there have been many headlines written about this dumpster presidency, but one of them keeps flashing through my mind; it is an article about how in this moment, we can learn from organizers resisting ICE in maricopa county, phoenix, arizona, the site of this country’s most racist and extreme laws against undocumented immigrants. we learn from the people who have been through hell, not the people who live in paradise.
somewhere between my last two trips to los angeles i felt a great comfort descend upon me with living on the margins. not that i consider living in a big city managing a high profile project to be in any way a marginal situation. i am referring more to the well documented spatial marginality of the south and the midwest relative to the coastal areas, from its access to culture, to its voting records.
another form of marginality i’ve been considering is the marginality of countries considered less developed in terms of late capitalism and representative democracy relative to the united states. is this true anymore? as the united states gets downgraded to a flawed democracy and we are shown to be the puppets, not the puppeteers, of international electoral manipulation, what is the cold comfort that accompanies no longer being at the center of the world?
in migrant words, did i leave my homeland for this?
i’ve been asking myself these questions about a regional and global loss of centrality that was perhaps never mine to begin with. i have no answers because perhaps i too, retain a glimmer of a dream that somewhere is better than here. but i am learning to love the margin. i am learning to love the way it gives me critical distance with which to view the center, i am learning the value of the occasional slip into anonymity, i am learning hyperlocal contradictions that give bloom to the complexity in humanity; i am learning the bitter beauty of forging survival.
my artist community has been fretting about the loss of the national endowment of the arts, and while i by no means want it to go, living on the pseudo-margins has taught me that we don’t need anything, but ourselves, for the revolution.