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Stories and green tips related to nature, adventure, placemaking, and food systems, written by a beginning farmer/gardener and seasoned sustainability educator who loves to grow, cook, ferment, and eat local and ecologically happy food.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The notion of the "green" university

I recently received an email from a reader named Tim who shared an article from his website that he thought I might be interested in reading and sharing. The article is titled "The 10 Greenest Dorms in the World," and it is interesting and worth reading if you've ever lived in a dorm and wished it was cooler, or if you are curious about what college dorms can be when green building is taken into account. Here at UCSC, we have a few Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) certified buildings (see the list of UC-wide LEED buildings here), including the new Porter College Dorms, which are LEED Silver Certified. We have a LEED Gold Certified building on campus, as well, but it's a student health center rather than a housing unit. The campus is working toward more LEED building projects and is even going to offer a training to students and others on LEED certification. 

While it's great to have green buildings and to make sure that the operations of a college are as sustainable and energy/water efficient as possible, it's vital to remember that a college is a community of people and more importantly, people who are learning, educating, or working to keep the educational system functioning. What this means for sustainability in a university setting is that education on issues of sustainability has to be a key component of campus culture and consciousness in order to affect change (and to consider oneself at the forefront of sustainability or the green movement). 

The greenest dorms in the world are cool, but what's cooler is when a university can actually teach students, staff, and faculty the value of sustainability and make it something natural, normal, and necessary in the discourse of classes, social interactions, and campus planning, and in lives of the people living and working there. This not only means teaching students environmental studies concepts or encouraging them to take classes that touch on these subjects, but also educating students through events, internships, jobs, activities and finding ways to make sustainability a part of the campus culture such that incoming students recognize that sustainability is not something one chooses to be aware of and care about or not, but rather something that is necessary to be aware of in order to be a conscious citizen and an educated person.

I'd love to hear about what other students are doing on their college campuses to affect this kind of change. Any of my readers in college? What do you see happening on your campus related to sustainability?


Thanks for reading!

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

The most beautiful passage about rain I have ever read, by Thomas Merton

"Let me say this before rain becomes a utility that they can plan and distribute for money. By 'they' I mean the people who cannot understand that rain is a festival, who do not appreciate its gratuity, who think that what has no price has no value, that what cannot be sold is not real, so that the only way to make something actual is to place it on the market. The time will come when they will sell you even your rain. At the moment it is still free, and I am in it. I celebrate its gratuity and its meaninglessness.

The rain I am in is not like the rain of cities. It fills the woods with an immense and confused sound. It covers the flat roof of the cabin and its porch with insistent and controlled rhythms. And I listen, because it reminds me again and again that the whole world runs by rhythms I have not yet learned to recognize, rhythms that are not those of the engineer.

I came up here from the monastery last night, sloshing through the cornfield, said Vespers, and put some oatmeal on the Coleman stove for supper. It boiled over while I was listening to the rain and toasting a piece of bread at the log fire. The night became very dark. The rain surrounded the whole cabin with its enormous virginal myth, a whole world of meaning, of secrecy, of silence, of rumor. Think of it: all that speech pouring down, selling nothing, judging nobody, drenching the thick mulch of dead leaves, soaking the trees, filling the gullies and crannies of the wood with water, washing out the place where men have stripped the hillside! What a thing it is to sit absolutely alone, in the forest, a night, cherished by this wonderful, unintelligible, perfectly innocent speech, the most comforting speech in the world, the talk that rain makes by itself all over the ridges, and the talk of the watercourses everywhere in the hollows!

Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, this rain. As long as it talks I am going to listen."

by Thomas Merton, "Rain and the Rhinoceros," Raids on the Unspeakable, 1960

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I picked up a copy of Thomas Merton's Raids on the Unspeakable the other night in downtown Santa Cruz. I know my mom's favorite quote is one of his, but I'd never read his books. I was scanning the shelves in the philosophy section and began looking through titles. This volume was slim and old, and I have always been good at judging good books by their interesting covers. I began reading this passage, the first part of the first chapter of the book, and instantly felt like I was meant to have picked up the little book. When I got home and continued reading it, I found more and more reasons to love it. He talks about Thoreau later in the chapter, one of my favorite writers, and I never realized how much I would enjoy the writings of this man whose name has floated around my house in conjunction with the following quote:

“If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.”

I found the passage about rain fitting, since it's been raining all morning here in the foggy Santa Cruz mountains. Oh man--I almost just wrote that it's nice and that it is useful because it keeps us students indoors studying... but then I realized that this is the kind of thinking that Merton warns against. The rain is the rain is the rain. Don't let it be sold and commodified into having use-values. It is water and it is wet and it is lovely in its own right. 

