capital cultural capital...

Spending three mere days attempting to significantly experience the nation’s capital is a nearly impossible task.  Yet I feel that our three days in Washington D.C. allowed for a number of encounters, each laden with its own importance. 

 

One of the most infuriating and enlightening moments took place on the last night we were in the capital, when two other students and myself went to the Washington Monument, WWII Memorial, Lincoln Memorial, and Vietnam War Memorial.  To preface this experience however, let me begin with some thoughts I had previously in the day…

 

We took public transportation in Washington D.C., as we have in most major cities where a 15-passenger van isn’t the most efficient way to travel.  As we stepped in and out of subway cars for the first two days, I kept seeing these ads for the Busch Gardens water park, where our famed forefathers were displayed in inner tubes and on slides, sporting goggles, leis, sunscreen and other beach garb.  I was somewhat astonished by these ads, as I began to reflect on how presidents like Lincoln and Jefferson are presented in our history education throughout childhood and what they represent to the successes of our nation as a whole.  The negative repercussions of this bastardized embodiment truly came to light when we visited the Lincoln Memorial…

 

As we walked up the steps to the memorial, around midnight, we hardly expected to see numerous tourists that were still “taking in the sights” of D.C.  Atop the stairs stood a sign that read, “Please be quiet and respectful” and yet it seemed as though not a single person had seen it standing there as the walls of the memorial echoed with chatter and laughter.  We started on the right, reading Lincoln’s inaugural address, which was perfectly mirrored by the just-as-eloquent Gettysburg Address on the opposite wall.  The two engravings of Lincoln’s most famous and most moving words surrounded his seated statue.  Unlike Mt. Rushmore, the memorial actually appeared much larger than I was expecting it to, and it truly spoke to the importance of this historical figure.  We tried with all of our might to focus on the beauty and emotion within the memorial but with no success due to the endless noise and substance-less conversation that was occurring all around us.  Just from walking from one wall to another I heard conversations about “what this season’s best fashion trend is” “why girls like that will never have boyfriends in high school” and “why that album is better than this one”…  I was amazed.  The majority of these lemmings stood there, posing in humorous positions in front of this archetypal  hero as if the impact made by Lincoln in the past did not directly influence the present they were currently enjoying.  We were so overwhelmed with anger and disappointment that we actually had to remove ourselves from the situation and leave the memorial.  However, the emotion was only perpetuated by our next experience at the Vietnam War Memorial.  As the girls behind us stood, pointing out ‘funny names’ that they found engraved on the massive black walls, I found my fists clenched and my teeth gritted.  The Oxford American Dictionary defines a ‘memorial’ as “a structure, established to remind people of a person or event.”  And yet, as we walked through these memorials of famed figures who shaped our nation and countless individuals who died for its security, there were few who truly treated them as such.  Instead these monuments had turned into Disneyland and Graceland – a place for tourists to go because it was on the map and so that they could say they’d simply been there and done that… 

idle Americans and American idols...

I had tried to prepare myself for our time in New York…  Having never been to the Northeast before I was curious to see how it compared to the west coast mentality and lifestyle I’ve experienced on countless occasions, and I soon realized how the geography of these two areas of the country had developed their individual identities and cultures…

 

One of the most interesting things that New York shared with the west coast was the relationship to celebrity people had.  While the idolization of celebrities is prominent throughout the entire country, I saw the way in which New York displays the attempted emulation as the most amplified and exaggerated version.  As I walked out into Times Square for the first time, after seeing it repeatedly on television and in movies, I noticed that the sensory overload was just as much a commentary on commercialization as it was on superstardom.  Beaudrillard came rushing to mind as we passed innumerable groups of people who were all dressed in the way the flashing billboards and magazines promoted, walking with their cups of Starbucks coffee while wearing their ‘nonconformist’ graphic tees.  I’m amazed by how, mainly through media and peer influence, the youth of this country continue to obsess over celebrities and the images they sell and yet fail to pay attention to the messages that are being sent by those pieces of culture.  Furthermore, even less attention is paid to the importance of messages within politics and social movements.  I’m curious as to how much more change could be affected and how much more knowledgeable this generation could be if we spent less time idolizing and imitating these celebrities and more time focusing on the people in this country who verbalize social issues and injustices instead of what colors are ‘in’ this fall…

