how MBSR works in the larger corporate world. Zizek explains that this corporate version of mindfulness functions as a remedy against the stressful tensions of capitalist dynamics, allowing the practitioner to engage with the insanity of late-stage capitalism without being existentially attached to it. Aided by MBSR, these Google employees are able to be part of a process that causes forced evictions, but are relieved from the guilt and anxiety that accompanies it.

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n his book McMindfulness, Ronald E. Purser compares MBSR training to the fast food of McDonald’s.

It looks and tastes like food and can provide shortterm remedy to hunger, but it is incapable of providing long-term sustenance. Just like with its medical origin, MBSR training can alleviate anxiety and manage pain, but it cannot treat the root illness. A worker at Google can use meditation to help manage the pain and anxiety of an 80-hour work week, but this does nothing to remedy his deep-rooted conditions perpetuated by the system he is working in. MBSR is more like a Xanax or Tylenol than an antibiotic. It relieves unpleasant symptoms, but does not treat the problem; and the problems plaguing the modern worker are the systemic problems of late capitalism.

In a YouTube video recording of the protest, we see the group interrupting a MBSR guru to unveil a sign stating “No more forced evictions” to scattered applause in the audience. A woman with a loudspeaker leads the other protesters in chants like “San Francisco’s not for sale!” Now, what’s fascinating about this occurrence is that in the video you can feel the crowd’s cognitive dissonance growing. At first, they are with the protestors 100% — who would agree with forced eviction? Then, once the leader begins the chanting, Purser extends this metaphor by demonstrating how 42

well MBSR, like the fast food giant, molds into the neo-liberal framework, which includes what theorist Mark Fischer describes as the “privatization of stress.”

The privatization of stress means that the structural problems of our economy are accepted as permanent and inevitable, leaving it up to individuals themselves to navigate these problems.

So what does the privatization of stress look like in the real world? Well, it takes on many forms and manifests wherever workers attempt to cope with the unbearable realities of late capitalism. You can see it in the opioid epidemic and the rising suicide rate and people working second jobs for Uber or Lyft to afford rising rents with their stagnant wages. We see it in therapists’ offices and in packed out yoga classes.

Everywhere we look, we see people doing everything imaginable to cope with capitalist realities, from the growing tent cities under highway passages; to the busy pharmacies filling orders for antidepressants, anti-anxiety medication, and adderall; to our shopping and our eating habits; to our collective addiction to social media; and so on.

MANAGEMENT OF THE ANXIETY & PAIN THAT COMES FROM KNOWING YOUR WORK AT GOOGLE IS FORCING FAMILIES FROM THEIR HOMES IS MEDITATED AWAY WHILE THE STRUCTURAL FORCES THAT CAUSE BOTH THE EVICTIONS AND YOUR GUILT ARE LEFT IN PLACE. The possibility of stopping the structural problems of the housing crisis seems so far removed from reality that instead of addressing it, Google hires MBSR gurus to train its entire staff to handle the stress of it. This practice becomes even more sinister when we consider the involvement of MBSR in the U.S. military and

intelligence agencies. On Feb. 12, 2020, the CIA’s official Twitter account tweeted the following message:

“TAKE TAKE A BREATH. THE WORK DAY CAN BE OVERWHELMING. WE OFFER OUR OFFICERS A QUIET SPACE TO STEP AWAY AND CATCH THEIR BREATH. DEEP BREATHING IS ONE OF THE EASIEST FORMS OF RELAXATION YOU CAN PRACTICE AND USE ON YOUR OWN. #WEDNESDAYWIS #WEDNESDAYWIS DOM #WELLNESSWEDNESDAY #THRIVINGATCIA.” When I read this, I immediately imagined a CIA agent at a black-site somewhere in the Middle East, stepping away from waterboarding an Arab teenager to “catch his breath” or “check in with himself.” In fact, the reality of the militarization of mind mindfulness is not too far off.

Buddhist monk and writer Christopher Titmuss has been speaking out against Buddhist principles being used for military purposes since the Iraq War. As a practicing Western Buddhist, he has been researching and sounding the alarm about the dangers and immorality of using mindfulness to create better killers — but the U.S. military is not listening. Employing RAND Corporation research, Titmuss has uncovered a military program called Mindfulness-based Mind Fitness Training (MMFT, pronounced M-Fit).

MMFT mirrors the eight-week training course of Kabat-Zinn’s MBSR training and plays an ever-increasing role in many branches of the military. Before shipping off to fight in Arab nations, a growing number of Marines undergo a mindfulness training program similar to MBSR where they practice mindful breathing, meditation in various positions, concentrated attention, and other MBSR-type training. According to Titmuss’s research, a military intelligence officer named Elizabeth A. Stanley de-

scribed how this training has been weaponized: “Soldiers learning how to fire the M-16 rifle are taught to pay attention to their breath and synchronize the breathing process to trigger the finger’s movement, squeezing off the round while exhaling.”

We’re a long way from the mindfulness training of hospital patients here.

The most dystopian aspect of the military’s MMFT efforts can be found in its Predator drone program. Although drone pilots are not physically engaged in combat, they face frequent incidences of burnout and PTSD. Pilots are responsible for massive amounts of civilian deaths, leading to guilt and PTSD, as well as a condition called information overload. Military psychologists hope to help pilots remain calm during high-stress missions by inoculating them from the guilt associated with those missions, which include things like dropping bombs on a wedding party in Yemen in December 2013.

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rom the boardroom to the battlefield, it is obvious that mindfulness is a powerful tool in enabling practitioners to maintain an inner peace separate from the material conditions of the world. That’s not a bad thing on its own, but as we have seen, some uses of mindfulness can raise all kinds of ethical and spiritual questions. The most disconcerting aspect of MBSR as a spiritual practice is that it has the potential to facilitate people doing terrible things and then remedy our natural responses to those terrible things. It’s like falling down the stairs and injuring yourself, then taking a Vicodin for the pain, only to climb back to the top of the stairs and do it all again.

The massive popularity of MBSR products and training reveals that there is an extreme need for tools that can help us navigate the systemic problems that plague us. But do we really need more coping mechanisms?

OR DO WE NEED A RADICAL CHANGE IN OUR OUTER SYSTEMS AND EXTERNAL CONDITIONS?

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The United States is in the grips of an HIV epidemic.

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ince the virus first raged into our collective memory in the early 1980s, activist groups like ACTUP! and frequent advances in medical science and clinical treatment have held the worst of the virus at bay. In 2012, when I was a senior in college and very much terrified of sex, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration approved Truvada, a known HIV treatment drug, for pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP). PrEP provided an extra layer of protection for people who were HIV-negative.

This meant we were no longer limited to using condoms as the only way to protect ourselves from HIV. For millions of gay men, this was a reason to celebrate because — let’s be honest — I think we can all agree that condoms kind of suck.

Fast forward eight years later, and we now know that antiretroviral treatments (ARTs) can prevent the virus from replicating and progressing into AIDS within people who are living with HIV. ARTs can also reduce someone’s viral load — the amount of HIV in their body — to undetectable levels that prevent the virus from being transmitted to others. In the public health community, we know this as Treatment as Prevention, or TasP. This medical phenomenon has birthed the newest incarnation of HIV activism, the Undetectable = Untransmittable movement, colloquially known as U=U. Activists and medical professionals believe that the fervor around U=U, when combined with the security that PrEP provides, can usher in the fabled era of a generation where no children are born with HIV. This is a lofty goal that leaves out some crucial pieces of information. Not everyone living with HIV has access to the care required for it to become undetectable, and not everyone who is HIV-negative has the resources available to them to get on PrEP. There are groups of people in this country that are being overlooked, left behind, and marginalized. This “viral divide,” a term coined to describe the widening gap between those who have the resources to protect themselves from HIV infection and those who do not, poses a threat to queer people and people of color in the United States who cannot access PrEP or treatment.

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The HIV epidemic present in the U.S. is a silent epidemic that is stealing away the most vulnerable of us. Historically, it has been understood that black gay men are not only the most at risk of getting HIV, but also of dying of it once infected. As a black queer male who professionally inhabits public health spaces, the construction of my risk for HIV has never been lost on me. In fact, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, the U.S.’s foremost public health institution headquartered in Atlanta, has predicted that one of every two black gay men in the U.S. would become infected with HIV by the time they turned 50.

