Tally Ho!
Gainesville, Florida
I spend a brief ides of March in Gainesville. I find the good vegan spots, as usual, and happen upon a chance showing of Tennessee Wiliams’ plays at University of Florida. While there, I catch up with a friend from my year off. Brian and I went dogsledding together, back when I did not conscientiously object to it (not vegan), and before crashing on his couch, he tells me about the Devil’s Millhopper. The Devil’s Millhopper is a sinkhole turned state park, and makes for a nice day walk through nature.
I finally reach full e-book mode, and the liberation is palpable. I manage to score some used cooking oil from the food truck events, and finally make it to Tallahassee. On my way though, I squeeze in a micro-demonstration against Wendy’s at the University of Florida Hospital. (I use Corporate Accountability and PCRM’s list of hospitals with fast food chains for reference.)I have a constructive conversation with the manager of the food court:
In Gainesville, I had seen a flier about a campsite against the Sabal Trail pipeline I demonstrated against in Dunnellon. I go to the campsite, but it turns out that flier was months old. Even so, the couple who lives on the property welcomes me in, and we chat politics and travel and more. The stuff that #TruckLife is made of…
Tallahassee, FL
CKrystal and I met at residency with our grad program, the Institute for Humane Education. Primarily an (accredited) online program, IHE offers one week per Summer to meet classmates in person. This was actually the first class I took with IHE back in June 2013. I met CKrystal in 2014, my second summer with IHE, her first. We have been close, long-distance friends since, and discussing meeting since I made it to Florida.
And I finally see her! I meet her three children, whom she has much discussed. They are wonderful, and a whirlwind of energy. I remember as a child seeing how tired adults were all the time, and vowing I would never let that happen to me. I let you down, child-Pierce. I have absolutely no ability to keep up with CKrystal’s three children and two dogs, and all five of them love that there is someone new to play with. Seriously, part of me would give back puberty to have that much energy again. Not to mention spare myself acne.
As is my usual role when couchsurfing, I become something of a house husband. While CKrystal and the offspring are at school/work, I play with the dogs, clean the house, work on my thesis, and prepare dinner for their return. It is invaluable to have the space to work on the thesis in the final stretch (due in May!), and especially nice to be staying with a fellow classmate to share the joys and commisseration of that process. I feel very welcomed into the family, including connecting again with brother/uncle LeTaures and sister/auntie AuCare, who was also at the 2014 residency.
Sometimes, I head into town on my own, and listen to audiobooks and podcasts en route. I finally finish Ethical Slut this way. Sometimes, CKrystal & fam make trips into town with me. Sweet Pea Café proves to be an excellent source of vegan reubens (I am a sucker for these) and used cooking oil. We go contradancing (my first time!). I pick up antibiotics from the neighborhood pharmacy after pulling a lone star tick out of my butt. Pro-Tip: Teladoc allows you to video-conference doctors 24/7, who can write prescriptions from the call. Comes with some insurance plans (mine, for instance). As of this writing, insurance plans still exist…
CKrystal invites me to speak to the alternative primary school where she works and her children attend. This is my first primary school, and rounds out the age range. I have now spoken with grades first-college. Each group has its own joys of course, but I especially appreciate being able to speak to younger groups to plant those seeds of justice earlier. I know I could have used it…
We also check out the plenty open mic scenes. CKrystal introduces me to Black on Black Rhyme, a poetry community. I am even invited to be one of the pop-up poets as part of their introductory ritual. I am touched. It is at one of the open mics that I tell CKrystal I am thinking I might head to the next town and finally leave Florida next week. She visibly reacts, “You gotta give me more notice!”
“I have been here two weeks!” I tell her. “I do not want to put y’all out.”
“No. We like you being here.” And my heart breaks. I stay a while longer.
We watch a few documentaries together (as well as Orange is the New Black), including Accidental Courtesy, featuring Daryl Davis. A Black man, Davis travels the country meeting Klan members to talk about race. Through the course of building relationships, he inspires dozens of members to leave the Klan. Davis’ work speaks to me as a fellow/aspiring traveler and relationship-builder-as-gadfly, though interviews with the Southern Poverty Law Center and Black Lives Matter valuably critique Davis’ specific approach in the documentary . This makes for good discussion with CKrystal and AuCare.