 

One of the main problems that I’ve seen develop from this celebrity-obsession is the transformation of political figures into a celebrity status.  We wear Obama t-shirts and paste Hope stickers on our cars, but I have to wonder about whether the motivations behind these slight and insignificant actions are true desire for change and progress or to gain some sort of veiled cultural capital among our peers.  

the destruction of the Detroit dollar...

As my final day of being Ambassador began, I only had one thought in mind: Was Detroit still going to be open by the time we got there?  After all of the recent bankruptcies in the auto industry – the heartbeat of Detroit – I was extremely interested in what we would soon experience as we drove on the cracked and potholed streets, passing completely abandoned factories speckled with broken windows and faded graffiti…

Our first stop was the Henry Ford Museum, which absolutely astounded me.  (While we have seen some incredible places on this trip, the Henry Ford Museum definitely made it close to the top of my list of places that I have to come back and spend more time at once this trip is over.)  ‘Refreshing’ was the best adjective I could employ as to how the museum made me feel:  Not only is it the nation’s largest indoor/outdoor museum, but it also fills this vast space with culturally relevant and emotionally moving artifacts. 

In understanding the importance of truly experiencing those historically relevant places/spaces, Beaudrillard’s concept of hyperrealities (like the replicas of important places we’ve witnessed throughout this trip) practically disappeared because reality was brought, in its truest and most tangible forms, to the Henry Ford Museum.  Furthermore, the histories that were placed in front of us were presented in a mostly accurate way.  No fallacies, no flawlessness, no heroism.  In thinking about the first few moments of stepping into the museum, Greg Harris (the Visitor Director who spared his entire afternoon to show us through the museum, who also happened to have his degree in Sociology!) told us something that significantly validated the moving of these artifacts to this space:  Henry Ford believed that museums should be composed, not solely of specific, untouchable memorabilia, but rather of all of the things that constantly surround and impact our daily lives.  He believed that these ‘everyday’ things were far more influential than all of the collections of ‘fine’ objects in the world.  I was truly impacted by this emotive statement as I recognized unknown value in my ubiquitous and unique surroundings instantly.  As a sociologist, I find myself constantly critiquing the symbolism and significance in these surroundings, and yet while I stood in this museum, full of some of the most important objects and stories our country has to share, it was practically impossible to recognize a fallacy.  Henry Ford embodied the idea of Americanism through this honest interpretation and display of a flawed history. 

One of the major themes I’ve recently found in this trip is that we live in a country that so quickly and strongly applies a negative connotation upon the idea of criticism of our past, in the present for the sake of a future that may remained instilled with blind patriotism and inadequate systems.   Criticism itself attains both positive and negative effects, which makes me curious as to how criticism – for the sake constructive action and progress – has transformed into being somehow ‘unpatriotic’, and furthermore, the impacts of this mentality upon greater society.

After the museum, we had an incredible lunch at a traditional Polish restaurant (my first Pierogi was delicious).  Lunch also allowed us the opportunity to spend some time with Ken’s family and friends (who unfortunately didn’t reciprocate the display of embarrassing pictures that my parent’s showed on our first night in Memphis). 