I understand what it is to internalize that risk, to live in that viral shadow, and to fear for my life. I do recognize that I was able to gather the resources necessary to get on PrEP and protect myself. Granted, there were barriers that stood in my way; forces outside of my control prevented me from getting on PrEP until 2019 — nearly seven years after PrEP had hit the market for HIV prevention.

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xperiencing those barriers, navigating the lack of access, and grappling with my personal understanding of HIV risk also means that I find it both a personal and professional responsibility to call out structures that prevent people from exercising their human agency, from protecting themselves, and living the healthiest versions of their lives. Which is to say that I believe the world is fucked up and I would love to do something about it… in any way that I can.

While I am not a person of trans experience, I recognize that I can leverage my privileges as a cisgender male and a public health professional to explain why transfolks are at such high risk for HIV, especially considering that new research has found that out of the 1 million transfolks estimated to be in the U.S., about one in seven are thought to be living with HIV as well.

Maybe something I say in this article can help you or someone you know — ideally, someone you care about.

I hope to do this by giving a quick rundown of a particular theory I have been exploring frequently while in grad school. Yes, a grad student is talking about theory again, but please bear with me! It won’t be boring! I promise!

(I hope!)

It’s broadly understood that the identities we hold in a society influence the way we are perceived in that society. It’s the reason some people hold more or less privilege than others. In public health, we recognize that giving or withholding social and community privileges based on identity can actually cause significant differences in health that are patterned along social identity, leading to stark inequalities. We call these inequalities health disparities, and they speak to the lived experiences that prevent people from receiving the medical services they need when they need them. Health disparities are very much rooted in the social and historical forces that perpetuate racism, sexism, and classism. If this sounds familiar, it’s because a lot of intellectual thought on health disparities owes itself to intersectional feminism.

However, intersectional feminism is a primarily legal framework designed to explain how institutions discriminate based on perceptions of race, class, and gender. While this could easily be applied to transfolks, there is another theory that is useful in understanding how lived health experiences, the construction of health risk, and HIV all fit together. This theory is known as Syndemic Theory.

Syndemic Theory argues that having or not having a disease isn’t the point of being healthy. It pulls largely from anthropology (public health may not be the most original science). It states that social conditions can be just as important as physical conditions in determining someone’s health, and that these social conditions can create “pathways” that lead to getting a disease or making an existing disease worse. Violence and poverty in the trans community, particularly among trans women of color, are examples of the social conditions that Syndemic Theory describes.

In the past two years alone, over 50 trans women have been murdered by perpetrators of transphobic violence. Six out of every seven women killed were also women of color. All too often, these murders occur in the context of trans women being killed by cisgender men who have solicited them for sex work — work that is necessary for survival when faced with the barriers of discriminatory employment practices that prevent trans women from securing stable income and housing.

Having to rely on sex work as a means of survival also means putting oneself at risk for HIV and other STIs, particularly when a john is willing to pay more to have sex without a condom. Living under the threat of violence, poverty, and health scares can take an intense mental and emotional toll on a person — which can then develop into depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and other mental health issues. Lastly, transphobia from healthcare providers (i.e. being refused services for being trans, being “dead-named,” etc.), means that a person may not be able to access the services designed to help in times of crisis — particularly as it relates to being tested for HIV and receiving PrEP or ART treatment depending on the result.

Each negative experience can create and worsen the experiences that live around it.

From this scenario alone, we can build a pathway leading to HIV risk, which stems from transphobia, stigma, and discrimination: > TRANSPHOBIA > DISCRIMINATION > POVERTY > SEX WORK > VIOLENCE > HIV RISK > HIV INFECTION With all of this in mind, we must always remember that while theory can be useful, people are not theoretical. It is always the challenge of science to pull theory into practice. This is a question I often return to as a public health researcher and practitioner: how do I get my head out of the clouds and put my boots on the ground? The beauty of theory is that, if used correctly, it can give us a framework for action. Often, we get so lost in the debate of who has the newest idea, who is wrong, who is right, and who can advance the field the most that we forget the people we are called to survey. So, using this pathway, I will attempt to provide some “evidence-based practices” (public health-speak for “what works”) that you can use to support and advocate for the transfolks in your community. These suggestions are by no means exhaustive, but it can help you learn about resources your local community offers.

1. Transphobia Respect your friends’ pronouns and names! If it’s a stranger and you’re not sure what pronouns they use, start by introducing yourself with your pronouns. Showing this respect will make you not look like an asshole and can prevent feelings of dysphoria. Also, get comfortable correcting people when they use the wrong names and pronouns for your friends.

2. Discrimination Help your friends figure out which spaces are trans-inclusionary. If you have a local center that provides a list of these spaces, offer to go with them. If they’re not comfortable with that, make efforts to ask them about the experience. Dealing with identity while also trying to develop community can be hard. Showing this support can go a long way in showing that you care!

3. Poverty Trans folks experience employment discrimination that makes it hard for them to get and keep a job. Even if your state doesn’t have anti-LGBT discrimination laws in place, you may still be able to find a job in your community using a trans-inclusionary job bank.

4. Sex Work This one can be a little tricky. People often find it hard to talk about sex.

People also find it hard to talk about money. This means that talking about both could be a lot! What is important is that whoever engages in sex work understands the risks that come with the job. If a friend expresses to you that they are engaged in sex work, don’t judge — express your concern, and see if they would be willing to talk with you. Your local community center may be able to point you to low cost (or even free!) resources that can help.

5. Violence This one is also tricky. Helping is important, but so is making sure you yourself are safe. Set up a safety plan with your friend if they feel like they might be in danger. Practice being an active bystander. If you see something, say something. Trans folks in particular might be wary of dealing with police if they’ve experienced violence, but there are many community groups that can provide legal advocacy, education, and even services if the situation is severe.

6. HIV Risk Sometimes people may be worried that they’ve been exposed to HIV and want to get tested. Sadly, even though many places offer free HIV testing, the fear and stigma of having an HIV-positive result may prevent someone from getting tested. Sometimes it helps to have someone offer to come with you during a test for moral support. If you’re feeling up to it, some places will allow friends and couples to get tested together.

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n conclusion, addressing the HIV epidemic in Atlanta demands that we acknowledge our collective responsibility to protect the most vulnerable of us.

This is the guiding principle that pulls me forward as a queer person of color who is actively engaged in the fight against HIV and AIDS. While social and historical forces bend the arc of our lives’ trajectories, it is our shared commitment to each other that softens the hardships we must endure. This is particularly true for the trans community that needs our advocacy more than ever to make sure they are not left behind in the viral divide.

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WHO GETS TO HEAL? A LOOK INTO CHRONIC ILLNESS AND THE USE OF PAIN’S BOUNDARIES FOR TRANSFORMATION IN CAPITALIST SOCIETY

BY KIM RUIZ

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first met Eve like many other 20-something year old artists and musicians living in Atlanta — working in a restaurant. We’d sneak off to smoke cigarettes, complain about our jobs, and laugh at how we didn’t know anything about the 300+ beer list. We’d talk about heartbreak and our hopes and dreams for the future. Eve was spunky and bright-eyed, but amid getting to know each other there was something below the surface that both of us didn’t know. As many work friendships go, we lost touch after I got fired from a restaurant again. I later heard that Eve had a bike accident where she suffered a concussion. This concussion began to onset symptoms of another nature and sent Eve down a path of physical, mental, and emotional tests, culminating in a maze-like diagnosis of Lyme disease.

Lyme is an infectious bacterial disease that has the ability to cause various co-infections. It’s been referred to as “The Great Imitator,” because its symptoms mimic other diseases. It is spread by ticks and can affect any organ of the body, including the brain and nervous system, muscles and joints, and the heart. Lyme is not covered by the majority of insurance companies in the U.S. Eve’s been given support by the Atlanta community via the Giving Kitchen and a GoFundMe. She has also started a chronic illness support group; in hopes of sharing her story, we intend to further the discussion of what Capitalist Society values in regards to one’s “ableness.” Lyme disease has become more talked about with celebrities like Bella Hadid and Justin Bieber being diagnosed — but in the end, who gets to heal?

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sat down with Eve recently to learn more about her condition. As we began the interview, I watched her take a pill.

What did you just take just now?

