227 lines
6.8 KiB
Plaintext
227 lines
6.8 KiB
Plaintext
From slcpi!govt.shearson.com!mjohnsto@uunet.UU.NET Mon Jan 7 17:20:21 1991
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To: wordy@Corp
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Subject: chapter-20
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CHANGING THE WORLD IN MENDOCINO
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#20 in the second online CAA series
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by
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Steven K. Roberts, HtN (WORDY)
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Point Arena, CA; 11,363 miles.
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(c) January 15, 1987
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Nowhere is the infinite interconnectedness of human relationships so clear
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as in a succession of small coastal towns, isolated from the rest of the world
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-- towns small enough to be interdependent, yet large enough to be vigorous;
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places rugged enough to discourage the lazy, yet beautiful enough to attract
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the intelligent. Such a zone is the western edge of Mendocino County: a sort
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of meta-community spread along the cliffs of northern California. We've been
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traipsing through a sparse network of linked relationships like a couple of
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hundred dollar bills in Miami.
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This coastal culture differs dramatically from the rest of the country.
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To some extent, it can be attributed to the scenic character of the land,
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something that can have sweeping effects on natives. Beauty sells, you know:
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Highway 1 winds along the coast like a varicose vein, offering the seasonal
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torrent of tourists an optimum view as they bring economic hemoglobin into
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these areas of marginal industry. A long-established love-hate relationship is
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in force here, a reluctant symbiosis between hawker and gawker.
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There's something about low-bandwidth communication between non- miscible
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cultures that affects everybody. I've seen it in other tourist areas: each
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group, locals and visitors, begins to generalize about the other -- to lump
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them together into a single stereotype. The brash tourist. The uppity local.
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Those stupid RV'ers. Those weird hippies. Residents look the other way as
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they draw their livelihood from the people who prompted their flight from the
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city in the first place.
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But there's more, though, quite a lot more. Success in these parts isn't
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on the same economic scale as it is in mainstream America. Trade work abounds.
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The land provides. Friends support each other. And it works well because the
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economic bottom line is simply not the point; quality of life is. And the
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deeper you look, the more interesting it becomes...
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These little towns harbor a remarkable population of creative people --
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the kind you would normally expect to find in high-tech node cities blanketed
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in stimulating vapors of silicon. Boat designers who combined the dimensions
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of Noah's ark with computer analysis to yield a high-performance open-ocean
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kayak. Networkers who have eschewed systems with a corporate substrate in lieu
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of electronic anarchy (FIDO and packet). A guy who turns Cadillacs into
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bizarre artworks. Another who builds high-performance audio cassettes.
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Monkeywrenchers dedicated to the battle against despoilers of the wildernass,
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practicing "ecotage" on an increasing scale. A fabricator of custom dental
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equipment. A man who makes computerized biofeedback systems that sell for
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nearly $50,000. And everywhere, literally everywhere, a degree of awareness
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that fulfills the oft-lamented promise of the 60's. Even the bookstores, small
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though they be, are dizzying.
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And encounters can be funny. Phoenix introduced herself as having "seven
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fire signs, and two air signs to fan the flames." A fellow named Raven B.
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Earlygrow runs a travel agency. A Mendocino radio pirate got busted for his
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innovative auto-answer "you're on the air" machine, bought into a public-access
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cable TV channel, and now broadcasts whatever people send him. Reagan is
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profoundly unpopular around here, to the point that I was recently presented
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with an interpretation of ancient biblical prophesy predicting his demise on
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August 17, 1987. And a friend in Elk explained the lingering personal effect
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of the World Instant of Cooperation: less cynicism. This is the land of rural
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counterculture.
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The thing that's pleasing about it all, despite frequent overdoses of HMB
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(hip metaphysical bullshit), is an intellectual liveliness that has at its
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roots a lot of the right motives: protection of mother earth for reasons beyond
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her continuing usefulness to Man, prevention of human self-destruction over
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matters of idealogical nonsense, revision of our self-poisoning habits, and the
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general objective of peace on all levels. A lot of us, um, sorta forgot about
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those things as we "grew up" from the Age of Enhanced Consciousness into the
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Epoch of Bottom Lines -- a dubious maturation indeed.
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But isn't it hard to change the world when you're eking out a small-town
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living as a part-time pump repairman, part-time gatherer of sea urchin eggs,
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and part-time poet of the revolution? So what if one of your poems ran in the
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Mendocino Review last summer, and so what if you successfully planted a
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tire-spiker in a fording spot up Elk Creek to discourage the mob of littering,
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noisy off-roaders? It's a big world. How ya gonna change it from here?
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Well, my wanderings have suggested an optimistic comment on that. Contrary
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to popular news stories of the day, social change does not hinge on government
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overthrow. Those are just the warrings of competing ideologues, not
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incremental steps in the evolution of consciousness. Growth -- the recognition
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and elimination of ignorance -- happens on a human level, slowly, building over
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time like the gradual conversion of a successful anomaly into a whole new
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species. Governments and eco-trashers simply apply selection pressure, insuring
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their eventual deterioration.
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The essence is communication, one of my main motives for becoming a writer
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in the first place. Freelancing is actually a maddening business, as the
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frustrated ramblings of Chapter 18 may have suggested -- not many people make a
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full-time living at it. I barely manage. But amassing private riches is not
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nearly as important as protecting public ones; a larder full of stocks and
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bonds is but a hollow trophy without good food, air, water, communication,
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recreation, security, and personal freedom. Whatever one person can do to
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raise the awareness of another is the best social contribution of all -- one
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small step at a time until we ALL realize which of our systems are healthy...
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and which ones should be replaced.
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This coast is an area that enforces understanding of whole systems. You
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can't pick your way among the tidepools, marveling at geometric chitons and
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subtly-hued anemones, bending to touch massive starfish and strange whiplike
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growths 20 feet long, without sensing something of the planet's complexity and
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deep interconnectedness. Everything is part of the food chain -- we've just
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grown cocky because we happen to be on top.
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All we need now is a few healthy predators to remind us that we're all in
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this together: one species, one planet, one whole.
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-- Steve
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