Category Archives: philosophy

On Anti Racism

Arriving in Seattle to massive social uprising responding to police brutality allowed me to see just how poorly police treat peaceful protesters. Who are protesting police violence…


It is a strange time to travel in the American West.

Right now I’m bike touring. I started this journey in the first week of March; there was still snow on the ground (a lot of snow) in Leadville, Colorado where I live. I froze my ass off getting to Reno by April 4th for a bike race that never happened, which is about when COVID really started hitting. This engendered conversations about how to proceed, whether I could continue or if it was better to return home, and what was going on in the world; there was a lot of talk about consent, community care, and how we can keep each other safe. I decided to continue forward, practicing social distancing and always masked if interacting with workers.

I rode north through the Paiute lands around Pyramid Lake, ran out of water (but got snowed on) in the Black Rock Desert, cut through Alturas in the northwest corner of California and Roseburg in rural Oregon. I continued to Coos Bay for a night on the coast and up through Corvallis, Beaverton, on to Olympia, Washington and finally to Seattle, where I write this today.

The landscape of the American West is achingly beautiful. I have spent much of the last 7 years exploring it on foot and bicycle. Wandering the warm ridges of the Pacific Crest Trail, or the frigid passes and ice cold rivers of the Continental Divide, the scenery does not disappoint. 

What I also see is an imperialist system built on the stolen labor of Black and Brown people. I see the ongoing genocide of indigeionous populations; theft of their land, water, culture and identity. I see exploding houseless populations in every city denied access to mental and physical healthcare, even as we laud the arrival of the world’s first trillionaire. I see, as we ‘open the economy’ in the midst of a global pandemic, poor people are forced to work in unsafe conditions for poverty wages; meanwhile financially mobile Americans can’t even wear a mask as a basic acknowledgment of care or respect for their grocery checker.

I feel extremely fortunate to help Sign Savant lay out letters for BLACK LIVES MATTER on Pike street in CHAZ (then the Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone, now CHOP). This is an example of helping to amplify voices of color – we used our professional skills and access to funding to support artists of color as they filled in the letters with their designs.

This is a stark example of racial and economic injustice. Economic necessity dictates that poor folx need to work, regardless if they feel safe, while rich communities can effectively shield themselves from the COVID virus. I question if the ‘stay at home’ order really only applies to poor people, since I have seen so many affluent people out recreating with their trailers and campers, ATV’s and boats – they simply move the barricades from the closed state parks and set up. And police have been instructed not to intervene.

The people not wearing masks at the grocery store, out recreating in closed state parks, and protesting (loudly and fully armed) the stay at home orders and masks are overwhelmingly white. Yet the populations most adversely affected by COVID are Black and Brown.

The most disturbing, and perhaps most graphic example of systemic racism is in policing. As people started getting stir crazy during COVID lockdown, protesters took to the streets with AR-15s screaming at impassive police and clearly annoyed healthcare workers. These protesters were unwilling to participate in a social program to protect populations most at risk for infection by COVID. Despite the overt aggression and potential for real public harm, these predominantly white protesters were treated with respect and deference by the police. 

Compare this to protests against police brutality – protests against the literally THOUSANDS of murders committed by police in communities of color – and the tear gas comes out. In 98 American cities, police used lethal weapons disallowed in actual war against peaceful civilian protesters. Even as protests resulting from the murder of George Floyd were underway nationally and internationally, police in Atlanta murdered Rayshard Brooks, another Black man. This is what white supremacy and institutional racism looks like.

This isn’t easy to write. I’m so mad I’m grinding my teeth. This needs to stop.

I’m a cis white guy from a middle class family. My upbringing was stable, I have a college education and no debt. I travel for 4-5 months a year, sleeping outside, yet have a stable place and often a job when I return home. All of these things are a result of my white privilege.

Seattle is a beautiful place… it’ll be more beautiful when people of all colors feel safe here. When we house the houseless & feed the hungry, when communities are enabled to care for their own people, only then we will all be free.

Time and time again I have had conversations with friends about how this privilege is manifest; it’s the ability, support, knowledge and financial mobility to engage in an adventure like hiking the PCT; or access, language skills, and technology to engage with public art organizations in Seattle. 

