The Future of America, and How to Stop It

So I was on the Chinatown bus from DC to Philly last Monday, and I was reading a book called The Future of the Internet and How to Stop It, by a guy named Jonathan Zittrain. It is one of those required reading tomes for most people who work in my field, and Zittrain is one of those required panelists that cycle around in what you could almost call a karmic wheel from one conference to the next – that is, could almost call a karmic wheel, were anyone ever to actually break the cycle of panelist death and rebirth, achieve nirvana, and be freed, in a blinding flash of light from behind a cloth-covered table at some convention center, the lav mic left behind dropping gamely into the empty seat.

Apparently, that has yet to happen.

The book is a great explanation of how the Internet works and what flavors it comes in; I suspect that there is going to be a really scary part about information control, commercialization, etc. later on in the book, that will spur me on to further action. But so far, I have only gotten to the fun parts, like the case of Captain Crunch. Before there were computer hackers, there were ‘phone phreakers’ – people who hacked the phone system.

This guy Captain Crunch was a man who spent years jerking at the skirts of Ma Bell, and whose greatest phreak was accomplished with a whistle found in a box of said cereal. The AT&T phone system was not digital, but analog, which means that you hacked something not with 100110010, but with actual sound. Captain Crunch discovered that these cereal-box whistles, when blown into the phone at the end of a call, signaled to the AT&T system that the line had been reset, and then was free to call anywhere in the world for free and talk as long as he wanted to.

So I was reading this book, and getting a little sleepy, and thinking about what I was going to do the next day at the Media Mobilizing Project, and maybe feeling a little bit of a smarty pants for being able to toss around this new term ‘generative network’ in some work context down the road – maybe even Tweet it in some adorable little bon mot – when I look up and see the enormous sign that says “HARLEM TURN RIGHT”. Then there’s one for BROOKLYN. Then if there’s any doubt that I am not actually in Philadelphia, there’s TRI-BOROUGH BRIDGE… and so on. And so on. It’s about 10 pm. Shit.

“Yeah uh Lauren, I don’t really think I need that place to stay tonight. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks though. I just…overshot my destination a bit,” I say, blushing and sweating into my smartphone. “Yeah. I got on the wrong bus and I’m in New York. Yeah, I’m such a winner.” Pakistani and Chinese families exit the bus en masse, secure in their own sanity and their survival instincts, warm, pudgy, holding white plastic bags of ingredients. “Yeah. I know. Well actually you are right. It is kind of a cool thing. Yeah. Hell yeah. I’d been wanting to come up here. I don’t have to be back until the morning anyway. I’ll just wander around!”

At this point the night turned into an all-night kaleidoscope, which runs through the wasabi peas I ate in the terminal, through a bar called the Redhead which served me the oldest cocktail in America, through the Bowery Poetry Club (I had no idea they still did that in New York), through a congee restaurant (congee is like Chinese grits), then the last few hours, where, as I end up doing over and over again between the hours of 4 and 7 in the morning whenever I am in NYC, I sit on the street with homeless guys, smoke cigarettes, talk, and watch the sun come up over the city.

There are more people living on the streets of New York now than I have seen in 15 years. They are almost all black men. They are lined up on the sidewalk in the Bowery in row after row of crumpled cardboard boxes like an IKEA warehouse of human beings. (Model # ANTHRO). “It’s just the recession,” one guy said to me. Fair enough. But New York is where all our sins come out in the wash, I think. It is the Empire State, after all.

For all of the ‘social conditions’ that lead to ‘homelessness’, these mass encampments are very much a form of protest, perhaps not as political as Tent Cities, but defiant in their own way. If the city of New York – and our culture in general - is going to treat poor black men like trash, then these guys are out there on the street to confront it, parked underneath the pale hipsters laughing and scurrying by, their very presence saying yeah, if we are trash, then we are going to be here, we’re not going to let you forget it, we are going to be the wave of human trash that engulfs this city, engulfs the tourists, engulfs the financial sector until the entire island is buried under a tidal wave of human throwaways. Their very actions are a form of witness. All I can do is treat people with respect, and hear what truth they have to offer, since between 4 and 7 in New York, I am homeless too. I consider this a particularly important stop on my listening tour of the universe. No better place to really discuss healthcare reform - or the fate of Henry Louis Gates, Jr.

At any rate, the guys I hung out with were way more worried about me (especially once they’d heard the story), and called me on my cell several times to make sure I got back to Pennsylvania. Survival instincts are hard to define.

The two days before, I had been in Detroit. I didn’t get to see much of it when I was there. However, I was fortunate enough to land in the tangle of leftie community organizers who are trying to cope with the massive shocks that the entire city is going through (and who had the political dirt).

I had no idea how bad it was. Detroit high schools have a 75 percent dropout rate. But from some of the problems and solutions I heard being discussed, it became clear to me that Detroit is very much a preview, a dress rehearsal of sorts, for the coming long-arc collapse of the American economy over the next 50 years. My lifetime. I don’t think I am over-exaggerating in any way to say that it will be the unique challenge of my generation to determine the nature with which we confront this coming storm – whether we remember and uphold values of community, sharing, love, and enlightenment, or if we descend into, even more than we already have, into selfishness, individuality, violence, and brutality. The immensity of this task is almost too much for me to think about, sometimes. I cannot say that I am not scared for us. But we have no choice. This is our home.

As pessimistic as this all sounds, I want to write this so I can hold up Detroit like a candle. I think there is a lot of darkness there, but I think what people are doing is kind. The spirit with which they are confronting their region’s economic cratering is to move towards their neighbors, not away from them, and it is centered on what is good in life.

If that is the epicenter, then I have hope.

Who knew? The Motor City!