Gemini Ink Writing Lab - Week #6 - On Trial

Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism

Writing prompt

• Justice or Restitution? Write of a time you've been put on trial for your own convictions

The Scene: Frio Street Courthouse Blues

"You must be a lawyer," said the parking attendant. "Oh, no," I said, "I'm here for a parking ticket." "Oh, well, you look like a lawyer," said the parking attendant. An oxford shirt and silk tie, yes, a lawyer's attire. Texas bluesman Son House, mentor to the legendary Delta blues guitar picker Robert Johnson, once sang of the blues as a lowdown aching chill. This chill ran cold through my bones as I entered the magistrate court facility. As soon as we make our way through the plate glass doors we're deprived of all externals - "even your belt, sir" - and forced to regather our personal belongings on the other side of the metal detector. We're also stripped of our inherent compassion, our humanity. Our skin, whether tones of white or brown or red, appears in pale shades beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting from the ceiling. I ask the security guard to point me in the direction of a traffic violation. I ahve no difficulty in following the signage but I ask him because I figure I would ease the tension of a day in the life of someone charged with keeping the peace. I ask him because it seems not the most uplifting task of commanding others to remove their personals day in, day out. I f we feel violated, how must he feel? Though, he's more than glad to guide me about the building. I'd been here once before, but it was hard to tell where I needed to be. Each door looks just like the last, the same lighting, the same old wood.

It was more than ten years ago. I had turned 18 years old that summer and was learning my way around the inner city by car. I was parking on Pereida street in the heyday of the First Friday art walk in the King William Cultural Arts district. Two separate cops stuck me with two separate violations at two separate times: One for parking opposite the flow of traffic, the other for parking less than twenty feet from the intersection. $25 a piece. They didn't cover that in driving school. And so, I showed up for my scheduled court date and paid the fines, guilty as charged. But how insidious it seemed; no posting listed of any possible infractions, no traffic violation rulebook given to you after the infraction, nothing.
Fast forward to the present story and that same violation is now being charged for $35. Infalation, I guessed. I reached out to  friend, who recently graduated with a law degree, to dig deeper into this subterfuge and uncover who was pulling the ruse. He told me he attended a closed door city-county budget meeting in Dallas where the city manager explicitly demanded an answer from the chief of police how he intended to increase revenue for the city and county. Increased crackdown on parking fines and traffic violations, of course. "It's not secret within the administration," my friend said. This only infuriated me further, to see everyday people get nickel-and-dimed, and so I reach out to another friend majoring in criminial justice. I told him I was concerned with the amount of resources being allocated to the police for law enforcement. Public safety is a eupehmism for law enforcement. "Oh, it's not just parking tickets," he said, "it's speeding tickets, pulling over people for not signaling a lane change, for not vacating the passing lane when a squad car is approaching. They're called STEP cops." "STEP cops?" I asked. "Specialized Traffic Enforcement Police," he explained. And there was the rub. They didn't cover that in driving school.

Back to the courtroom blues, I was on a mission to dispute. I had paid my dues years ago. With the facade already in place, I decided I was going to act the part of the lawyer. Instead of a courtroom I got a glorified custodian's closet. Three employees crammed into this tiny space with the "judge" seated in front of a computer behind an elevated lectern. Some setting for a trial.

"Good morning," I said, "I'm here today to dispute a parking violation." I almost boasted this fact as to take command of the room and let them know that without physical evidence I was going to talk my way out of a ticket. "We'll be with you in just a moment," the judge said. I guess you could call him that. His loosely-fitted black judges' robe draped over his shoulders with a faded polo sport shirt showing underneath. His appearance was drab and seemed apathetic. The other two clerks didn't bother to look up, busy, I assumed, with the neverending paperwork of civic cases piled high on their desks. "Can we have a look at your ticket, please, and see your driver's license?" the judge asked. I confirmed my name and address. "And what is it you would like to dispute, Mr. Gonzalez?" the judge asked. Here it was, my big moment I had prepared for the entire morning. Going over the rhetoric in my head on the drive to court of how I had been a student at San Antonio College for years, who couldn't afford a parking pass, (more like, refused to pay for what should be a fundamental student amenity) and parked along the same side streets for years and never received a ticket and how another car was parked closer than I was and didn't receive a ticket and so on. And so, with a deep breath and a confidently lower tone of voice, I began...