Burbur-Pinella. It is a Peruvian herb that I take when I start to feel my symptoms flare, and it helps to minimize them.

You had a moment where you realized that your concussion had to be something else. Can you talk about that moment when you were teaching (yoga)?

That feeling had been coming for a long time, but my fatigue had gotten so bad that I was afraid to go to sleep at night. It felt like I was slipping away from reality — the fatigue was so deep. There were so many mysterious symptoms coming up. I realized that there was something really wrong was when I was teaching a yoga class and I physically lost my ability to talk. Not that I couldn’t remember words, but the muscles in my jaw and throat were no longer able to form words and that was really terrifying. I ended up having to end class early obviously, because I couldn’t talk and I just started sobbing to all my students and it was very clear to me that something needed to change or be resolved in some way.

That sounds like a nightmare.

It feels very unreal and helpless because so many doctors don’t have enough adequate knowledge about this and they never admit that they don’t. So a lot of us are spiraling into Lyme disease.

Photo credit: Kim Ruiz

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When you were diagnosed you must have felt relieved and finally seen, although it was such a difficult process to get to that point.

It’s also a really hard diagnosis to get because Lyme is such an aggressive and an extremely complex disease to treat, and I was really grateful to have a diagnosis and be like ah-ha! I’m not crazy — I know that there’s something else going on in my body!

Let’s talk about insurance. You were losing your insurance at the same time you were getting diagnosed.

It was a terrible set of experiences to happen together, but it did teach me a lot of how much we can endure and figure out. I lost my insurance three weeks after I was diagnosed and was rushing around trying to get these tests done before I lost my insurance. I needed to get an EKG to make sure that my body could handle treatment. The doctors were like, “Oh we don’t have anything available for the next couple of weeks,” and I was like, “No, I’m going to lose my insurance and I can’t afford to do this otherwise — I need to do this now.”

The doctor that I see doesn’t accept insurance anyway, but medications would have really helped if I had good insurance. Why doesn’t your doctor accept insurance?

Because the medical community is fucked up. Insurance companies don’t want doctors to recognize that Chronic Lyme is a real thing. Which is crazy to me because there is science that makes it so obvious it would be a real thing.

But if they did say it was a real thing, then insurance companies would have to pay for people to be on multiple different kinds of antibiotics and other medications for like a year, two years, three years.

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Photo credit: Kim Ruiz

So Lyme literate doctors are doing a practice that is not accepted by the wider medical field. Right now, I’m on a lot of different things, but two of the antibiotics that I’m taking possibly can have a reaction that messes with your heart rate. We don’t want it to progress to a point where I’m in a wheelchair or where I have permanent heart damage. Which is complicated ya know— it’s not easy to take medication that might screw up my heart while… trying not to screw up my heart.

Can we talk about the cognitive effects? I feel like if something’s wrong with the body it’s easier to understand and compartmentalize, but once it starts to affect the way you think and the brain that must be very scary to approach.

The cognitive things are really difficult. I have Borrelia — which is Lyme disease and Bartonella and Babesia, which are its co-infections. Fear is a huge symptom caused by Babesia — so for a long time before I was treated I felt this deep pit of fear, and I was like, “Why do I feel so afraid?” And at the beginning of treatment I was terrified to take all of my drugs at once because of the way they made me feel.

That’s crazy — that’s like a landmine and a maze all in one.

I’m already anxious about this other disease and I have all this other fear. It was really chaotic but the most difficult cognitive symptoms are depersonalization, dissociation, and memory loss. Lyme disease can cause Alzheimers.

My cognitive symptoms have gotten so much better. I used to have to take four pills, and I used to have to count how many pills I had in my hand like 10 times — and I still did not know if I had four pills in my hand.

Let’s go back to the depersonalization and dissociation. Were you warned that this was something that was going to happen?

Not really. I mean, it’s like when you are diagnosed with Lyme and start going into treatment you are reading so many things about what might happen. I didn’t start recognizing that what I was experiencing was depersonalization until halfway through treatment.

It’s like the tide and you just don’t know what’s coming.

How did Lyme affect your practice as an artist and yoga instructor?

Did it deepen it?

That is the most profound part of this whole experience.

Depersonalization is not depression and it’s not disassociation. It just feels like you are not connected to yourself and you’re not connected to any other human and you’re just kind of this empty shell of a being. And that made interpersonal relationships really difficult for me.

It’s still part of my experience that I’m navigating. Some days I’ll be with someone that I’ve known for a long time that I know really well, and it just feels like I have no connection to you, I have no connection to myself, I’ve nothing to say, and I feel like I have nothing to contribute because it feels like I don’t care about anything. It’s vastly different from depression, although it sounds similar.

It sounds like feeling hollow.

Hollow is a great word for it. I’m struggling to even sit here with all the pain in my body let alone nothing coming out of me and I don’t care about anything.

I don’t have the energy to be 26 years old, and I don’t have anything to add to anything.

That was a really difficult thing to look at and to begin to look at the ways that capitalism has seeped into our interpersonal lives. Feeling like people only wanted to be around me when I was having good days and I could “contribute something” and talk about interesting things, rather than just be together as humans. It really made me start to question the expectations we have for each other and this need for a product to come of two humans being together.

Like satisfaction — getting something.

Yes, even the way ideas have become capital. Like, “Oh, we had a really good conversation.” Or, “It was really fun.” That there always had to be something worthwhile, offered, or to be had. Because when you’re sick, it’s fucking isolating as hell, and then it’s even more isolating when you feel like people could care less about being around you because you’re not able to form sentences.

And so a lot of that was pieces of my own judgment that I had to unbraid.

How am I quantifying others to think how they’re quantifying me?

Yes, looking at capitalist society and experience as commodity, and how that can make you feel if you cannot “perform.”

to breathe. I used to have to lay in my bed for days and days and days.

What does it mean to be alive anymore and what is interesting? What is vibrant and what is vivid? It stopped being, “Oh, this really cool art show.” It became more like — my palm is connected to my shoulder. Pouring gasoline into my car was this alive devotional act. I had to let go of the things that I thought were exciting.

Yeah, these peaks, but it’s about everything in-between.

I ceased to be able to have goals. It was like, “Oh I’m going to be better next month and then I’ll do this.” A year and half has gone by, and I’m still not there. I have to release these goals and learn to be here. I just can’t think into the future that much.

There are a lot of days where I have unexpected symptoms that flare up out of nowhere. What is my capacity to accept myself in whatever state I’m in, no matter what?

It’s been a huge process of becoming my biggest and most powerful advocate. And I don’t think that is unique for me. I think everyone who goes through the process of chronic illness has to become their own best advocate, because everyone else has their ideas of what’s going on in you and what you should be doing.

I can’t tell you the amount of people who shame me for choosing the pharmaceutical route. It makes me so angry.

Every time we talk about this there’s always something deeper we touch on. I remember the first time we talked about Lyme we really got into loving the disabled body and what that means, too.

The amount of love and respect that I have for my body [now] compared to before I got sick is a massive shift. I see how hard my body is working every single day to move towards life. It was really frustrating for the six months I was treating Babesia; it felt almost like I had the flu every day, and practicing yoga in that space was not easy.

The boundary that is created by pain and suffering of the disabled body is the most profound boundary to lead me deeper into my experience and deeper into the interconnectivity of this world. It’s as if the pain became an anchor to which I could expand from, whereas before when I was in a healthy body — I didn’t know which direction to go in. But when you have pain, there are boundaries. There’s something to press against and something to expand from.

Earlier you were discussing the idea that the Universe is a loving Universe, and I thought it was interesting you were saying that. There were some really scary times where I was like, “Am I going to die?” And I’d be like, “You’re probably going to have difficulty breathing for a while, and if you have to, you can go to the emergency room.” But there was some core stabilization that started happening that was like, whatever happens, you are this greater energy. You literally are the universe. Everything is the universe and it’s all connected, and that became a place of safety for me.

It made me really disillusioned with anything interesting.

Ha! I love that!

I got totally turned off. The veils were revealed to me for what games they really are. There was a time when reading made me nauseous and not able 49 Photo credit: Kim Ruiz

That’s great. I want to tie this in to other people living with chronic illness. The connotation that because I can’t see your ailment, like a broken leg, you must be fine. Or you’re sitting here talking, what do you mean you can’t be a “functioning” part of society? I had a friend with narcolepsy and her experiences of people not believing her because her body appears fine, I think, is an unfortunate shared experience among people living with chronic illness.