From lunch, we drove about an hour to Rossford, near Toledo.  Rossford was my first Northern, small town experience and in juxtaposing it with the small towns of the South that I’ve encountered, it was easy to draw many parallels.  We met with the Mayor and three of his Councilmen, who spared some of their time to dialogue about the town socially, economically, and culturally.  Family and hard work are the key ideal of Rossford, as the town provides an extremely close sense of community for its residents.  However, much of this closeness is a result of an extremely homogenized population: Up until very recently, 3,500 of the 6,400 people in the town worked at the LOF Glass factory.  However, due to the recent failings of the auto industry, the factory now employs a mere 350 workers.  As we have found on our trip, one of the key unifiers of the American people is tragedy.  Similarly, Rossford’s recent economic downturn clearly created a closer and more supportive community for the families in the town.  The Mayor also spoke of the recent transcendence of Rossford’s small, local businesses to a larger degree of corporate influence.  One of the main catalysts for this transformation was the new interstate that now passes through the city, and therefore allows a much higher number of visitors to stop in a part of the town.  And as with the rest of America, with the growing number of tourists comes the Bass ProShop, the Wal-Mart, the Target, etc… However, the Councilmen informed us that the locals seem to have accepted this shift as these corporations McDonaldize the area through providing efficiency, predictability and calculability.  Although I disagree with the perpetuation of this form of consumerism, the rest of our conversation provided some comfort. 

As we left Rossford, we drove into Toledo to meet with Mark Folk, one of Ken’s friends who is the Director of the Greater Toledo Arts Commission.  He had spoken at Belmont my freshman year during Ken’s Urban Communities class, and I remembered being significantly intrigued and impressed by the work he was involved in concerning incorporating the arts back into the community, as well as enhancing the art culture that already existed there through attaining the artists’ direct input and then utilizing those thoughts as a foundation for the rest of the community. 

After witnessing all of these individuals throughout the day who continue to embrace and manifest the sense of community and hope that have been consistent themes throughout this journey, I realized that the spirit of what seemed to be a ghost-town was still very much alive… 

art for our sake...

One of the most amazing moments of our two days in Chicago took place at the Art Institute.  Having always been obsessed with creating art as well as the study of its history and appreciation, I felt my nerves tingle as we stepping into the Art Institute.  While I had endlessly researched and studied the aesthetics of masters of art such as Monet, Seurat, and Picasso, I had never truly stood in front of their works and had the opportunity to be moved by the motions of their brushstrokes.  And after spending only a few brief hours at the Institute I found myself wishing I could’ve stayed for weeks…

 

I have a strange habit when I experience an art gallery.  I walked through the rooms and often become repeatedly overwhelmed by the vast amount of pure genius and talent that surrounds me.  However, some part of me continuously searches for the one work of art that stands above the rest in my mind, and until I satisfy that longing, it is impossible for me to leave.  As I walked through the Art Institute, I felt myself searching for that piece, and in knowing how much great art I was surrounded by, I felt no anxiety in discovering it.  Room after room, Monet after Seurat, I continued my search until finally, I stepped into the Abstract Nonrepresentational section. One of my favorite schools of art came out of the New York school in the sixties, called Abstract Expressionists; these artists included famous figures such as Jackson Pollock and William de Kooning.  More importantly however, was the postwar period of Color Field painting that came out of the Abstract Expressionist movement.  It is within this period that one of my favorite artists of all time rests…

 

Hanging high on a wall was a beautiful Mark Rothko work.  The piece utilized shades of light grey and deep black, and perfectly embodied the emotion that Color Field works are known for.  In contrast to the 'dynamic emotionalism' of Abstract Expressionist works like Pollock’s, Color Field paintings tend to have a more meditative tranquility, the purpose of which is to draw the viewer in and promote a more pensive mood.  Rothko’s work seizes this function as his main motivation behind his oversized (usually over 7 feet tall) two-color palettes force you to become consumed by their massive existence.  Standing in front of these giant works presents a feeling of losing yourself within the colors and therefore, emotionally and spiritually as well.  However, as the viewer continues to stare into the gently blended canvas, and her eyes move from the middle of the painting to the blurred outer edges of the colors, she feels grounded again.   This idea of losing oneself in order to find oneself is one that resonates with me and this journey we’ve embarked upon across America.  In order to truly discover the meaning behind a definition we so readily apply to ourselves, it is vital that we spend time experiencing the inner and outer edges of our country and the blurred borders that exist among a multiplicity of people and places.  