"Well, I've been pursuing an Associate's Degree at San Antonio College since the fall semester of 2013. I've since become familiar with the intersections of Lewis and Evergreen adjacent to the Laurel Apartments and a block away from Crockett Park. Like many other students who cannot afford a parking pass, we see it fit that..." I was interrupted by the judge ripping up the paper and tossing it in the wastebin, a few clicks of the mouse, and a jaded look in his eye when he said, "Your ticket has been dismissed, sir. Thank you." I was stunned. No additional paperwork to sign? No evidence necessary to be presented by the purported guilty party? Not even a Bailiff present should the defending explanation of the purported perpetrator get out of line? "Is there anything else I need to complete?" was all that came out of my mouth. "No, sir. Thank you." And as the next defendant filed in right behind me, I filed right out.

I made sure to nod and acknowledge the security guard on my way out. A shirt and necktie, I thought to myself as I pushed open the doors and made my way across the parking lot. I started my car and drove away. Not a dollar paid. Case closed.

Gemini Ink Writing Lab - Week #5 - Cultural Identity

Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism

Writing prompt

• What culture do you speak? Write the narrative of your unique American history

Entry:

Mestiza

Texan y Tejana, she forms as a slender trace of miel mesquite, a drizzle of chamoy, a hearth of pecan meat. She soars the monarch's trail, with conviction of the river current, while calling the mockingbird's bluff. She pats her hands with cornflower, reciting cantos que pasa el tiempo. De la luz, de la tierra, she reigns. She resides...

Gemini Ink Writing Lab - Week #4 - Human Nature

Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism

Writing prompt

• Write what's in your human nature

Entry:

Forgive and forget, so the old saying goes. But what of the capacity to forgive and remember? Get over it <---- this is what we're told when hung up, caught up, on some burning memory that we can't seem to let go or undo or make right. We turn this memory into an event or an occasion or a landmark and give it so much weight we become the burden-laden oxen dragging along this old happening across the field of ______. How often is the feeling to return, we don't know. Whether it appears as its old self or takes place in a new form, we don't know. How could we forget what is now a part of our human nature? How could we disregard any experience that has made us, has brought us to who we are today, right here, right now?

(when we forgive we don't become the hardened stone)

And if all it is is a memory, a moment passing, what is there to grasp, to hold against someone? Forgiving the faults of our human nature is forgiving the actions of an unrealized self. Blame is cast aside. Shame has no place. Can we admit we were all learning? We were going to do what we set out to do. Again, when the memory returns, can we withhold our reactions and forgive ourselves and others for our actions and theirs? Can we drop the harsh command of "get over it" and replace it with something deeper, more caring, more nurturing? We must forgive. We must "overcome it" and face remembrance in the ever-present mirror of now.

Gemini Ink Writing Lab - Week #3 - Circles

Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism

Writing prompt

• Write what in your life has come full circle or what seems to be spiraling out of control

Entry:

I see the circles in my life, the curving lines as a path created by my energy field, leaving in their wake all the past lifetimes of adventures and misadventures, of turn-ons and hang-ups, of fallings out and rebirths, and I would how much I would be held responsible for. I see cycles within the circles, running perpendicular to each other. Occurrence is an understatement. They don't merely occur for me, it seems I have to crash into this intersection of action and energy, or maybe because I am spinning I am hurled into the situation. A discomforting collision bringing with it a chance for enlightenment, for awareness to blossom, to be reborn. But I have to catch it. How long have the cycles been returning and when can I hope to break free of the ones weighing heavy on my soul, on my mind, on my body? And I have, through release, letting go of the illusion of control. What's so shocking about the collision is when the mirror is held before me by hands that are not my own. I look deep and I see what is not to be, and I see what is and I see the chance to move forward and complete the circle, in eternity. I take action and I see the cycles dissolve, the ones that are not of well-being and balance and love. What takes their place of detriment? Nothing. No thing in its place. Instead, the circles begin to unlock and widen ever further, reaching beyond what the complacent cycles had lead me to believe. The circles deepen and become a reservoir of wisdom and company and conviction and patience. I remain patient and wait and live for the next circle to begin.