Thanks for reading!

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

A Roland Barthes-style reading of Facebook

Literature 101
6 March 2012

When a Facebook user signs onto his or her account, they are presented with a screen that is mostly white and blue, scattered with photographs and text that calls out to them to be consumed. Photos of friends appear, and when something new is posted, the first instinct is to click it and absorb the content. There is something so satisfying about reading the latest wall posts and “liking” content to express agreement (which no longer means anything because it also means anger, laughter, acknowledgement, understanding and every other emotion one could categorize under “like”). Any changes to the page draw the eye to the new thing, particularly when a notification appears. The image of a small, light blue globe with a red flag and a white number is irresistible; one cannot simply ignore it. It persists until the user opens it to read about how someone has virtually interacted with them. It gives one a sense of popularity to see that little number, in the sense that it is important and valuable to the user’s being that someone did something that interacted with their Facebook account (which for some is synonymous with their conception of their self as a social being).

Photographs users post, pages they “like,” content they update to the “About” section are all personal details that one would likely never post on a public billboard or hang up on a poster in front of their home. Yet users post them to the social realm of Facebook because it feels safe, they know who their “friends” are, they have control over the privacy settings. The question still remains, though, why they feel the need to share that content online in the first place. To habitual, constantly connected Facebook users, the combination of all the content associated with their account defines them socially, and they have been trained to believe that to not participate in the sharing of content, thoughts, photographs and details about one’s personal life is to withdraw from society and to not engage with the rest of the world. This sense of necessary connectedness through social media becomes most acutely felt when one tries to undo the representation of self they have created online. Try and tell a dedicated, addicted Facebook user to go through and unlike every page they’ve ever liked, untag their account from pictures, delete entire albums, stop liking things or posting status updates—deactivate their Facebook! It should not be so hard to untangle from the web of mostly unimportant, oftentimes mindless, content posting, but it is not uncommon for people, even those who express a desire to deactivate, to say that they cannot just leave it all behind. They are their Facebook account and they rely on the availability of others’ profiles. Without Facebook, there is no easy transition that involves wall post and photo stalking and accumulating a better sense of a persona after meeting them. There is a sense of fear when an addicted Facebook user meets someone who doesn’t have a Facebook account. How does one discover this new person’s interests, find out if they’re single, glance through their photos and find conversation topics if not for Facebook—but first, one wonders, how the hell do I get in contact with this person? If these examples are not the case for every user, then at the very least, leaving social media behind feels like breaking important ties with the web of social invitations and interactions. While intellectually most can acknowledge that real, valuable social relations occur separately from the virtual sphere (where, interestingly, one is typically alone and is thus experiencing the antithesis of true sociality), it is still very challenging to actually go through with deactivating and remain permanently reliant on real life, non-Internet-related social interactions. It is undeniable that Facebook does facilitate social relationships and allow for bonds to take place where real life is allowed to take dominance, but social media is a drug that brings you back for more, creates a false sense of being social, and in many ways hinders the user from engaging in real social relationships outside of the tangled realm of self-representation and constantly updating news feeds.

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More of this coming soon, since I'm writing my Lit 101: Marxism class final on the topic of Facebook. This short paper was written for class as a Roland Barthes-style reading of a cultural practice. I wrote it after realizing that I am way too entrenched in social media, so the references to the difficulty in detaching oneself from Facebook are from personal experience. But Green Gal just joined Facebook, too, and now I'm not sure how I feel about social media. What do you think about social media?

Thursday, March 1, 2012

The Dichotomy of Twenty-First Century Native American Depictions: Edward S. Curtis’s Altered Piegen Lodge Photograph

In the early twentieth century, American anthropologists and photographers were scrambling to document the “vanishing race” of Native Americans who had endured centuries of struggle against European imperialists and settlers and whose culture was already imbued with the culture of white, European America. Those photographing Native Americans at this time presented idealized, romantic, static images of a people who in reality were experiencing a complex social, political and economic transition. Native American culture at this time was not the same as Native American culture before European contact, but nevertheless, anthropologists attempted to capture the romantic ideal of the “noble savage” and preserve the very culture that society at the same time was attempting to eradicate through assimilation. Thus, Native Americans at this time were not depicted as real, individual beings facing these complex factors, but were depicted as either representative of a culture that was believed to be disappearing or as the assimilated American Native, dressed in European-style clothing with short hair. Attempts were made by photographers, such as Edward S. Curtis, to avoid presenting reality—that there was no longer a Native American culture untouched by European contact, nor was there such thing as a fully “Americanized” Native American without any ties to cultural heritage.