There are people that are like, “You’re sick? You don’t look sick.” I don’t feel like I need everyone to know this, but I’m also willing to put in the work too and talk about my experience. People that I know with chronic illness, especially Lyme disease and mostly female bodied people, have all gone to multiple doctors and [told] them this is my experience, and [the doctors] say, “No it’s not, because you don’t look like it, you’re this age, etc…” But how are you going to tell me I’m not feeling what I’m feeling?

They’re also just symptoms tho!

That is a massive issue with chronic illness and it’s a massive issue with Lyme disease, because it is really a bizarre thing that has symptoms that come and go — where you look pretty fine for the most part — and it’s a shame to me that people don’t listen more to the patients, because I think that’s more where the issues start.

Let’s talk about the help that you have gotten in Atlanta, the chronic illness support group you’ve started, and any advice you have for others struggling with chronic illness.

A vast amount of joy, gratitude, and love has come out of this. One of the best things that started was the scholarship to go to the Shepherd Center. Anyone who has any brain or spinal cord injuries can apply.

I was freaking out because I had to stop working, and I didn’t know how to pay all my bills for treatment. My friend told me to apply to the Giving Kitchen, because I was in the service industry. They have been paying my rent and utilities for the past six months!

I started a GoFundMe, which a lot of people all over have been contributing to. I don’t know what I would’ve done without that resource. All of the support I have been receiving felt like a huge gift — that I am able to be in treatment and have a diagnosis and pay for treatment.

My friend with Lyme and I decided to start a chronic illness support group together. It started as a resource for us feeling so isolated. It’s really hard to be in your 20s and not go out ever, not have a job, spend day after day inside because you can’t be in the sun. We started the group to grieve together. It’s a really cathartic experience and it also makes it feel okay, nothing is wrong here. My experience is okay because someone else is having this and validating me, and I don’t feel so quite alone in it.

I’ve met people with different chronic illnesses and other people struggling who don’t know what they have. We’ll text each other questions about medication and symptoms. It became a support group for whatever you need, with people who have gone through similar things or are going through similar things. We have a hard time meeting in person because we’re sick, so it’s been more of an online resource or texting resource. That’s just the reality of chronic illness.

For me personally, I’ve seen how corrupt the medical industry profiteers are, and I want to provide as much resources and knowledge for people, because I can and I’ve gained so much. Coming at it from a space of love and devotion for fellow human beings who are suffering deeply is very subversive to the current mode of healing in the medical society.

What I would have loved to have heard at the beginning is that everything will be okay, it will resolve itself, trust that this has come into your life for a reason. Because that gives a sense of purpose to the chaos and suffering of being really sick and confused. When I started to tune in with the fact that this came to me for a reason and I am not a victim, everything changed. And finding autonomy in any way you can is the most important thing you can do, and eventually everything will resolve itself. Regaining your power is the first step — and doing that in any means necessary. There are so many ways to do that.

For me that was yoga, art, spirituality, and therapy. Get yourself into therapy!

I

n addition to the things we discussed in this interview, Eve has started a series of tiny houses where the Lyme bacteria, spirochetes, can live outside of her body. Her ability to use pain and illness not only as artistic inspiration, but as the catalyst for deep inner transformation, is something we hope will help anyone struggling with physical, emotional, and mental pain.

In a society that fails to acknowledge citizens’ basic rights to physical health, it is no surprise that emotional and mental well-being are usually considered miniscule or even altogether ignored. How can we move away from an industrial model of being only valued as much as we can produce or work?

How can we be more conscious of subtly falling into a consumerist mindset in our interpersonal lives? One thing we can do is to continue to support one another’s well-being and vote for representatives that align with universal healthcare and access for all. Another thing is to realize that we are never alone — even when the going gets tough.

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Photo credit: Kim Ruiz

Photo credit: Kim Ruiz

I GOT THE WOLF BITE, BABY

By Meredith Kooi

Illustration credit: Brooke Sprickman

“Everything divides, but onto itself.” [1] “And yet all this is the person and the thing. There is then a duality in this person, this thing, a duality in its being.

It is what it is and it is a stranger to itself, and there is a relationship between these two moments.” [2]

M

y life has been a constant negotiation of internal borders. A battle of self and nonself I am told. A body that cannot and will not contain itself, keep itself in order, continuous betrayal. I am riddled with autoimmune disorders, diseases that are characterized by immune system dysfunction. In other words, to put it most simply, my body is unable to recognize its own self from what is not itself. My own immune system acts upon itself as if it were foreign material. Not only is it physically confusing (my body is doing what?!), but it is psychologically as well (again, my body is doing what?!). Compounding

this, there is the symptom of lupus fog, which causes memory and language problems — a general fogginess descends upon the world.

Horror Autotoxicus. That is the truth of this organism. Horror Autotoxicus indeed. A two word phrase pronounced in 1901 by immunologist Paul Ehrlich. Horror Autotoxicus describes the “autotoxins,” later defined as specific autoantibodies the immune system produces, that characterize different autoimmune disorders. For example, in the case of multiple sclerosis, the autoantibodies target neurons’ myelin sheath. For systemic lupus erythematosus, the autoantibodies may prefer the kidneys, but are game for any organ. For Hashimotos, the autoantibodies go for the thyroid.

The literature on autoimmune disorders often uses militaristic metaphors to explain to patients what is happening to them: the body-as-a-battleground, wherein the enemy is the patient’s own self. In a 1993 Toronto Globe and Mail article, psychologist Andrew Feldmar claimed that autoimmune diseas51

es “strike people who in their childhood were inhibited from differentiating who is their enemy, who is their friend.” [3] And, perhaps, this is just my problem. I never really knew who to trust.

toes are white and numb. I can’t eat. I have a fever. I am exhausted. I have chest pain. People tell me that my voice has changed — later it’s revealed that it’s because my lungs were functioning at 50%. My boyfriend is upset that I am in too much pain to fuck.

Indeed, trauma takes its toll on the body. A 2009 study published in Psychosomatic Medicine found that Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) increase the likelihood of developing autoimmune disorders in adulthood.

[4] Since I’ve experienced flares (in autoimmune discourse, “flare” means disease activity) at multiple times in my life, displaying different manifestations of different disorders — what does that mean for me? What is the connection between my flares, my traumas, my lack of trust?

I knew this was an autoimmune response. I was familiar with autoimmunity; I already had one, maybe two, disorders. I already had a doctor. At this point my mother tells me that when I was a kid I had been on all kinds of medications and that I had been in pain all the time. She tells me that one day I decided to go off of them. I remember none of this. But, apparently, I stayed off medications until the day I went into the ER.

M

y story begins with a bug bite. Well, a bug bite I was told. But, let’s back up just a bit.

1990. I am five or so. I am outside Crossville, Tenn., visiting my grandparents, my father’s parents, with my brother and sister, while my mom was moving out. In the family, we like to refer to this weekend as “The Weekend from Hell.” What I remember: my sister came down with scarlet fever and my brother almost drowned. I saw him floating on the top of the lake’s surface, face down. I ran to warn my dad. He was talking (flirting?) with a woman. I tugged on his sleeve. He kept brushing me off until I yelled out. I am told that at the end of this trip, I came back with a prick on my left arm. I am told that over the course of six months this prick grew into a patch, which spread, overtaking the entirety of my left arm and a patch on the left side of my torso with a scaly covering. I remember none of this. In fact, I don’t remember much of anything before this trip. And, not much of the years after, save for snapshots.

I am taken to a dermatologist. He takes a biopsy. My only memory of it is by proxy of my sister. I hear myself screaming through her ears sitting in the waiting room.

I am taken to Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago. One visit, while I am with my father, I am stripped to my underwear, and a team of doctors and residents come into the examination room. They photograph me.

The doctors determine that it is morphea, a form of scleroderma, an autoimmune disease. My mother still tells me it is because of a bug bite.

1991. I am in the locker room at St. John of the Cross in Western Springs, Ill. I am in first grade. All of the girls stare at me while I change. No one speaks to me. No one gets near.

I am told to cover up in the summer. Supposedly to protect me. When taking family photographs, my grandmother tells my sister to stand in front of the parts of my body that are less-than-perfect.