Again and again, I hear white people around me denying they benefit from this privilege or deny that white supremacy and systemic racism exist in America. 

These white friends tell me they don’t see color, they aren’t racist, they grew up in the south, they aren’t responsible for the history of enslaved people in America, they have a black friend, that everyone is welcome, that everyone is free. This, friends, is bullshit.

We need to use our power and agency as white people in a racist society to actively combat racism. This includes doing things that make us uncomfortable as we confront racism in our everyday interactions. This also means finding ways to engage in positive conversations about race and privilege with white friends, while taking time to educate ourselves about these issues and their history in America. The hard part is it’s a long road ahead; the beautiful thing is that we’ve already begun the journey, and there is no going back.

Leave Trace Club

Confession alert:

I’m not perfect. I totally-otally LEAVE TRACE. On this hike alone I’ve “left” (aka lost) a pair of sunglasses, a bamboo spoon and two bandanas somewhere on trail. I’m not happy about it but accidents happen. 

That said, today I must address a particular brand of Trace seen almost daily in wilderness areas. 

TP. 

Now – people – I get it. Our culture trains us to use TP at every possible moment. And for women it’s expected every time we tingle to practically wipe the area raw – lest a single drop moisten our panties. But please… PACK IT OUT!!! Or, use a pee rag, like a normal human.

I don’t want to smell like an outhouse either. So do what you need to do to stay fresh. But for the sake of all that is holy in nature (i.e. Everything) PACK IT OUT.

while I am sort of relieved to know you also pee right by the trail… please … PACK IT OUT

if I could make a wish on this crane… it would be for you to PACK IT OUT.

while its cool you can twist it into oragami shaped like a snail… PACK IT OUT

while you’re at it, that bag of poo you thought you’d pick up later is still sitting here. PACK IT OUT (NOW)

thanks for letting me know you peed on these huckleberries so i don’t forage here … but actually I’d rather not know… so PACK IT OUT

teamwork makes the dream work. but can both of you PACK IT OUT?

cool! I ALSO sometimes use a baby wipe – in addition to TP. that’s a great town prep technique when youre gearing up for a hitch. but in that case PACK EM BOTH OUT.

I’m really sorry for whatever it is your body went thru to make this mess. and maybe you even buried part of it and a squirrel dug it up. so next time PACK IT OUT (then use some hand sani)

putting it next to coyote poop doesn’t camoflage it for the person behind you on the trail. PACK IT OUT.

aw. I almost missed this one it was so cutely hidden in the brush. but actually no… I still totally saw it. pack it out.

TFW you changed your baby’s diaper and then pee and then leave both by the tree at Grand Lakes because nature will take care of you. hi five.

but seriously tho… a diaper??

bored yet? me too. PIO.

now, much like baby albert, everything white reminds me of your bodily functions. i beg of you. PACK IT OUT

I know you are used to dropping it on top of your pee in the toilet but that pile of moss doesn’t flush. PACK IT OUT

hey! a nice flat spot to set up our stove for afternoon coffeeeeeee… oh wait.

how thoughtful! keeping your TP dry right under the footbridge. i still found it when i was crouching down to filter my water. do you get why this might be gross for me? PIO.

Tips for not joining the leave trace club:
1) carry a “used TP/baby wipes” ziplock with you. And hand sani. 

2) after peeing or pooping, wipe and put used TP in your Baggie. Seal Baggie. 

3) sanitize hands

4) repeat until town.

5) Throw away Baggie. 

A closing reminder: it’s fun & fine peeing in nature, without the ‘effluvium of human waste’ in most restrooms (sez Groucho, who’s not a privy fan). But when pooping please do so far off trail, 200 FEET AWAY FROM WATER (at least), in a 6-8″ deep cathole.   Refrain from burying wipes, especially scented or if your hole is too shallow. Critters WILL dig it up and share your secrets with the rest of us. And don’t be afraid to give that poo a stir! Mixing it with your cathole backfill helps it biodegrade faster.

Also, I totes recommend buying one of these excellent Deuce of Spades poo trowels. As Future Dad reminds us “the poo never ever should touch the trowel”. Wrong Way Gang trowels are all named for stars of stage and screen. Mine is named Brent Spiner, aka Data. 

