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In her book, Bridging the Class Divide and other Lessons for Grassroots Organizing, Linda Stout mentions an incident when low-income activists created a brochure that included the quote, “Something has got to be wrong when the government spends so much money on the military and nothing on me!” Somewhere in the production process, the quote was “corrected” to read, “I don’t understand why the government spends so much money on the military and nothing on me.” When the creators of the brochure saw the change, they were angry: “What do you mean we don’t understand? Of course we understand! Do you think we’re stupid or something?” (p. 119).

When middle-class activists approach organizing with the assumption that they need to enlighten and educate the duped and the unaware, they may be contributing to the class divide that exists in current social change movements.

As David Croteau, an academic from a working-class background, argues in Politics and the Class Divide, “Workers are aware of the existence of significant social and political problems and issues.” But social movement activists do not “fully recognize this awareness on the part of workers” (p. 151). He quotes an activist as saying, “If you’re really gonna understand [the issues], you’ve got to read a lot of alternative sources.” In his excellent study of “working people and the middle-class left,” Croteau shows that “this is not necessarily true. Workers have a good grasp of major issue areas and recognize the need for change in the political sphere” (p. 152).

Linda Stout, one of the founders of the Piedmont Peace Project, a grassroots organization based in low-income communities in North Carolina, describes middle class organizers going door-to-door with her as being “surprised to discover that folks in our area paid close attention to national issues. When we asked them what they thought was the biggest issue facing our country today, many of these low-income folks said that military spending and government waste were the cause of our local problems. We didn’t have to explain the connection to them. They had already made the link, while many middle-class people miss those connections” (pp. 108-109).

What makes someone middle class? The term refers not just to income, but to the level of decisionmaking power a person enjoys in his or her work, which brings with it the reward of a certain amount of power, privilege, and perks in society. A better term for “middle class” may be “coordinator class” (see the work of Michael Albert). Stout and Croteau use “middle class,” however, and so for the purposes of this commentary, I will too.

Authored by progressives from working-class backgrounds, both of these excellent books help illuminate the class divide that is typical in today’s social change movements.

What else, besides middle-class people assuming that working-class people “don’t understand,” contributes to the class divide?

Trying to build on disillusionment and despair

When David Croteau interviewed middle-class peace and justice activists, he found that “the shock that activists felt at ‘discovering’ injustice served as a strong catalyst for action” (p. 54). Many of these activists naturally assume that others will find the same shock and subsequent disillusionment and anger to be motivating as well. But the working people that Croteau talked to had never “bought the ‘bill of goods’ about democracy that was being sold to them by teachers, politicians, and the media.” Rather than being motivated by injustice, working people respond to it with a “weary fatalism” (p. 55), says Croteau.

Focusing on knowledge rather than action

Perhaps hoping to replicate in others their own experience of discovering injustice, middle-class activists focus too much on education. Linda Stout says, “Many groups give educational programs without any actions assigned, believing that knowledge about a particular issue is enough to make people work for change. But I believe that if folks leave a program without understanding what to do with the knowledge they have gained, they frequently feel even more disempowered” (p. 138).

Meanwhile, David Croteau argues, setting up educational forums to reveal to people all the terrible injustice in the world is akin to asking people to learn the details of horrible but fixed aspects of life — things we have no chance of changing, like the weather. “A lot of times I don’t like the weather,” says one worker that Croteau interviewed, “but I don’t wrack my brain trying to think up a way to change it... If it’s raining...I go inside. I don’t try to stop it from raining.”

Insufficiently valuing effectiveness

Perhaps middle-class social change movements do not focus enough on what they do manage to win and so they appear even more ineffectual than they actually are.

David Croteau asked Tom, a telephone company line worker, what might motivate him to get involved in a social change organization. He answered, “I suppose if I thought it would make a difference, I might. But I’d really have to see how it would work — how it was gonna change things. I’m not one to go out and do things just to make myself feel better, you know. I need to see some results. With what I know about these kinds of things, they usually just kind of fade away. Nothing really gets changed.”

Linda Stout agrees that a challenge for progressives is to find ways to show people that change is possible, that it is a realistic goal. “It is important when reaching out to low-income folks, or anyone else for that matter, that meetings be about accomplishing something. It is important to give people an `action’ assignment in every meeting. Low-income people especially need to see concretely that they are making a difference before they will believe it” (p. 138). Settling for the “good fight” as opposed to winning, it may not be obvious to many middle-class activists to be this goal-oriented since, as David Croteau discovered, for many of them, their political work offers intrinsic rewards. They say that activism is “fulfilling,” “interesting,” and just plain “fun” (p. 123). “To put it bluntly, much of middle-class politics is comfortable. That is, since participation brings its own rewards and middle-class activists generally are not working for their own immediate interests, it often makes little difference whether such movements are always a success for those who choose to participate. To outsiders like the workers I interviewed, however, continued pursuit of apparently futile efforts can seem baffling. Not participating in social movements is similar to not voting. It is, in part, the realization that such activities will not provide benefits” (p. 125).