America's best idea..?

This year, Ken Burns is set to release his new documentary The National Parks: America’s Best Idea.  After visiting Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse monument, I believe Ken Burns may be onto something…

 

As we walked up to Mt. Rushmore we experienced a deluge of flags, waving proudly as they claimed a place for every state in America.  Directly behind them stood a row of American flags displayed like a row of soldiers standing at attention for the freedom and history that the site symbolized.  The monument was actually smaller than I expected it to be, but nonetheless impressive.  As I stood looking up at the four stony faces (pun intended) I began to think about meaning behind placing these presidents upon a mountain – an often unconquerable part of nature that signifies grandeur and majesty – and realized that the monument embodied the way we teach the stories of our forefathers in education.  This idea of literally carving this heroism upon the face of a mountain seemed very American to me, yet the true definition of the monument only came when I juxtaposed it against the function and purpose of the Crazy Horse Monument we visited next…

 

The Crazy Horse monument was built to memorialize the Native American chief who defeated General Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn in 1876, when white men were attempting to claim and settle the lands of the Lakota Indians (more popularly known as the Sioux – which was a derogatory name given to the Lakota by Europeans, meaning “snake”.)  As we walked into the museum portion of the site, we were first led into a small theater to watch the film “Dynamite and Dreams,” which detailed the family who undertook this decades-long project.  One of the key quotes behind the creation of the monument echoed throughout the museum explained how Native Americans decided to have the monument carved, “so white people would know that the red man had heroes also.”  This struck me as very interesting as I began to question the purpose behind Crazy Horse. 

 

First, I found it interesting because everything I had ever heard regarding Crazy Horse referred to him as being a man of nature and one who believed in keeping the natural, natural.  Secondly, I wondered about how rarely we see war heroes memorialized in Native American culture compared to the exorbitant amount of memorializing that we, as Americans, create for our war heroes.  James Loewen in his book Lies Across America comments on how if any other society were to come to America after all of the people had died off, and attempted to understanding simply through artifacts and monuments left behind, what the key signifier of the culture of America was, they would undoubtedly believe this country to be a war nation.  This then led to my third thought of whether or not the formation of Crazy Horse was done in a way to parallel to American memorializing.  The monument already boasts how much larger it is than Mt. Rushmore, and this idea of superiority led to me question whether the Native Americans, who have been so “otherized” throughout the history of this country, were utilizing this monument as an opportunity to draw attention to the pride and slight successes of their people. 

So to summarize, is the Crazy Horse Memorial simply a response to what the Native Americans see through looking at American history’s representation of its heroes (specifically at Mt. Rushmore and also throughout the country), and an attempt at becoming less of the “other” in this country, or does the monument truly exist to uphold the value of the land where Crazy Horse’s people now lie buried?

 

Either way, Ken Burns’ title of National parks being America’s best idea seems manifest in this reactive creation by the Natives, and I’m interested in how the eventual completion of the monument sparks interest in defining the history it represents.  

the poverty of choice...

No stop on this journey better displayed the fact that this country is in the midst of a global economic crisis than Pine Ridge, South Dakota.  After visiting Mt. Rushmore in the morning we ate lunch and then drove about 60 miles to Pine Ridge, where the Lakota Oglala (Sioux) Reservation is.  As I stared out the window during the drive, my eyes immediately swelled with tears as we passed poverty that would strongly challenge the degrees of poverty one would see in third world countries.  Rundown trailers and broken down houses dotted the countryside and not a single person could be seen outside.  I’ve so often heard individuals speak of how the greatness of America is embodied in the myth that we do not have severe poverty in this country, and I now charge any of these individuals to spend even one hour in this town. 