❤ Harpo 

Riding on a Cloud

IMG_4356I went to see a great show at On the Boards last night. OtB is known in Seattle as the premier presenter of new theatre and dance works. Riding on a Cloud, by Rabih Mroué, fits squarely in the modern theatre category – featuring a single ‘actor’ seated at a table with various props (a cassette machine, a DVD player, a stack of DVD’s, some paper notes, a glass of water) and a large video screen. The piece seemed simple at first, even minimal, yet revealed its complexity in very satisfying ways.

The work plays on the balance between fictive and real narratives, the precocious nature of memory, and the problem of representation. Yasser, the ‘actor’ plays himself on stage (thereby frictionally representing his ‘real’ self, as everything in theatre is fiction), occasionally wandering away even from his role as himself to observe the audience. The audience tries to determine what is true versus fictional in Yasser’s narrative, which is presented through a series of DVDs he plays throughout the performance. It’s telling that after 20 minutes of performance we learn that the DVDs are made in the wake of Yasser’s traumatic brain injury, the result of a sniper’s bullet during sectarian fighting in Lebanon (a true story, as it turns out). The DVDs are footage created in response to a real event which dictates the dramatic action of the show, rather than the other way around. We learn that Yasser has difficulty with representation – he is unable to create relationships between objects and photographs of the same objects, even photos of himself. The show is full of things which could be true, and some which might not. Other things are only hinted at, and then revealed over time – these reversals highlight the tension between the dramatic narrative and the nearly silent actor on stage, who’s story is represented only through media – otherwise he exists only as he is, somewhat charming and a little bit injured.

A Brother’s Tale, the New Yorker review of the show, does a good job of situating the work in it’s national and political context. I found myself more interested in it’s exploration of our relationship with language and representation. Creating our personal narrative – our portrayal of ourselves to others, is our most significant act of representation. This practice often hinges on language, our most basic tool. When we share our experience with others, we depend on language to bridge the gap between us, to ensure the continuity of our experience, to reassure us of our assumed truths. These are narratives that we depend on being true – our memories, relationships, our personal history and moral code. Language and (Bataille would argue) sex are the only hope humans have of overcoming our inherent isolation.

IMG_4350

My x-ray after brain surgery – the result of a bike accident, I was in a coma for 12 days. The last thing I remember was having dreadlocks (I hadn’t had a haircut in a decade)… imagine my surprise at waking up unable to speak, fully intubated, and with a rat tail. Also, my business partner at the time had press released my injury to the Stranger, and while I know not to read the comments, my moms did not – which caused her considerable anguish – and overlays another layer of ‘unreality’ on a very surreal situation.

The experience of the traumatic brain injury (TBI) brings into sharp focus how narrative is plastic, flexible, and often uncertain. A sufferer of a traumatic brain injury, I experienced aphasia similar to what Yasser describes. The radical shift aphasia engenders is a restructuring of language, which in turn drastically shifts how we understand our relationships with others and ourself. I relearned how to speak, the names of things, and beyond that, redefined my relationships with people. Or more accurately, taught myself to believe the stories people told me.  If we can not assume that any narrative is true, then even memory becomes an uncertain and slippery thing. I had the hardest time connecting to close friends, where I could not connect emotionally to the narrative they presented – I felt cut off from intimacy, alienated and alone. Retelling stories of people around me, including my own, eventually allowed me to reconnect with myself and others – to recreate myself in my own image – yet for me the certainty remained that I was a completely different person before and after. For any survivor dealing with aphasia, there is a very real and continual question about what is true versus what is believed, and there is no clear way of distinguishing which is which. I have spent years trying to dovetail these two competing realities, sometimes more successfully than others.

Ultimately, Riding on a Cloud is a dark but uplifting show, addressing heavy issues with poignancy, humor and a genuine and interesting voice. Yasser becomes a poet after his TBI – after his loss of language he sees through the broken words to discover the most direct and beautiful phrases. His life, along with the framing of his personal narrative through the device of a theatre show, are victories of identity over insecurity. His story, whether true in whole or in part, allows us to examine our own stories. Yasser’s overcoming is an affirmation of personal narrative, revealing the inherent validity of our struggle for identity, the value of our own stories and the importance of telling them.