Stout’s and Croteau’s books were published in 1996 and 1995 respectively, but the insights they yield are not reflected in how middle-class peace and justice movements orient their activism. In this commentary, I offer only a small portion of what middle-class activists can learn from these books. I urge activists to buy them and study them and incorporate their lessons.

People will find various ways of taking these lessons forward into their work, but a key question to ask yourself is whether you have a way to listen to what working-class people are saying. Many middle-class activists do not. Or they actively block out the message because it doesn’t fit with their agenda. This is one of the ways social change movements are classist, and therefore one of the ways we dehumanize our own movements and decrease their chances of success. Bridging the Class Divide and Politics and the Class Divide provide activists with a way to begin to listen to working-class voices.

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Books:There is only one solution to deforestation

Review by John Lapp

“It was strangely like war. They attacked the forest as if it were an enemy to be pushed back from the beachheads, driven into the hills, broken into patches, and wiped out. Many operators thought they were not only making lumber but liberating the land from trees.”- Murray Morgan, 1955

(AGR) This quote begins the new book Strangely Like War: The Global Assault on Forests, authored by Derrick Jensen and George Draffan. Strangely Like War, as the subtitle makes obvious, deals with the international timber industry’s raping of the earth, and the genocide waged against it’s human and animal residents. The authors also make clear the link between deforestation and the power-hungry, destructive nature of our civilization. In merely 143 pages, the authors are able to debunk the myths that surround logging in the no-compromise fashion that has made Jensen a hero to the “grassroots” environmentalist movement, and scare the shit out of the more mainstream (or corporate, as the authors refer to them) environmentalists of the Sierra Club. Not only is this book full of facts, it is written in a style that is very accessible to the reader.

It’s all crazy and it’s all killing the forests

The first chapter of Strangely Like War introduces the horrors and arrogance of the timber industry. This chapter also seem to be a base point for the authors’ well-founded attacks against government-run organizations such as the US Forestry Service. In this chapter the authors also get the reader acquainted with such disgusting terms as “beauty strips”; the name given by timber corporations and government agencies to the strips of greenery that line the highway. These give the appearance of a dense forest, when in reality they mask acres of clearcuts. Another purposely misleading term that Jensen and Draffan expose is “temporary meadows” which is a euphemism for clearcut forest lands.

“They made us many promises, more than I can remember. But they never kept but one. They promised to take our land and they took it”

The next chapter deals with the crimes perpetuated against the indigenous peoples of the world, for whom the forest is not only home, but also the only source of life. Jensen goes to great lengths in describing dozens of incidents of genocide supported by the timber industry and perpetuated by brutal regimes, driving the point home that none of these are unique. One of the more gruesome slaughters is that of the pygmy peoples of the Congo, who are routinely slaughtered, raped, and hunted for food by militias paid to drive them from the forests. The point is made that from the very dawn of civilization, supposedly “civilized” people have always been determined to eliminate those who reject the culture of civilization.

This is how the US political system works. This is why the system must go

The most compelling section of this book is the story of Jensen’s disenchantment with the American political system, the point when he realized that there was absolutely no way to save any forests under the present way of life. In the book Culture of Make Believe Jensen speaks about this transition as a time of reckoning for all environmentalists. According to him, there is a time when all environmentalists come to the realization that civilization must end or the world is doomed; or else they become disenchanted. Jensen writes that two years after the Salvage Rider was passed, “every god-damned acre, every fucking acre ever beautiful, vibrant, stunning… was clearcut…” under the rhetoric that they were being cut for forest health.

How much longer till we of the global north, like the people of the forests, wake up and fight back?

The end of the book hints at what the authors envision as a solution. They propose that land be “community forested,” or in other words, the people who live in the forests decide collectively how much to cut, and these people would understand that their future is tied to these trees. They urge that we reject globalization, both the ideas of Free Trade and that of “Fair Trade”; and instead operate on decentralized community levels.

They also insist that people need to fight for the forests in any and every way possible, whether by educating loved ones on the values of recycling, or physically stopping the logging. Toward the end of the book Jensen states: “…we (grassroots environmentalists) are praying, everyday, for civilization to end. For this culture to run out of oil, to collapse on itself. For this long and awful nightmare of deforestation and dispossession to end.”

(AGR) It’s unlikely that Rod Murphy’s documentary Greater Southbridge will break new ground for Asheville residents who attend its screening at the Asheville Film Festival on Nov. 7. With a downtown full of eccentric characters of our own, it won’t be surprising that other towns, specifically the director’s hometown of Southbridge, Massachusetts, also host odd and unusual inhabitants.