I am a gymnast. I come home from practice in pain. I lie on the couch icing my legs. My mother tells me it must be growing pains.

1994. During the fourth grade, my mom remarries and I change schools.

A rumor has been spread about me. “If you touch Meredith, you’ll get her disease and die.” A one M.C. S___ started this juicy tale. Instead of staying away from this mean girl, I desperately try to befriend her, get into her inner circle. All I want is for her to accept me.

1994-2009. There is too much to say about this time concerning trauma. Suffice it to say, 1994-2004 in particular compounded the trauma of my experiences from 1990-1994, with the addition of the family disease of addiction.

2009. I have to move back in with my mother because a move out west failed. I’m working at a fucking bakery in the suburbs of Chicago, cycling there and back, when in the late winter/early spring my wrists start to hurt.

Then, my elbows join in. Then, my fingers. Then, my shoulders. Then, knees, hips, ankles. All joints. Finally, I can’t walk up and down stairs. My fingers and 52

I made an appointment, but my condition was very unstable. I was convinced to go to the emergency room. My labs were out of control for autoimmune indicators and I was severely anemic, another indicator of an autoimmune flare. They gave me high doses of steroids, painkillers, and valium. After that visit, I went to my doctor, who consulted with another doctor. I walked into that appointment dead-set on a diagnosis of Rheumatoid Arthritis, since my mother told me I had been diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis — but I have learned she is anything but a reliable narrator.

The two physicians working on my case were transparent with me. I am very fortunate for that. Not many get that opportunity. They cc’d me on all correspondence with each other. My labs tested positive for autoantibodies that indicated Hashimotos, Sarcoidosis, and Lupus, so they left me with Undifferentiated Connective Tissue Disease. In fact, at the time, this was doing me a favor. This was before it was illegal for insurance companies to dismiss someone based on pre-existing conditions, which I had been previously for my scleroderma. What they were most concerned about, however, was my low pulmonary function, only 50%, combined with the results of other tests, including multiple echocardiograms (plus one where they shot bubbles into my heart!), and my pre-existing heart murmur, all of which indicated pulmonary hypertension. This scared the fuck out of me.

So, I had a heart catheterization done. That’s when they stick a probe into your vein through your groin up into your heart and poke around and take measurements. There I was, on the table, not knocked out, staring up at my heart on the screen, watching the probe just prodding. I could tell the doctor was concerned that I was still awake. She ordered more Versed, but I’m a fucking alcholic and addict, so that shit did not knock me out. I just lay there and watched. The dye they pumped into me made my heartbeats skip around, and I felt them. I saw the probe getting stuck, and the doctor announced that it was having difficulty getting through one of my valves. In the end, it was my goddamn sticky valve that made it look like I had pulmonary hypertension, but the actual cause as to why my lung function was so low was never really explained to me. At least I didn’t have pulmonary hypertension on top of whatever else was going on, but today as I write, I still don’t know what the problem is. No one has given me any clear-cut explanations other than I have a funky valve, and that there is no “cause for concern.” WTF. When I was being tested, I was still under a heavy lupus and medicated fog, so it’s unclear to me what was going on at the time. Looking back, however, what is clear, is that I didn’t have an advocate.

With high doses of steroids (which made me insane btw), hydroxychloroquine (an anti-malarial drug — yep, weird, they’ve been using it for Lupus and Rheumatoid Arthritis since Eisenhower), some painkillers, high doses of ibuprofen, and scripts for benzodiazepines, I started to get better, meaning, I could walk, talk, sorta eat again. I went back to work at the bakery, but I had been accepted to graduate school for the Fall 2009, and I wanted to be there. However, my doctor warned me against going to graduate school.

This. Pissed. Me. Off. Since no one was giving me any definitive answers about what was happening to me, how could they tell me what to do with my fucking life? Some people were telling me that my entire life would have to change, throwing me into panic attacks. It seemed like it was coming at me from all sides. People who thought they knew best, but with no answers, tell-

Meredith Kooi, at age 24, from the series “Scleroderma Specimen,” 2009-10. For the series of images, using photographer Jo Spence’s method of photo therapy, I reinhabited the “photoshoot” of me at the age of 5 in the doctor’s office, surrounded by a group of residents or interns, or whatever, in my underwear, with my dad in the room.

ing me how to live my life. That was my cue to push myself to the edge, show them who was sick. Since no one believed me anyways. My doctor’s notes just chalked up my symptoms to stress, not to the disease.

Not feeling listened to is a common experience for autoimmune patients.

Considering that a majority of them are women, and for some disorders, a majority of those women are women of color (90% of lupus patients are women and it is two to three times more prevalent among women of color), the patient-doctor power dynamics are on full display. In the 1950s, for example, physicians believed that rheumatoid arthritis afflicted women who had overstepped their boundaries; they were trying to join the workforce too aggressively; they were trying to be like men. As one doctor put it in a 1955 volume of Journal of Chronic Diseases, women with RA were said to have “rejected the ‘female role’ and shown ‘masculine protest reaction.’” [5] Instead of listening to these women and respecting their agency, these doctors suggested that claiming agency was the very source of illness in these women.

More than just a sexist relic from the ‘50s, this dismissive and infantilizing attitude has persisted in the study of autoimmune conditions. In 1977’s Lupus: The Body Against Itself, Blau and Schultz advise an almost monastic life for women living with this condition: “The lupus patient is generally advised to avoid situations producing great anxiety and seek prompt therapy or counsel if she finds herself in a stressful situation (obviously, what produces anxiety in various individuals will differ).

Similarly, infectious ills, injuries, and undue fatigue may produce lupus flareups, so that they, too, must be avoided as far as possible. These are, of course, events that any prudent individual tries to avoid; it is simply a matter of degree: general measures such as a balanced diet, regular physical and dental checkups, exercising of generally recommended safety precautions, etc., are helpful. Greater-than-average time allotted for sleep, and occasional rest periods during the day, are often necessary to avoid fatigue.” [6] By metrics like these, whenever the patient comes back to the office with a complaint, it is labeled as “stress.” A note in my chart: “She has some arthralgias which are episodic, malaise and fatigue, increasing anxiety and depression, a lot of pressures since she is applying for a PhD program.” Apparently, stress is what triggers lupus and stress is what’s to be eliminated in order to get better. Curiously, it simultaneously appears that symptoms of stress are not lupus, though those same symptoms during the flare were attributed to the autoimmune disease.

The relationship between stress and disease activity in lupus patients is still being assessed today. [7] A 2011 study conducted in Israel and published in the journal Lupus examines “the role of SOC [Sense of Coherence] on adherence to medical and lifestyle regimen among SLE [lupus] patients.” [8] The SOC essentially is defined as a “global life orientation that expresses the extent to which one has a pervasive, enduring thought dynamic sense of confidence” that one’s internal and external life is satisfiably predictable, that one will be able to meet the demands of life, and that these demands are worth living. [9] The study contends that emotional distress (as well as income) are the only factors that have significantly negative effects on lupus activity — in other words, higher emotional distress = higher disease activity.

However, in another study in the same volume of Lupus entitled “Common mental disorders and psychological distress in systemic lupus erythematosus are not associated with disease activity,” author E. Jarpa states that psychiatric disorders, including depression, are not to be associated with disease activity. [10] If this is true, then why is the medical community still insisting upon the same “rest cure” that was being advocated in the ‘50s — that, in fact, has been suggested for women since the late 1800s for conditions of hysteria and other nervous illnesses? Shall the autoimmune patient be “forbidden to ‘work’ until [she] is well again,” like the protagonist in Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper,” the 1892 short story that famously took to task the ways in which women were isolated and infantilized in treating their “nervous” conditions? [11]

T

he discourse surrounding hysteria and neurasthenia in the late 19th century into the 20th seems relevant in the case of contemporary discourses about autoimmune disorders, and may be particularly pertinent to the diagnosis and treatment of fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. Fibromyalgia, though treated in rheumatology departments, is said to be, by many, a “fake” disease — made-up, a psychosomatic manifestation of early childhood trauma and sexual abuse. In fact, it is noteworthy that consumer/popular health websites including PubMed Health and MayoClinic.com link fibromyalgia to trauma or PTSD, while the “official” National Fibromyalgia Association lists physiological causes involving “neuroendocrine/neurotransmitter dysregulation.” Elaine Showalter claims that “the name of the symbolic female disorder may change from one historical period to the next,” and it may be appropriate to consider rheumatologic-based disorders (autoimmune disorders as well as fibromyalgia) as a new sort of manifestation of this trend.