A key example of the controlled representation of Native Americans at this time can be seen in Edward S. Curtis’s photograph In a Piegan lodge (see fig. 1), published in 1911 with other photographs of the Piegan Native American tribe in volume six of The North American Indian.[1] The photograph depicts two men of the Piegan tribe, Little Plume and his son Yellow Kidney, seated on the ground in a lodge made of animal hide. Curtis’s description of the photograph states that the men “occup[y] the position of honor, the space at the rear opposite the entrance,” and that “In a prominent place lie the ever-present pipe and its accessories on the tobacco cutting-board.” Curtis describes the other Piegan material culture that can be seen in the image, including “the buffalo-skin shield, the long medicine-bundle, an eagle-wing fan, and deerskin articles.” The men wear traditional Native American dress and their hair is braided. There is no evidence of modern European American influence in the lives of these two Piegan men, even though they were being photographed by a European American man and certainly had contact with his society and culture.

Figure 1 Curtis, Edward S., In a Piegan lodge, 1911; Northwestern University Library, Evanston, Illinois.
 
The presentation of the photograph with the description by Curtis is anthropological in form, preserving details visually and through catalogue documentation. Curtis’s collection of Native American photographs by volume was accompanied by descriptions of the different tribes, and he “presented his photographs, notes and cultural observations as ethnographic.”[2] This photograph is not candid, for the two men are looking at the camera, posed and dressed in more formal clothing, but there is a sense that the photograph is supposed to be representing a snapshot of Native American life; they are being photographed in their lodge, not in a studio, and it is likely that in their lives, these two men did sit in the very positions shown in the photograph.
 
However, the photograph is by no means a depiction of reality, and is in fact, deceitful in its presentation. In his essay, “Edward Curtis: Pictorialist and Ethnographic Adventurist,” UC Berkeley American Studies professor Gerald Vizenor writes that Curtis “paid natives to pose; he selected ornaments, vestments, and he played the natural light, tone, picturesque reflections, and the solitary nature of natives in his pictures… The aesthetic poses of natives countered the cruelties of reservations and binaries of savagism and civilization.” Thus, in many ways, this image is controlled by Curtis as photographer and self-proclaimed ethnologist. In addition to his control over the subject of the photograph and his choice of where to position the viewfinder, Curtis actually altered the original negative after it was processed to remove a key detail that otherwise presents a different representation of Native American life and culture at the time. In the original black and white negative, a clock is pictured between the two men, a clear sign that the lifestyle of the Native American men pictured was not untouched by European American society and material culture (see fig. 2). By removing the clock and romanticizing the traditional, culturally pure Native American, Curtis’s photograph represents an idealized representation of Native American people that obscures the realities of Native American life at the time, such as the harsh conditions experienced on reservations and forced assimilation in boarding schools that were a direct effect of American laws due to the advancement west by American settlers. Curtis and others at this time were documenting Native American life in order to preserve a culture they believed was vanishing with the closing of the frontier. To better understand the social and political perspectives on Native Americans at the beginning of the twentieth century, we must examine events that occurred a couple decades prior to Curtis’s photography and the influence of common, historical and deeply rooted stereotypes held by white, European Americans regarding Native American people.
Figure 2 Curtis, Edward S., In a Piegan lodge, 1910; Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C.
 
The World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, Illinois, in 1893 provides prime examples of American values and perceptions around the turn of the century. At the exposition, American industrial and technological accomplishments were showcased and celebrated alongside “living history” displays, which consisted of Native American people in traditional dress, representing the “vanishing race” that Frederick Jackson Turner discussed in a lecture he delivered at the exposition titled “The Frontier Thesis.”[3] Turner claimed in his thesis that the frontier was closed, and this notion was widely received and already exemplified by the exposition itself—technology and industry were the new frontier, and the old, closed frontier was embodied in the romantically static representation of Native Americans on display there.[4] They were “history” in the eyes of American society at this time. To European Americans, Native Americans were people with a present that existed only in relation to the past, and they certainly had no future. Turner discussed in his thesis how actions taken to fulfill manifest destiny (the idea that westward expansion, including the taking of indigenous lands, was an inherent, God-given right of the American people) represented progressive waves of social evolution that occurred each time the frontier was pushed farther west. A “closed” frontier meant the west had been entirely occupied, and more importantly in his view, “civilized.” To Turner, Native Americans were merely a feature of the frontier landscape, and with its closure, they too were vanishing under the heels of progress. Turner acknowledges that “Long before the pioneer farmer appeared on the scene, primitive Indian life had passed away,” pointing to the influences of European culture on Native American lifestyles, but he assumes that this meant that Native Americans and their culture would vanish completely as American society continued to progress. The notion of Native Americans retaining their cultural heritage and simultaneously participating in American society was not part of the American perception of Native American people. There existed two dominant stereotypes of Native Americans at this time: the noble savage, whose lifestyle was vanishing with the frontier and who would soon only exist in the photography and anthropological record; and on the other side, an assimilated Native American, who has forgone all of his ties to Native American culture, who speaks only English, wears only American clothing, and practices Christianity. This assimilated Native American could be pictured with a clock, but not the traditional Native American. Thus, Curtis removed the clock from the photograph because it presented a more complex idea of Native American life, in which it was possible to retain both a cultural heritage and live in modern American society. This option was never presented to Native Americans, and the either-or situation was reinforced by the dichotomy of photographic representations.

