"Fight Club" as Violence Prevention?

Pat Burns, my high school tennis coach, guidance counselor, and the man who introduced me to Voltaire, grew up in a Southern Illinois coal mining town in the 1940's.  He'd tell stories about how conflicts between young men was settled by the donning of boxing gloves and the forming of a ring.  Tough places breed tough people and justice is always a matter of bring a measure of civility to conflict.

No biting, no eye gouging, no strikes to the groin, no knives, no guns: this was a measure of civility.  It still is.

We may wish we lived in a world where settling conflict with boxing was not necessary but we can accept it as an improvement over uncontrolled violence in the street.

Big government programs have not civilized the rougher edges of the city or rural America.  Arguably the loss of influence experienced by other institutions, primarily the church, have thrown our tough people from tough places onto their own resources when it comes to settling conflict.  The police should not get involved when someone is speaking ill of your baby's Mama, but how do we keep that conflict of escalating to a knifing or a murder where they will have to get involved?

Despite talks of progress, we sapiens have not evolved that much.  Honor culture courses through my veins.  The centrality of settling conflict with a kind of face saving violence still exists in living memory.  Necessity in the form of the failure of the war on poverty, is bringing it back.

Enter a very much worth your time twenty minute documentary over at the New York Times.

Mr. Wilmore, known in his Harrisonburg, Va., neighborhood as Scarface, has his own history with weapons and crime, but he began thinking of ways to squash the gun violence plaguing his community.

He started actively recruiting people with “beefs” to put on boxing gloves and take their arguments off the streets and into his backyard fight club, where he films the action and a referee calls a winner. He says that most of the disputes are settled once and for all there, with most fighters developing a new respect for the other. “There’s certain people, that’s how they’re wired,” he says. “They’re gonna fight no matter what I do. The only difference is at least with me, they are fighting in a yard with gloves, a referee and regulations.”

Mr. Wilmore says his method of conflict resolution appeals to a lot of people in his community, many of whom feel alienated by the legal system.

Officials with the Harrisonburg Police Department say they have not received any reports of problems from the fight club, although the department does not consider Mr. Wilmore’s strategy to be a viable violence reduction solution nor does it condone his homegrown approach.

The puritans among us will condemn this "fight club" as barbaric but they make a small error.  Life in many parts of this country is and will continue to be rough, tough, "barbaric,"  putting on gloves and submitting to some basic rules is the thin wedge of civilization bringing a measure of peace.

Streetbeefs YouTube Channel is here.

Habits of the Happy Urban Treker

Last week I discussed some helpful habits for your urban canine.  Humans are creatures of habit too and our habits can add to or detract from our enjoyment of walking the urban enviroment.

Mind your bladder and your bowel.

Unlike Fido, we shouldn't just squat when the need approaches but need to plan ahead.

If my walk will be for five miles or more, I cut myself off of coffee, water, and any food which my loosen me up a bit three hours before I start out.  It is a pain but not near as much a pain as breaking into a jog to get to the nearest restroom or ducking behind a secluded spot where the homeless men relieve themselves.  Yes, we should be well-hydrated when we start out, but we should also be well-peed.  Take water with you and use it as necessary but not more than necessary.

Some public bathrooms close in winter

Preparation is better than cure but among the first things I look for when investigating a new area of the city is the location of public restrooms.

Minneapolis and St. Paul both do a great job placing public porta-potties along public paths frequented by walkers, joggers, and cyclists.  If you venture off the beaten path, however, your are more likely to be on your own.  In the winter, some public restrooms will close because it is too expensive to heat them.

For liability reasons, construction companies don't like to share their porta-potties with the public, though if you plead your case and threaten to pee your pants in front of them, the average construction worker may relent.  Still, it is better to not be in need.

Training dogs to wait patiently while you duck into a coffee shop to use the facilities is a valuable canine habit that I should have covered last week, but be sure your dog is safe to be left unattended if discovered by a curious four-year old.  There are a few people out there who will make off with a dog or your dog might make off with herself if not secured well or in a place where patrons of the shop can keep an eye out for you.

Just be smart out there.  That's all.

Know and OBEY your local laws.

Most urban municipalities insist on a six foot leash, that you pick up your own dog's poop, that your dog be licensed, and that dogs not be taken into establishments that serve food.  They're not asking too much.

Don't make the poor barista ask you to remove your dog.

You are sharing the environment with lots of other people.  No one wants your dog to jump in front of their bicycle or break their stride because you weren't fast enough with the flexi-leash.  If you do cause a problem, they'll remember if the issue of dog access a park ever comes up for public debate.

This week I came across a Great Dane sized turd in the middle of the busiest pedestrian bridge in Minneapolis.  This calling card will be remembered by people who show up at city council meetings.