[12] Melissa Anne Goldstein writes in her autobiographical account of her experience of lupus, Travels with the Wolf: A Story of Chronic Illness, [13] published in 2000, that one of her physicians was disturbed by her “cheerful 53

disposition” and claimed that “perhaps [she] was burying deep-seated concerns about [her] illness and converting them into physical symptoms.” [14] Goldstein experienced extreme seizures due to her lupus (lupus can affect the central nervous system), but she tells us in her narrative that her physicians dismissed her complaints. They even went so far as to say that “She’s fooled us before. It’s a pseudoseizure.” [15] However, she recounts that her psychiatrist dismissed these psychosomatic claims and believed that her seizures and physiological illness were in fact not caused by her mental state.

Is the general population’s (and physicians’) dismissal of these diseases a reinvestment in the historical attitude of blaming the patient? We can see this attitude so clearly illustrated in a 1965 letter to the British Medical Journal, in which the author claims that the hysteric patient is merely adapting behavior of the sick because “To be accepted as sick confers many privileges; enables one to avoid responsibilities; and entitles one to receive help, or attention, or sympathy, sometimes all three.” [16] Once I was sitting on the bus in a handicapped seat, shortly after recovering from my ER visit. Someone yelled at me; told me that that seat wasn’t meant for me. On the surface, I didn’t come across as sick and suffering to outsiders, but on the inside, that was a different story. It made me question what I deserve and what I don’t; the validity and reality of my experience. It was an interpellation, a “hey you!” that stopped me in my tracks. With the passing of time, therapy, and a whole lotta breakdowns, now I know that my experience is valid and that the baggage of my childhood trauma is what brought me to my knees in that moment, my previous experiences with not knowing who to trust and being told that what I felt was wrong and what I experienced didn’t happen. As I quoted above, I sure didn’t know friend from foe, and my body took that trauma on, too.

And, it sucks to be sick. Sometimes the wolf has bitten us and we must surrender. And it is hard, so fucking hard, to surrender to the nonself, because it is none other than your own fucking self, while simultaneously being other.

Arthur Silverstein writes in “A History of Immunology” that “[i]t became apparent that the distinction between self and not-self was a learned rather than a genetically programmed phenomenon.” [17] What does this mean? That the self is learned through the experience and recognition of the nonself or not-self? In states of flare, or in coming to terms with the boundaries of my internal condition, I come to know myself? This is a painful process, one fraught with trauma, grief, and surrender.

It took me years of pushing myself to the edge over and over again, trying to prove to doctors and myself that I was sick, to come to terms with my condition. Years of messing with my borders and boundaries, trying to control and manipulate my internal machinations. I couldn’t surrender to what it really meant to have a condition that is inherently ambiguous. I had to get to the bottom of it. But now, my labs are “stable,” meaning that autoantibodies are always present, but they are just not off the charts — because I take my medications and generally take care of my wellbeing in the best way I can.

Today, I can accept that it is a situation that I need to constantly manage (or rather, monitor), a fluctuation of selfhood that rests underneath my conscious awareness. Selfhood does not only reside in our consciousness; our body carries knowledge, too.

ENDNOTES [1] Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1983), 76.

[2] Emannuel Levinas, “Reality and Its Shadow,” Clive Cazeaux, ed., The Continental Aesthetics Reader (New York: Routledge, 2000), 121.

[3] G. Maté, “Why does the body sometimes declare war on itself?”, Toronto Globe and Mail (June 14, 1993), 16 quoted in Emily Martin, Flexible Bodies: Tracking Immunity in America from the Days of Polio to the Age of AIDS 54

(Boston: Beacon Press, 1994), 271.

[4] Shanta R. Dube et al., “Cumulative Childhood Stress and Autoimmune Diseases in Adults,” Psychosomatic Medicine, Vol. 71, No. 2 (Feb 2009): 243-250.

[5] Stanley H. King, “Psychosocial Factors Associated with Rheumatoid Arthritis: An Evaluation of the Literature,” Journal of Chronic Diseases, Vol. 2, No. 3 (1955), quoted in Mary Felstiner, Out of Joint: A Private & Public Story of Arthritis (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 2005), 131.

[6] Sheldon Paul Blau and Dodi Schultz, Lupus: The Body Against Itself (Garden City, NY: Double Day, 1977), 34.

[7] As I mentioned before, the majority of lupus patients are women. Of this percentage, a majority are women of color. Though, I do not have the time to address the issue of race in this paper, it is a demographic finding that is significant. See for example, Hayley Mitchell Haugen, ed., Perspectives on Diseases & Disorders: Lupus and Theresa Foy DiGeronimo, New Hope for People with Lupus.

[8] I. Duvdevany, M. Cohen, and A. Minsker-Valtzer, “Psychological correlates of adherence to self-care, disease activity and functioning in persons with systemic lupus erythematosus,” Lupus, vol. 20 (2011), 19.

[9] A. Antonovsky, Unraveling the Mystery of Health (San Francisco: JosseyBass, 1987), 19 quoted in I. Duvdevany, M. Cohen, A. Minsker-Valtzer, and M. Lorber, “Psychological correlates of adherence to self-care,” 15.

[10] See E. Jarpa et al, “Common mental disorders and psychological distress in systemic lupus erythematosus are not associated with disease activity,” Lupus, vol. 20 (2011): 58-66. I do not mean to conflate depression with emotional distress, but it is worth pointing out that these two factors (depression and emotional distress) are so divided. Further, these studies point to the separation of physician and psychologist/psychiatrist accounts of the disease. In the case of depression, many claim that it is unclear whether lupus actually causes depression or if depression is a result of changes in physical activity and perceptions of self.

[11] Charlotte Perkins Gilman, “The Yellow Wallpaper,” (New York: The Feminist Press at the City University of New York, [1892] 1973), 10.

[12] Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980 (New York: Pantheon Books, 1985), 4.

[13] The name systemic lupus erythematosus derives from the word lupus for wolf. In early observations of the disease, the red butterfly rash that often appears over the bridge of the nose and cheeks was called the wolf bite, thus conferring the name of the disease. See the appropriately titled chapter “Systemic Lupus Erythematosus: The Red Wolf” in Robert G. Lahita and Ina Yalof, Women and Autoimmune Disease: The Mysterious Ways Your Body Betrays Itself, 116-31.

[14] Melissa Anne Goldstein, Travels with the Wolf: A Story of Chronic Illness (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 2000), 14.

[15] Ibid., 42.

[16] L. J. F. Warnants and D. H. Marjot, “Diagnosis of Hysteria,” The British Medical Journal, vol. 2, no. 5458 (Aug. 14, 1965), 422.

[17] Arthur M. Silverstein, A History of Immunology (San Diego: Academic Publishers, 1989), 74.

IN HIS ROOM: An Interview with TJ Maxxx

By Marina Belotserkovskay

Photography by Stefania Antonucci

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hat would you say if I told you that the King of Edgewood — the sequin-bearing makeup virtuoso and all-around badass, flaming, genderfluid drag king known as TJ Maxxx — was raised in a small town in Southwest Georgia and homeschooled by Christian missionaries? The lighter-hearted might simply cock their heads to the side and say something cute like, “Well, that’s interesting.” The more cyincal among us, however, might say, “Sounds about fucking right.”

My reaction was somewhere in between. However, having spent the past four years involved in youth development work, as I sat across from the bluehaired, blue-eyebrowed, clearly confident, articulate, and humble TJ, I found myself thinking, “I feel like someone did something very right.”

Indeed, TJ Maxxx hails from Thomasville, Ga., where his parents were enthusiastic Christians. He was homeschooled, and they didn’t leave the house much. But if you’re thinking his childhood looked like a scene from Children of the Corn, you’re actually far from the truth. In fact, the more TJ and I talked about his upbringing, the more it sounded like something that would make a Montessori school teacher shed tears of joy. I say this because TJ’s parents were big on giving him space to explore himself creatively and doing so as autonomously as he pleased. So, after he’d finish his academic work in a matter of hours, he was then on his own to paint, draw, lip-sync with his boombox in the bathroom, or anything else a young creative might do to fill their time in the absence of structured schooling. Although he admits having some angst at times about wanting to be parented more, overall he reflects pretty positively on the experience.