Mostly though, Tallahassee proves a very literary experience. In addition to making great strides in my thesis and attending lots of open mics with CKrystal, we go to Word of South, a festival celebrating Southern literature and music with readings and performances. We also go to a talk at Florida State University, organized by the Women’s Student Union and Pride FSU. Sonya Renee Taylor, arts-activist and founder of The Body Is Not an Apology, drops some poetry, justice, and wisdom. I detail it here:
Atlanta, Georgia
When I finally leave the Sunshine State, I reach Atlanta. I finish The Opposite of Loneliness, which resonates a lot with me. Favorite essay: Even Artichokes Have Doubts. It is in Atlanta that I connect with Dre, a friend from my high school (Saint Ann’s of Brooklyn, #NoSleepTil), even though we did not know each other while he attended. I park in his driveway, and even though my pickup truck carries my own bed with me everywhere I go, I prefer crashing on his floor because it means I get to cuddle with his roommate’s cat, Maggie, whom I fall in love with, and be woken by his other roommate’s two doggos every day.
In Atlanta, Dre introduces me to Fergie, who also went to Saint Ann’s. They run a crossfit gym in East Atlanta Village with leftist politics. The health community in general, and crossfit community in particular from what I understand, tends to be rooted in individualism: “You live in a food desert and work three jobs to afford your bills? Bummer you do not prioritize your health enough to overcome structural marginalization…” EAV Barbell Club is collectively owned, pay-what-you-will, offers self-defense classes paired with Marxist political analysis, and hosts fundraiser events for causes such as prison labor strikes and Standing Rock. More controversially, they disallow anyone actively serving in the military or law enforcement. This is what picked up some news:
I go to a couple of the self-defense classes, and getting (gently) punched in the face brings me back to when I actually trained mixed martial arts. Feels good. I miss it.
But I also want to get to know the rest of ATL. I attend a open “mic” in American Sign Language, and manage to follow along a little bit (hard to practice while traveling). I check out the local theater’s production of Rocky Horror, which they claim is the longest-running production on the east coast. I am skeptical (Longer than NYC? Really?), but still love the show.
Politically, I join the Tax March, Science March, and volunteer for the #FlipThe6th campaign, the special election to take Tom Price’s former seat in the House of Reps. Another volunteer and I split a neighborhood, canvassing door-to-door. Jon Ossof (D) ends up losing to Karen Handel (R), but it comes historically close.
Further left, I meet with some Antifa folk to organize a protest of Richard Spencer’s appearance at the University of Alabama. I have heard a lot about Antifa, but I certainly know how media and rumors can be, so I go into the meetings and event as someone wanting to learn what they are about for myself. We face some logistical challenges, the biggest of which is that, on our way there, the court rules UA cannot cancel the arrangement after all. This means Spencer will be speaking in one of the university halls, rather than on the public yards, which we were planning for. Still, I have a lot of confusion about our goals versus strategies, and ache for processing in community. We eventually get to do that by reading the below article together, and it gives strong voice to a lot of my thought-feelings about the event. I consider it key reading for any organizer:
Amazingly enough, the high school friend who introduced me to Dre is driving through town to work on his traveling public art residency program. Jon began similar work in NYC, and then took it roaming with Dripped on the Road. I love to bear witness to folks’ creative processes in general, but with public art that serves the community, by a friend of mine, even more so:
I am pumping my own creative energies, working on my thesis at the different vegan cafes throughout town. Turns out grad school is a great way to get to know the food in the neighborhood. At a kind of community food court, I walk up to the Revolution Gelato stand, a local company that makes vegan ice cream, and watch as the server is distracted by a drag show video on their phone. I take interest, so when the server does notice me, they tell me they are a performer, and invite me to see them that week. I check it out, even able to save the fashion day by grabbing my scissors from the truck, and quickly learn how intense this tournament is. But Ramona Towers proves fierce, and wins that night’s contest, advancing to the next round. I admit it felt cool to be invited by the person who ended up winning. I was impressed.
Joke was on me that night when I return to my truck to find that the police put “boots” on the wheels, locking me into the completely empty bank parking lot. It is late, but I figure it is a good thing my bed is inside, and I go right to sleep.
I imagine if you are used to breaking and entering, that you know a car with boots on it makes a vulnerable target. I imagine you also do not usually encounter people sleeping inside the cars at the time, and that a pickup truck with sun reflectors covering the back windows seems like maybe it has something worth taking. Early that morning, I wake to sounds coming from the front of the truck. Nervous, I figure it is an officer checking on the boot. But when the person tries to open the back door to my bed (which is rigged to lock from the inside), I bolt up and knock on the window. After a moment, I peer behind the sun reflector to an empty parking lot. Then I call the transit folk to get them to remove the boots.