 

As we continued driving toward our destination, a center set up on the reservation that aimed to provide a higher and more accurate education to the community through a display of literature, art and crafts, I discerned a number of things that I had never given thought to before:  First, in reflecting on the number of tourists we had seen earlier in the day at Mt. Rushmore, where American flags and idolized carvings proudly boasted the eminence of the United States, and wondered how likely it was than even the slightest percentage of these visitors had driven an hour out of town to witness the counterpoint of this identity in the fallen rooftops and unkempt yards of Pine Ridge.  Secondly, I internalized this biased perspective as I thought about the number of roadtrips I had taken throughout my life and how many “Pine Ridges” I must’ve driven through without even offering a second glance. 

 

Once we arrived the Red Cloud Heritage Center, we spent some time looking at the art and speaking to some of the local Natives.  As I spoke to one of the directors, she mentioned to me that a key problem in ending the cyclical poverty that had enveloped this area lied in the history of the problem.  “How do you break the mold when the need is so great?” she asked in explaining how the Native Americans had been forced to inhabit a place where self-sufficiency was unattainable.  A byproduct of this destitution was severe alcoholism that now consumed the dry-county to such a degree that a block-wide area that lay right next to the edge of the reservation sold 4 million cans of beer annually.  As our conversation ended, I felt somewhat comforted by her description of recent, proactive efforts being made by the Lakota to become more aware through developing more literature within the state, and therefore treated more justly within the region.  (There were copies of James Loewen’s Lies My Teacher Told Me inside of the Center.)

 

Our final stop of the day was at the Wounded Knee Massacre Cemetery.  This was the epitome of my experience with poverty on this trip…

As we walked up to the site, there was no building to provide a history of the terrible event, no visitor center, no gift shop, and no guidebook.  The only literature that was presented was a hand-painted sign that briefly outlined the massacre and that had long since been vandalized.  Weeds grew over the gravestones as if they were attempting to erase the story of the land, yet some markers remained, clinging to the memories of those who had fallen and those who continued to fall.  I tried to purely focus on the cemetery and the history it portrayed, but found it impossible to not compare the visual decay to the elaborate American war memorials I’d seen pictures of.  I couldn’t possibly imagine the uproar and protest that would occur if an American war memorial was displayed like Wounded Knee in our society today.  And yet as our group and only about five other visitors walked through the graveyard, I realized the continued ignorance of Native American history in American systems.  

the river is wild...

As our exploration of nature continued we arrived at Yellowstone National Park.  Today was more physically active than the others spent in national parks had been and so we began the day stocking up on some food at a local co-op.  With stomachs satisfied and bodies eager, we made our way into an area of town where our scheduled white-water rafting excursion was to begin.  I felt a rush of excitement as we signed waivers incase of injury and then were handed wetsuits and life jackets.  Once we all strongly resembled seals with vivid orange vests we were given helmets and then taken by bus to the edge of the river.  The raft guide ran through some preliminary instructions, rules and illustrations of what and what not to do while careening down the river, and then the twelve of us carried our raft into the river and spent a couple hours racing through 8 miles of waves and splashes.  During the slower portions of the ride the raft guide detailed some of our surroundings.  As I looked at the Devil’s slide – a steep, red slope that ran from the top of a mountain to near the ground I began to reflect on the idea of the American wilderness. 

 

Wilderness, as defined, is “an uncultivated, uninhabited, and inhospitable region,” and as I read this definition I became curious about the last piece of the definition and its applicability to the places we’ve visited thus far on our trip.  I quickly realized that we often apply the term to places that are more natural than necessarily inhospitable.  For example, while our experience white-water rafting and then going to the hot springs later in the day may have been considered wilderness by most, I feel that some of the extremely impoverished communities that I’ve witnessed would more truly be defined as the wilderness due to the difficulty of actual survival that people in those regions face.