“I was very isolated, but in a positive sense,” he explains. “I did have a lot of freedom to do what I wanted with my time. A lot of times that looked like me staying in my PJs and painting for eight hours. It was great. I [once] watched an entire season of ‘Lost’ in a day. I was sitting downstairs in my fluffy robe with my watercolors, and the show was on and my siblings would hang out.

It was great.”

As TJ and I chatted about his youth, I couldn’t stop drawing lines between his confidence, onstage and off, and his childhood dominated by artistic exploration for exploration’s sake. Amid the modern epidemic of imposter syndrome, how does someone gain the confidence at 22 to not only go around dancing on stage, taking on an undercurrent of drag that is still not commonly understood — but then also start experimenting with their own gender fluidity and requesting that their pronouns and name be changed in their workplace? Being someone who typically strives to not be seen, I found TJ’s comfort with dramatic visibility (remember the blue eyebrows?) and his cool, casual, shoulder-shrug openness to whatever the experience brings to be a bit halting. I wondered at what points in our lives that my friends and I, as well as the youth I’ve worked with, stopped being these eccentric little versions of ourselves. At what point do we start filing ourselves down to “socially palatable” personas? At what point do we stop playing dress up and drawing, and what triggers that process?

I once had a friend who was an elementary school art teacher. She told me that kids typically stop drawing for fun around ages eight to nine — because that’s when they start comparing themselves to others, sifting through who counts as an artist and who doesn’t based on what art we’ve told them is valuable. And I would venture to say that this experience doesn’t just apply to art; comparing ourselves to our peers and the accompanying market-driven raiding of the human experience are the culprits that, over the arcs of our lives, suck away so much of the joy we experienced in childhood. However, this is why I found myself so enamored with TJ’s freedom in pursuing creative ventures simply for the purpose of following his interests. Because his isolated childhood removed comparison and utility from the equation, he was able to fixate only on the fun and exploration of art.

He experienced and he expressed; and in that regard, not much has really changed for the drag king, who works his day job as a receptionist for a

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Buckhead hair salon and then by night performs his drag — after doing three hours of makeup, that is.

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owever, that’s not to say that his drag identity stays hidden in the scene. TJ goes by TJ, his drag name, as well as masculine pronouns in his daytime life. “The more I did it, the more I was like, drag isn’t enough,” he explains.

“And having it purely be performative isn’t enough for me. I need to actualize and integrate that into my daily life. And the way people refer to me, it can’t be just a nightlife of dressing up and having fun. It’s more real to me than that.”

He went on to describe the support he received from his boss at the salon.

“It has been cool, because I am really close with my manager at my job that I’ve been at for four years. So they’ve known me by my full name and the name I go by outside of drag, which is basically just a nickname of my full name. I don’t know that I necessarily consider it a dead name, but no one really calls me by that anymore, so it’s kind of a dead name ... And having the conversation with her of, like, these are the pronouns my friends use for me, and I know I am in a professional setting and I’m not trying to be a snowflake and ask for special treatment, but just so you know, this is what I am most comfortable with. And I know you care as my friend as well, so if you have you to refer to me a certain way because we are in a professional environment, I respect that. But also, this is how I truly feel. And it’s been fun to watch her baseline pronouns for everyone shift to become more gender neutral, because I’ve been trying to do the same. Anyone I don’t know, and also people I do know unless I am making a point to respect their pronouns, I just use they/them across the board.”

I confided in TJ how much it bristles me that people who live under the gender-queer umbrella have to constantly assess whether they’re crossing into “snowflake” territory, especially when talking to more conservative family members or peers. The last thing you want to do is step too firmly across that metaphorical line and detonate the virtue signaling associated with the word “snowflake.” At that point, you cease being the actual person in front of them, who is just trying to articulate the things that make you feel whole, and you become that other being that Fox News has warned them about — the overly-sensitive, gender-bending aliens who are responsible for every liberal social blight in major American cities, from brunch to cancel culture to hairless vegan cats. TJ was all too familiar with the feeling of being tossed into the

“It’s such an invalidating term, and I wanna be taken seriously and respected,” says TJ. “And the second I morph into that snowflake territory, I feel like it undercuts anything I am trying to make a point about. I’m very careful about that with my parents, ‘cause my dad is very Republican and traditional and it’s very hard for us to relate. But my mom is very hippie dippy and tells me, ‘I just love that you’re pursuing your passion,’ even though she’s very Christian, and ‘happy you have community and this art form.’ But my dad is over here, like, I’ll tell him about friends I have, and he immediately goes, ‘You’re using these pronouns, but what were they assigned, what are they really?’ … I’m like, I can’t respectfully answer that question in the way that you’re wanting me to. I get the information you’re trying to glean from this, but your focus is on the wrong thing here.”

I asked TJ why he thought the mention of anything genderqueer makes some people, especially Republican dads, itch so much.

“My theory is because we are so gendered and so much of our lives revolves around that binary and what we were assigned at birth, that taking the steps to question that and think for yourself and be self aware and think, well, what do I want? you have to break down your entire intrinsic foundation of who you are as a person, and go, well, who am I really beyond that structure that I’ve been given? A lot of people don’t experience the level of discomfort to push them to that point of wanting to question or needing to make a change …

So I feel like, for a lot of people, when they see someone who has transcended those questions and is expressing themselves freely, it’s threatening to their sense of personal security. A lot of people aren’t comfortable stepping outside that box of, Do I identify with traits or aesthetics beyond what is socially normal? It’s uncomfortable for people.”

This was something that had been on my mind a lot: the triggers that make someone delve into the world of gender fluidity (or even simply being accepting of it in others), versus the social cement that keeps so many devotionally bound to traditional gender narratives, so much so that they struggle to leave space for others to explore. If all social interactions are performative — and I believe most are — then there are a lot of people out there just following someone else’s script, re-enacting behaviors they’ve seen demonstrated by heteronormative society, and policing anything that falls outside of that.

TJ and his drag and genderqueer comrades, on the other hand, are living by their own choice of social performance, which doesn’t seem self-indulgent or needy, as those who toss around the term “snowflake” might judge. It just seems natural. Why keep playing someone else’s character? That’s essentially what we do when we enforce boundaries on ourselves or others, basing these limitations on any socially replicated narrative that has been cemented by ritual and repetition into a norm. But if you take those narratives apart and play with them... if you, say, put assless overalls on a drag rendition of Luigi, now that’s taking power back from the gender binary narrative. Then, these silly stories we tell ourselves about what we can do, thanks to some immutable characteristic, become just that — silly. And if you don’t play with it, then you’re a slave to it. You get itchy anytime someone breaks the barrier.

a display of traditional masculinity.

My first time seeing TJ perform was on a rainy Thursday night at Mary’s.

When my friends and I got there, the room was populated by a modest sized mincrowd and filled with the energy of anticipation. There was very little min gling. Most patrons were doing what I was doing, which was hovering near the group of friends they came with, shooting glances around the room to see when the performers would begin. I glanced upstairs as well and could see old lamps, mirrors, and garments tossed across thrifted vintage furniture. It looked like a drag clubhouse.

TJ’s performance was to that “Never Gonna Give You Up” song. At the first hit of the beat, he popped up at the top of the stairs like a firecracker. Energy high, his movements were a chaotic and flamboyant jive, yet he managed to never lose track of the rhythm. He exploded into each new verse and dance move without any inhibitions, but also with a consistent precision that almost seemed paradoxical to the performance’s tone of free-spirited jubilance. I would later find out that this performance haunted him, due to one bit where his jacket got stuck on his arm as he was trying to shed it — a minor detail I barely noticed. Despite his free-spirited persona, TJ is apparently a total perfectionist when it comes to his drag.

A

fter seeing him perform, I couldn’t get over how third-spaced it felt. It was neither masculine nor feminine. Whereas so much drag I had seen before had been characterized by someone dancing over the spectrum to the opposite gender than what they had been assigned at birth, TJ’s drag felt more like a tribute to pure punk flamboyant energy, like an in vitro love child between David Bowie and Joan Jett.

I mentioned to TJ that his drag felt enigmatic to me, like it moved in a lot of different directions with regard to gender. He agreed but said he is still adamant about being referred to as a king and using masculine pronouns.

