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After a single day at orientation, here are some thoughts I’ve had about coming into a world built upon relationships and experiences.

I graduated school in a cynical and passionate way. In one of the final things I wrote, I am critical of fellow students' commitments to social change. I saw it as fleeting, as something like a boy-scout badge: pinned on when most useful. Rightly, I was corrected as being dismissive of their experience and history. I was assuming I knew their perspective without even walking into the shoe-store.

As September arrives, my year of service as a Community Organizer becomes more and more real. The time of fund-raising will not stop; postage evolves into email but the letter stays the same. In preparation for the New Year, I picked up Saul Alinsky's Rules for Radicals. Alinsky was the head of the Industrial Area Foundation in Chicago during the 1960s. His work is widely known and revered as revolutionary.

I picked up this book at a Barnes and Noble in Kansas City. Amongst the fumbling, antsy, awkward bowler hatted locals I sat and ate a Quiche and drank dark coffee. The three hats tossed thoughts back and forth, exchanged numbers in the end and finally waddling out of the cafe. Libraries, Book Stores and Malls are harbors for the hermits of society. All of the idiosyncrasies of this world might be found in a simple second floor coffee shop in the Plaza of Kansas City.

And so I read on, and finally, came to this:


"Remember we are talking about revolution, not revelation; you can miss the target by shooting too high as well as too low. First, there are no rules for revolution any more than there are rules for love or rules for happiness, but there are rules for radicals who want to change their world; there are certain central concepts of action in human politics that operate regardless of the scene or the time. To know these is basic to a pragmatic attack on the system. These rules make the difference between being a realistic radical and being a rhetorical one who uses the tired old words and slogans, calls the police "pig" or "white fascist racist" or "motherfucker" and has so stereotyped himself that others react by saying, "Oh, he's one of those," and then promptly turn off.
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In the midst of the gassing and violence by the Chicago Police and National Guard during the 1968 Democratic Convention many students asked me, "Do you still believe we should try and work inside our system?"

These were students who had been with Eugene McCarthy in New Hampshire and followed him across the country. Some had been with Robert Kennedy when he was killed in Los Angeles. Many of the tears that were shed in Chicago were not from gas. "Mr. Alinsky, we fought in primary after primary and the people voted no on Vietnam. Look at that convention. They're not paying any attention to the vote. Look at your police and the army. You still want us to work in the system?"

It hurt me to see the American army with drawn bayonets advancing on American boys and girls. But the answer I gave the young radicals seemed to me the only realistic one: "Do one of three things. One, go find a wailing wall and feel sorry for yourselves. Two, go psycho and start bombing--but this will only wing people to the right. Three, learn a lesson. Go home, organize, build power, and at the next convention, you be the delegates."


It is this sort of power, this sort of intentional action that made my soul jump up and exhilarate: whoa.

I have been trying, recently, to be intentional. I have given myself three goals for the next year: One: be on time. Two: Let others know your plans. Three: Give freely and often.

It is the final goal that speaks to Alinsky's point. One must be intentional about her desires. And when acting on behalf of them, the action is then purified and clarified (Alinsky argues on this later...): The means then become more or less synonymous with the actions.

Earlier in the summer a friend and I sat around a New Mexico bonfire. The night stars gave clarity to my thoughts, and busyness, unimportant cares fell wayside as I found my heart and mind planting seeds in true love, passion and work. My friend sat by the fire and clung to her cardigan: old, baby blue, and crocheted by a fellow college staff. It didn't keep her from being bothered by a question she was asked earlier in the night. How has the past year been, an old friend asked her. In a similar way, I am often irked by questions that desire updates. I feel like I'm checking something off a list. Good, I think. I'm glad I'm helping you feel like you're being a good friend. It is in questions like these where the means (nominal interest-inquiry) are not equal to the ends (genuine conversation and relation).

Alinsky's thought here applies well to personal relationships. One should have a desire to inquire into someone's life. And if that desire is personal, grounded in memory and care, then the questions gain love, and become more pointed, less broad.

Two days ago, I sat in a bar with an old high school friend. In small town Kansas the choice of fine liquor establishments is slim: A sports bar (Sidelines) or the Monkey Butt Saloon.

We went to Sidelines.

It was a typical return to Kansas: small town talk with another long lost friend who recently moved into his girlfriend's place: You'll probably see, he said, my truck there 'bout every day. Out on North 4th street. It'll be out front. And if it's not. Then it's parked out back. Cause it's raining.

He left. And Kelsey and I continued chatting. After logistics, simple questions (How was the summer? Des Moines right?), I came to one of my favorite questions: So, in the midst of all of this, how are you? How is Kelsey?

It is a question, I think, that grants and evidence intentionality. And it is asked. Much like Alinsky: if you want something done, do it. If you want to be something, start trying.

I don't want to be cynical. I love. And know that those around me love in most amazing ways. I think, however, that what I desire and want out of others is a pure interest in relationship with me. A willingness to work for things. To be willing to listen to how I feel, what I'm thinking, and so on. More so than this willingness, however, it might be asked for. Relationships, I've thought, are like bubbles touching. And often times, we must reach out to others. More so, I think we must reach out more often, and in different ways to those that are closest to us. Avoiding Minnesota niceties, and getting to the nitty-gritty sometimes requires that we push others and ourselves to directness, and honesty. It is at this sometimes-blatant plane that true interaction occurs, where exchanging of "weird little worlds" occurs.

Like all things I write, I want to end by taking a step or two back. The beauty of relationships is you get to learn the most effective ways of showing love. For some it's listening. Others, it’s talking. I think for me, it’s asking the right questions.

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