Not to be shaken by boots and thieves, this is Atlanta and there is plenty to do. I check out the King Center and the National Center for Civil and Human Rights. I personally have never felt more inspired than moving through the energy of those centers. To be in MLK’s birth home, and to learn about the organizing that went into those movements inspired me, even learning how problematic that organizing could be, for women & the LGBT community in particular. Both places are invaluable to understanding national movement history, and the real-world conflict and labor that goes into making it.
The NCCHR is also very interactive, and even included a kind of lunch-counter sit-in demo. The headphones with screaming racists help give fodder for a practiced imagination in how terrifying that experience can be.
Meanwhile, an IHE friend from NY who grew up in Atlanta arranges a playdate with a friend of hers running for city council. When we meet at a nearby cafe, it turns out she was at the drag show, friends with Ramona Towers. Making a splash as a queer Muslim woman running for office, Liliana Bakhtiari tells me a little about Atlanta and what she hopes for (economic, racial, and gender equality), and where they intend to phone bank later that week, in a work space behind the cafe. She also invites me to the activist meetup hosted by a friend of hers to help the community network.
Before that, I meet Liz, a friend from college, at her photography studio and watch her in action. We catch up, and she is kind enough to host me for the day. I use that time to cave into the inspiration/pressure and add a whole new chapter to the thesis about the history of activist-education/-organizing in the US. If that sounds totally awesome to you, I strongly suggest this collection in general, and this source in particular.
Tidbit: MLK Sr and Jr were both originally named Michael King. Senior, or “Daddy King” as he was called, changed their names after they attended a Baptist World Alliance conference that led them on a tour through Germany. The story of priest/friar and theologian Martin Luther of the 95 Theses inspired them enough to take on the mantle of the name.
I attend the activist meetup and get to know the community and host, Misty. Thrilled to meet a vegan new to Georgia, she invites me to leaflet with Georgia Animal Rights & Protection in the town parade. I have actually grown to love leafletting and how fun the banter can be (example script in caption), so I join:
I also attend the phone banking session with Liliana. I am less practiced in phone banking than leafletting, but I find my flow. All about getting exposures to Liliana’s name. Simple goals.
Another friend who used to live in the Atlanta area connects me with people he thinks I would like. (I love people my friends think I would like.) We go to see their friend’s band, A Place to Bury Strangers. We go out for tacos afterward. I think this is the biggest band I have eaten dinner with. I am also pleased that Georgia music venues offer free earplugs. I have gotten much more sensitive in my time.
In writing my thesis at cafes, I like to check out the fliers for events. There turns out to be an art exhibit on gun violence in the US, so I go. There is some very cool art, and the plaques have very helpful background information, something I deeply appreciate.
Finally ready to leave Atlanta, I drive to the airport — to pick up fellow Youth Empowered Action staffer Charles.
Athens, GA
Charles is just finishing college at the University of Georgia in Athens, a hippy college town. It has been almost two years since working together, so we catch up on the drive. That night, he shows me around town, which has a very college scene. The very next day, May 1st, 2017, four years after beginning graduate school I finally, officially, submit my thesis.
It is amazing what happens when grad school is over. Ice cream — already fantastic — tastes better. Air tastes cleaner. Limbs feel lighter and more supple. It is dreamy.
That said, I definitely messed up my back in spending hours sitting at the computer in that last month’s stretch. I dedicate myself to yoga and exercise. (Motion is lotion.) Charles also refers me to his chiropractor. I try him out, but acupuncture is really what my body responds to (depending on the kind).
I also walk aimlessly through town, because I can, because I finished my grad work. I eat at the one vegetarian restaurant. I go to the botanical gardens. I take joy in listening to people at the botanical gardens talk at length about things that do not apply to me, because I am not in a rush to go anywhere, because I have finished my graduate work. The gardens irritate my allergies, and I am attacked by mosquitoes, and I (mostly) do not care because I have finished my graduate work.
Charles introduces me to his college friends. We go to some graduation parties. Everyone is in a good mood. I also connect with Haley, a fellow CISVer, the other summer camp for social change I used to work with, who turns out to work at UGA. We go to an open mic, and a stand-up comedy show. I check out the Athens Human Rights Festival. And even though the festival, and the general Athens community, are little too new-age for me (again, I am not into all acupuncture), I still love the energy-feel. And I am bearing witness to my friend Charles process a rite of passage in his graduation, in the community of his family. It is at a large family brunch that my dear Uncle Pete calls me from Jersey:
My grandpa died.