Gemini Ink Writing Lab - Week #2 - Letters

Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism

Writing prompt

• Write a letter to someone, alive or dead, or to something, past or present

Entry:

Letter Addressed to the San Antonio River Authority

To Whom It May Concern,

We, the people, hereby file a formal complaint against the developers of the Blue Star - Big Tex apartments for obstructing the viewshed of the San Antonio River, its walking/biking trail, and its riparian zone. For decades the afternoon-to-evening daylight has nourished the river banks replete with cypress trees, sunflowers, and other lush foliage. For generations our families have cast out lines from our fishing poles to reap the sustenance this river brings us. We have consulted our beloved sun, we have listened to the wilting leaves on the aging trees, we have conducted in-house community meetings, we have conversed with our affluent neighbors to the north who own river-front property and we have come to this conclusion: The architecture of this development bears no resemblance to the cultural characteristics of our beloved city, it holds no likeness to the lifestyle of the river's inhabitants, and gives no inspiration to the thousands of visitors meandering along the river banks. Each year, at the beginning of each season with weather permitting, we are blessed with an abundance of sunbeams that bring a natural energy to the fish, the birds, the insects, the greenery, the winds along the surface, carrying with them the natural flow of life. All of these natural elements are surely, and sorely, to suffer, with the current state of development with its gospel of urban density that has come to plague our blessed river. Therefore, to the authority, we deliver our demands as follows: We demand these structures be razed, without polluting the surround environment, and rebuilt with ceilings no higher than one and a half stories. And if this is not within the means of the authority to execute, then we demand the artists of our community be commissioned to decorate the exterior walls of this development with murals illustrating the peoples' history of our beloved river...

Gemini Ink Writing Lab - Week #1 - The Classroom

Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism

Writing prompt

• Write the vision that comes to mind for your ideal classroom

Entry:

We blame the teachers. We blame the parents. We blame the students. We blame the unions. We blame the principals. We blame until there's no one left to blame. Cancel the art classes. Cancel the music funding. Cancel the field trips. Drive the career. Drive the examinations. Drive the promise of debt. Horde as many young people as we can into the confines of social isolation so that they feel they can't connect with anyone. This is what we've done. How many years of dropouts by the multitude before we admit what we've created isn't working, where kids are sent off and packed in and shuffled about and tracked like heads of cattle in what is shaped like prison? And now with this knowing, this knowledge, of our faults, what can we do to heal? To heal the community? What will it take to place the education in the hands of the community? But I can only speak from a distance, for all I know comes from being raised in the church. And even then, the doctrine and dogma of the clergy leaves many feeling jaded with the notion of "faith", turning into Catholic school burnouts. But the nurturing, oh, how the nurturing is there (present).

2016 - New Year Revival

All:

How does the new year find you? Many new beginnings arriving, fumbling the transitions, though remaining ever-hopeful and exercising self-compassion. The celebration of the arrival of the new year is not the ending of seasons but rather a ritual of beginnings. Nothing ever ends; instead, the old energy takes on new forms. God's glory moves from unmarked box to unmarked box, says persian mystic Sufi poet Jalaluddin Rumi, as rainwater, down into flowerbed, as roses up from ground. So don't grieve for what appears to come to a close. As much as we are seeking, we are also arriving. And so, here, we've arrived.

I will dedicate the following entries to my writing lab with Gemini Ink - Engaging the Active Imagination: Writing as Activism. The laboratory differs from a typical workshop format: any achievements the participants may have are purely their own (as they very well should be). However, the lab does serve a purpose: engaging participants to explore the depth of their imagination, expand the breadth of their creative capacity, and discover self-expression through writing and class discussion.

I thank you all for continuing to follow these efforts. I will be posting the writing prompt with my entry for the current lab topic. I don't know what may come of these writings; the writing itself must continue, must move from the written page to who knows where? So be on the lookout in the coming weeks. Until then.