To contrast Curtis’s image with one in which a clock could be represented and maintain these boundaries, photographs from Native American boarding schools, like the Carlisle School in Pennsylvania, present the “assimilated Native American.” One image in particular, from the Stewart School in Nevada, actually does show a clock in the background (see fig. 3). The notion that one had to “destroy the ‘Indian’ in the ‘race’ in favor of the ‘man,’” as Carlisle Indian Industrial School founder Captain Richard H. Pratt was known to have said, was widely believed and put into practice by boarding schools across the nation.[5] The Native American boarding school system of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries removed “uncivilized” Native children from their tribal homelands and taught them “submission to authority” and “vocational” skills, teaching them to speak, dress and think like “Americans.”[6] The image from the Stewart Indian School was taken sometime after the school opened in 1890 and depicts seven boys and young men working in a harness shop at the school. According to the Nevada State Museum website, school days at this boarding school “consisted of a half day in classes and a half-day of work at the school. Student work was necessary to keep the school running and staff costs down,” and this work included agricultural work, such as the harness work depicted in the photo, washing laundry, and making the uniforms students wore.[7] These tasks are all reflective of an American society and material culture, as opposed to a traditional Native American society and material culture, which would have certainly had clothes washing, sewing and tool-making practices, but would have differed from the ways these students were taught in the boarding schools. This image shows the contrasting stereotype to the romanticized “noble savage” image depicted in the Curtis photo, and because it represents the Native American children in this photo not as “Native American” but as “American,” it was acceptable to show modern, twentieth century devices, like the clock that is visible on the wall. The clock’s active removal from the original image that Curtis took signifies a belief in American popular perceptions that Native Americans were not part of modern society unless they rejected their traditions; Native American culture in their eyes was mutually exclusive with modern inventions, like clocks, and perhaps there was even a sense that Native Americans had no sense of time or need for time, for their traditional lifestyle was lived in such a different pace from twentieth century American life. In reality, though, Native Americans had been in contact with this “modern” society for centuries, and their way of living was certainly not the static image that Americans represented in photography and in stereotypes in various mediums.

Figure 3 Boys in the harness shop, n.d, (1890-1980); Nevada State Museum, Carson City, Nevada.
The legacy of these two stereotypical representations of Native Americans in photography can still be seen today. Most Americans still think initially of Curtis’s traditional, static and “noble savage” depiction of Native Americans, even while at the same time acknowledging that it is a stereotype that is not based in reality. The cultural heritage that exists in that photograph is real, but the clock was real, too. Today, Native Americans still struggle against the dichotomy of representation that was placed upon them more than one hundred years ago and seek to put the clock back into the image, to present reality, even if it does not fit into a neat category that syncs with dominant perceptions.

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[1] “In a Piegan lodge (The North American Indian; v. 06),” American Memory, Library of Congress, n.d. Web, 26 Feb. 2012.

[2] Vizenor, Gerald; “Edward Curtis: Pictorialist and Ethnographic Adventurist,” American Memory; Library of Congress, 2000; Web, 26 Feb. 2012.

[3] Lonetree, Amy, American Studies 10: University of California Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz, California, Spring 2011, Lecture.

[4] Turner, Frederick Jackson, “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” American Historical Association; Chicago, Illinois; 1893, Lecture.

[5] Berkhofer, Robert F., Jr; The White Man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the Present; New York: Vintage Books, 1978; Print, (171).

[6] Lomawaima, K. Tsianina; “‘You’re a Women, You’re Going to Be a Wife’”; They Called It Prairie Light: The Story of Chilocco Indian School; Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994; Print, (81-82).

[7] “Stewart Indian School: Early Training,” Nevada State Museum, Nevada Division of Museums and History, 2 Apr. 2003, Web, 26 Feb. 2012.

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This paper was written for my History of Art and Visual Culture: American Art course at UC Santa Cruz, taught by Professor Martin Berger in Winter Quarter 2012. I would love to hear your thoughts on the paper, including comments about the subject, critiques of my analysis ,or any questions you might have. Thanks for reading!

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