Regularly I am reading stories about people sneaking their dogs into places they are not allowed.  All of this works against dog owners in the long run.  Where different stores have different policies, see if your urban area has a web service like Sidewalk Dog in the Twin Cities, which details which local businesses or patios are dog friendly and patronize them, but if a store has a policy, you're hurting the reputation of all dog owners when you attempt to manipulate the rules for selfish benefit.

Yes, sometimes we all forget the doggie bags, but develop a system where that is rare.  When you do buy a newspaper or pick up some litter to use to pick up the waste or at the very least, come back for the poop.

Frankly, we should build an ethic where we pick up the poop of other people's dogs when we find it, share poop bags when we someone without, or disown/shame repeat offenders.

As dog owners we are looking after our own interests when we demonstrate a commitment to good citizenship first by policing ourselves, then by looking after our own, and where a law or regulation needs to be changed, seeking to have it changed rather than looking for a loophole to exploit.


Take care of your feet and shoes.

I walk in high quality boots, but I go out in all kinds of weather conditions, frequently after working a job where high quality boots are a good idea anyway.  Use what meets your needs but don't skimp on shoes, inserts if necessary, and good socks.  The last time I bought new boots I ended up buy a whole new collection of socks because the old socks, which worked fine with the old boots, had a way of sliding down to my toes in the new boots.  Find stuff that works well together.

Nothing cuts more long walks short than blisters so if your shoes start to rub, take a break, figure out the problem, and fix it.  If you do wear boots, take the time to break them in correctly and waterproof/treat them as required.  I use Doc Martens shoe polish and Foggy Mountain Bearguard waterproofing once every two weeks.  To break them in, took about four months and required using some of the shoe polish on the inside of the boot to make it more pliable.

Replacing shoelaces every couple of months is an unnecessary paing.  Replace your store bought laces with laces made of paracord.  It comes in any color you could desire and they last much longer.  Merely cut it to length and use a match to seal the ends and the laces will out last the shoes, maybe multiple pairs of shoes.  A good pair of store bough laces will last me three months or 200-300 miles.  I've yet to wear out my first pair of nylon cord laces and they've gone at least two years of heavy use.

The only catch, they are slicker than regular laces and require being tied in a double knot.

Go places you enjoy/find new places to enjoy.

It is easy to fall into a rut.  Familiarity is not a bad thing but balance it with exploring new areas and seeing new things to keep your mind engaged in what is around you.  Take a look at a map.  Talk to friends.  Urban areas are filled with new things to see: new sculptures, new architecture, new neighborhoods, new businesses, new insights into the challenges of living in the world.

Though my experience is limited to the Twin Cities, even questionable neighborhoods are empty early on weekend or holiday mornings.  I grant that I see the world through the eyes of a 180 pound male and you should not go anywhere you do not feel safe but part of the joy of walking is seeing and trying to understand what life is like in places I normally do not travel.

Coming soon: how inequality is evidenced in the light rail stations of the Twin Cities.

But I do have my favorite patios.  My favorite coffee shops and my favorite venues.  Enjoy the places you love.  Don't be afraid to find new favorites.  Don't be afraid to try something very different and grow as a result.

New shoes in the original laces.  They needed to be replaced before the boots were broken in.

A Morning After Veteran's Day Reflection

Among my earliest memories is riding in the car as my father stopped near the Shelbyville, Illinois post office, handed some money to the old men taking a collection, and was given a red poppy.  I asked him who the old men were and why he would give them money for such a cheap and goofy looking fake flower.  His response was the first of many lessons I have taken away from Veteran's Day.

Let's call the year 1980.  Veterans from the First War were rare, but you still knew who they were and where they lived.   I did not need to be instructed to listen politely.  The stories they told of their youth were hard for a second grader to understand but I understood that I had the privilege of hearing the voice of a dying breed.

Honor their service, share their nightmares.

It would be another 18 years before Tom Brokaw popularized the term "Greatest Generation."  Veterans of the Second War were still teaching in our schools and working in our factories.  I would soon be reading about those battles in the Encyclopedia Americana kept in every Middle School classroom, but I was already hearing the names in hushed tones.

"He was in a POW camp after the Bulge but don't ask him about it."
"He was at D-Day but you'd never know it."
"His sister told me he was a marine and made some landings in the Pacific, but other than Guadalcanal no one seems to know which ones."

It was only later that I learned about PTSD.

In 1980 the Korean Vets were still yet to be remembered.  I was in High School before I learned the name of even one.  When I did learn their names, however, I learned about fingers lost to frostbite and lingering fear, not dislike but fear, of the cold.