While Murphy’s parade of eccentricity, headed up by the odd and charming Jerry “Mr. Southbridge” Sciesnewski, does entertain, it does little to enlighten. Editor Scott Morgan’s MTV influence is evident in the film’s tendency toward the montage-cum-background-indie-music, which, when employed in reference to people who are clearly disabled in many ways, borders on the exploitive.

That said, Murphy’s intent is clearly not to exploit. His relationship with many of these people is considerably more intimate than is typically seen between a documentary filmmaker and his subjects. In one sequence, Jerry tries on shorts at the Salvation Army thrift store, modeling in various states of undress, Murphy hooting and encouraging his model: “Lookin’ good!” and so forth. Murphy’s wife hangs out with Jerry extensively; in one shot, the two walk off into the distance discussing Jerry’s favorite female musicians, the clever conversation nearly lost in the hokum.

Jerry plays the starring role, perhaps because his quirks are the most likable. Something is wrong with Jerry, however. He stutters and fixates, he drinks old Coke out of a half-empty bottle someone brings him. In one segment at the laundromat where Jerry is washing four months’ worth of clothes, he tells the story of how he ended up in Southbridge, which raises more questions than answers.

Some of the other characters are more distasteful than Jerry: the drug abuser, the Vietnam vet who hates Puerto Ricans, the derelict wearing the winter hat who’s always pictured on what appear to be the outskirts of town. While Murphy allows these folks significant screen time, his wife doesn’t pal around with them.

Wayne Foskett, the veteran known as “The Lone Wolf,” makes claims are so outlandish as to elicit involuntary chuckles; he states matter-of-factly that no one had better call him on the red phone except for the president.

During the brief expository sequence where some of the subjects’ disabilities are brought to light, it comes out that Wayne had a cerebral hemorrhage in a serious car accident. “Did you suffer any brain damage?” asks Murphy. “No, I’m good,” replies the Lone Wolf, “Except I’m wacko.”

Some of Murphy’s shots are literally stunning: Greater Southbridge illuminates the complicated condition of being human in some unexpected ways. At times, you feel it in your throat, and it’s these moments that work because of their emotion and depth -- a depth the rest of the film could benefit from.

Greater Southbridge makes some attempts to elucidate why the town seems to have a disproportionate amount of exceedingly odd residents. Residents speculate that the down-and-out are bussed in from Worcester (echoing the often-repeated rumor that Charlotte’s homeless are frequently given one-way bus tickets to Asheville), or perhaps the central location of the welfare office draws them in. Unfortunately, the topics of drug use, mental illness, and post-traumatic stress are either glossed over or absent entirely.

Greater Southbridge will be screened at the Asheville Film Festival on Friday, Nov. 7 at 5:30pm at the Asheville Community Theater.

(AGR) What is a “strobe-lite ho?” According to Black Sheep member “Dres,” a strobe-lite ho describes the tendency of women to “look better” beneath the dim lighting of a dance club.

Last week the Black Sheep rode yesterday’s wave of fame through the doors of Stella Blue, riling up the crowd of nostalgic hip-hop fans with belligerently sexist lyrics set to smooth, rhythmic beats.

The Black Sheep arrived on the New York hip-hop scene in 1991 and immediately rose to “Top 30” billboard success. They belonged to the NY-based Native Tongue Family, which included A Tribe Called Quest, the Jungle Brothers, and De La Soul.

Originally from Sanford, NC, the Black Sheep are William “Mr. Long” McLean and Andre “Dres” Titus. Their music allows people to “be free to be who [they] are,” according to Dres. “I’m encouraging people to have a good time.” But, I wondered, at whose expense?

The Black Sheep set appeared spontaneous, yet was somehow well-rehearsed. The audience jumped up and down, their arms waving in unison, as the Sheep addressed the crowd: “What do the Asheville ladies’ asses look like? What do the Asheville ladies taste like?” Hoots and hollers echoed throughout Stella Blue, as women were instructed to lift their shirts and told nothing mattered “as long as [they] look good.” Everyone laughed at the call for women to strip down, as if their tongue-in-cheek style balanced out the offensive weight of their statements.

The Black Sheep aren’t the only hip-hop artists that have stayed on the bandwagon that reinforces the notion that a woman’s worth is measured by her appearance, her existence simply a vehicle for sex. By defining themselves through the objectification of women, The Black Sheep ultimately objectify themselves, and they laugh about it. Does their humor justify their words?

Somehow mainstream media has, in the past, placed the Black Sheep within the “conscious hip-hop” category, perhaps the result of a token song about racial oppression. These vague and non-committal gestures, songs that address issues of class or race while ignoring gender oppression, leave otherwise inspiring song lyrics empty and meaningless.

The band descended from the stage, announcing their availability for autographs. I asked Dres if the Black Sheep had any lyrics referring to women that didn’t discuss their bodies.

“Oh, yeah,” said Dres.

“Which one?” I asked.

“You just wait ‘til our next album,” he replied, abruptly ending our interview before disappearing into the crowd.