“I think it helps broaden the perception of what a king can be,” he elaborated. “Even if I am presenting a little more femininely or androgenous, [it] doesn’t mean there’s not a masculine element to it, or that can’t be what masculinity is, if that makes sense.”

It did.

I

f one were to try and interrogate TJ’s gender (and I would be up my own ass if I said that I didn’t immediately do so… and then felt rather invasive for it), it’s really hard to put him in a box, and maybe that’s the point. Yes, he identifies with he/him pronouns, which might trigger our brains into their cascade of categorizing behaviors to then assume that he wishes to present as a cis-man when dragging, but that’s not really the case. If you were to cruise through TJ’s Instagram, you would be bombarded with shimmering full-face makeup and outfits teeming with neon colors. If you’re lucky enough to see him perform, you’ll find that he dances with the flamboyant energy of a newly-out theater kid performing the soundtrack from Legally Blonde: the Musical. His gender expression reminds me of a pinball machine: bright colors, flashing lights, sounds, spastic movement. He floods you with sensory 57

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hen I think about TJ the person and TJ the performer, the only real difference I see is the rooted, down-to-earthness of the TJ I sat down with for a conversation, in contrast to his diva-like energy on stage. He has a home in performance, that much is clear. When I see him on stage, I see a kid in his room, painting his face, dressing up in crazy outfits, dancing in the mirror, just having fun in his own little funky universe. I told him that, and he said that it didn’t feel far off. “It did start by practicing in my room,” he told me. “Literally, I would record myself doing a number, and sometimes I would send it to like a close friend, but it was mostly me just in front of the mirror, just trying stuff on, doing my makeup, and then dancing around.”

His green eyebrows (they were green the second time we met) shot up as he told me about his first performance with a nostalgic excitement.

“It was my first show ever,” he recalls, “And I remember thinking, This may be my one time ever getting booked, this could be my only chance to do this, I may never be good at it, but I’m just gonna not think about the performance and enjoy myself — because I do tend to be pretty detail oriented and stressed. I knew I wasn’t gonna know what I was doing, but it really was that feeling of just feeling like a kid. Once I got done with my number, I just cried.

It was such a wild release.”

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I could imagine, having spent so much of my own youth deep within my headphones, pretending I was Mark Hoppus jumping into a crowd of fans composed of kids from school and my camp friends. I started to think that maybe drag is just about making all your rockstar dreams come true all while giving a middle finger to the gender binary and any other hegemonic bulllshit society shoved down your throat to make you less of who you are.

What if more of us had an upbringing similar to TJ’s? What if we were given space to create and explore for the sake of figuring ourselves out? What if more of us interacted with an art form that takes the raw physical human body, its interactions with abstract social narratives, and forced us to play with that relationship? What would we learn about ourselves? What bullshit that we picked up along the road of socialization would we be able to finally put down to make more space for ourselves? I’ll be totally honest, I was kind of a virgin to the drag arts before I started talking to TJ. Of course I had seen some Starlight Cabernets and been to a drag bar or two. This new wave of drag, though, the drag king renaissance as TJ told me, I really wasn’t that tuned into it. But jumping down the rabbit hole got me amped the way my first listen to my older brother’s CDs did — that sound of new and dangerous that makes you wanna break some rules.

A PROPER DRESS

By Charla Johnson i. a proper dress sunday mornings were a second-hand dread. her pores struggled to breathe after the saturday night ablution of hot rain water and joy dishwashing solution. the cocoa butter and vaseline rub made her slide on linoleum as she cleaned out the tub. the lay-away aviary of cream-colored lace and canary yellow polyester and ribbons steamed, hanging from the bathroom door. it waited to enclose her while she got her hair pressed. the blue magic melted to a clear lava that popped and slid over her scalp as the heated teeth rectified her sandy coils. the yellow and cream waited patiently for her to get dressed. the ruffled panties and socks, the stiff black patent leather shoes smirked in their box. every week she resigned herself to this sacrificial ritual of getting dressed in a proper dress, to the eyes that appraised and the mouths that praised the dresses but criticized the busted knees, the defiant edges, and the behind that hiked the dress up in the back. the heads shook and tongues clucked at the little girl who was pretty as fuck, but the family was too down on their luck to get her a proper dress. ii. a proper dress institutions wrapped in ivy and gated and guarded beckoned to her. she answered after she armed and arranged, primped and prepared, exfoliated and emolliated, straightened and weaved, girdled and corrected, tightened and whitened, embellished herself. she descended expecting ingress, but was denied. she cried, hollered about busting locks and doors, entreated keepers with whys and wherefores. submitting to trials and according to decree, she was granted entrance by degree. gate after gate after gate, she shed a piece of herself that she’d carefully collected. at the final and seventh, she threw down herself naked. the keepers, those who initiated her to this sacrificial ritual, were disappointed by her lack of a proper dress. the eyes appraised and criticized the scarred temple and furrowed brow, the breasts and hips that defied, the lips that trembled, the skin that cried. simply, where was her grace? the heads shook and the tongues clucked at the growing grown woman—pretty, too— who submitted herself to getting fucked and denuded by institutions that really only required a proper dress.

iii. a proper dress the keeping room was cool and kept. the floor meticulously swept. her soul was stealing away, her sun was setting on this sublunary day. at the foot of her bed, in a trunk were her cherished possessions— literary volumes, a distressed denim jacket, jars of sweet clover honey, dried rose petals from lovers, bottles of wine, whiskey, and moonshine, personal journals, recorded jam sessions, reefer, and money from a trip to ghana. near the head of the bed was her father’s shotgun and her last lover’s cap. she felt armed and protected; she welcomed her loved ones as she lay in the bed naked. they put their heads in her lap and she loved them one last time. she was serene for once and did not distress over not having a proper dress. for there is no preferred attire when one is about to irrevocably retire. she reflected on the time and energy spent on how she should look and behave— how and who she should be — wherever she went. she bowled a laugh that rolled through the room and knocked the mourners down like pins, “beware of enterprises that require new clothes.” she retreated behind the pines and magnolia trees in her eyes and released a final breath. everyone took note and bowed their heads. some prayed for the sins for which she didn’t care to repent. someone opened the closet to find a silk garment of giving-no-fucks scarlet. the eyes appraised. the heads shook and tongues clucked, for the woman, the spirit, that didn’t give enough fucks to be buried, to lay in her final resting place, in a proper dress.

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Illustration credit: Linda McNeil Loving in the age of capitalism is Checking off your to-do list every day, Every week It is marking down time for intimacy on the calendar, Buying your lover flowers on Amazon Because you haven’t had time to buy them yourself It is sending loved ones selfies Because it’s been years since they last saw you It is having a polyamorous relationship with Siri, Who knows you better than most people in your life Loving in the age of capitalism is Looking for ways to love ethically While remaining in constant survivalist mentality— The pervading, cyclical paradox of having monopolized options That bind you, toy you Within the illusion of freedom Capitalist love is Copy-and-pasted love A text when you could have written the letter Trying to grow without artificiality, Without an algorithm Scrolling through, Reading the news Not getting enough sleep, Then drinking too much coffee.

It is having a love affair with your caffeine jitters “Ingesting as Much Information in as Little Time as Possible: A Memoir” Loving in the age of capitalism is The desire to fade, To disappear from the cycle with your lover And to descend into a moment Where the selves gracefully intertwine as a singular piece As would the vine of the hydroponic houseplant In unison In nothing 60

Maybe you go to the woods Maybe it’s the desert Who cares?

But you can’t afford the time off And your planner is full And it’s perpetual You hope that your love lasts longer than any stage of capitalism.

Temporary conveniences metamorphosize Into long-term distress and oppression The dominoes fall And affect more than just you and a lover And your awareness grows: You’re so deep in it, That you may not survive without it.

You need this leeching love, And it needs you So you enjoy the rare, intimate moments You share with your lover You share the complacency, And soon you locate the comfort that is born out of it The naked truth of your bodies and the system are within you, And have been genetically placed inside of both of you, And lie with you, Between you, In this bed Right now It is no longer the two of you, And it never was They’ve always been the thirdThe voyeur.

And if you hold each other close enough, Maybe they will get the hint And you will imagine just the two of you, Existing in between the spaces where only the love is Where residual, invisible, kinkless cuffs are absent.

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