In 1980 the Vietnam Veterans had barely returned from their war.  In the mid-80's my Middle School PE instructor barked like a drill sergeant giving orders, "Line up, men!"  "Take another lap around the track men!"  "Pick up the pace men!"  In retrospect, I kind of love the guy.  At the time, I was just confused.  "Can't I please grow some arm pit hair first?"

From him and others we'd learn what it was like to call napalm in on your own position as you were on the verge of being over-run and what it was like to be shot in the butt as you were retreating to a waiting helicopter.

When a modest Vietnam War memorial was dedicated in my hometown, Dad pulled me out of school.  I was underwhelmed by the monument itself.  I was overcome by the tears of the men who gathered in the drizzle for the service.

The horror of war, the mental scars of combat, the costs entailed in forging "the American Century," these were a visceral part of my small town youth.  That America is fading quickly.

Shelbyville, Il

We speak of the greatness of our veterans, and I will not deny it, but the one's who fashioned my character did not want to be idolized for their service.  They were mostly concerned that my generation understand the horrors of war that we should not enter it lightly.

They were proud of their children who entered military service but they were also proud that their generations' diplomatic efforts had structured a world order where many of us, myself included, could say, "My country does not need me to learn to dig a foxhole."

Presently we are entering the 15th year of continuous, low-intensity war and the costs of conflict have receded into the background.  Diplomacy, compromise, and the understanding that we living with evil while seeking to non-violently expose it, is often the preferred alternative is confused with appeasement.  The service of our veterans is exalted but the horrors of industrialized death they suffered is hushed as unpatriotic.



The Homefront has its own horrors.

The First World War was not the first global conflict and this is not the first time the West has forgotten the lessons unlimited warfare.

After the veterans of the Napoleonic Wars had died, the glories of the battles and the service of soldiers became a fetish for the young men of late Victorian and Edwardian Europe.  The near continuous skirmishes of low intensity colonial wars which ill-prepared native peoples against Europe's might both normalized and sanitized popular conceptions of what conflict entailed.

In the popular imagination war became a thing of glory, victory, and the march of civilization.  In important matter a little delusion can deal out immense suffering.

• European delusion gave way to insanity and insanity marched to Gallipoli and over 100,000 died.
• It marched to Passchendaele where over 600,000 drown in the mud.
• It marched to the Somme and over a million were killed or wounded.

It marched to a thousand other battlefields and when it was all over the suffering was so great that European civilizations, which had already been nursing severe doubts, decided that God must truly be dead.

Predictions are difficult, especially when it comes to the future but homo sapiens has not substantially evolved in the three generations since my grandfather volunteered to fight in the Second War, the five generations since the First War, the seven since Antietam, or the or the nine generations since Waterloo.  History doesn't repeat itself but I am starting to hear a rhyme.

I am not a pacifist.  I understand and accept that sometimes we must send our young people into harm's way and undertake the risks of making some other poor bastard die for his country.

I also know, however, that the cure to an imperfect peace can be worse than the condition.  I respect our soldiers and our veterans but I still hold that it is the diplomat who ends or avoids a war who saves more lives than a thousand Sergeant Yorks.  I honor those who came back home, but wonder if we have forgotten about those we never knew because they did not return.

Listening to co-workers and friends, watching my Facebook feed, attending a school districts Veteran's Day commemoration, I recognize that I am in the minority.  As the father of two soon-to-be young men, I am concerned that we have begun to weigh the costs of military conflict too lightly and begun to idolize a sanitized conception of the warrior a little too highly.

    

The More Things Change...

Among my main assertions: humanity might change the environment, but we do not fundamentally change; at least no quicker than any other species.

Add to the evidence a new study regarding the sleep patterns of hunter/gatherers compared to those of us enjoying the benefits of "progress."

From the Economist:

In total, the researchers collected 1,165 days’ worth of data. They found that people from all three groups slept for between 5.7 and 7.1 hours a day, with an average that hovered around 6.5 hours. Far from exceeding those of a modern city-dweller, these values are near the low end of the range found in industrial societies. An average 7.5 hours a night is the norm there. 

Nor did the Hadza, the Ju/’hoansi San or the Tsimané retire shortly after the sun went down. Rather, they stayed awake for an average of 3.3 hours after nightfall, much as people in the developed world do. Their bedtimes appeared to be regulated by the temperature, rather than by daylight, and it takes several hours after the sun has set for things to cool down. 

The study also calls into question the idea that siestas are a feature of human behaviour that has been suppressed by modern ways of life. The volunteers rarely napped in summer (doing so on about one day in five), and almost never in winter.

One difference they did find was that the pre-industrial people studied rarely suffered from insomnia.

So much for progress.