Do you ever feel that any words you can come up with to respond to something are empty and pointless, and only actual in-person -- in fact, lifelong; in fact, generations-long -- radical hospitality, and generosity, would do? This is one of those times. And I wouldn't fight you over any of it.
Your poem is a beautiful question we should ask every day. And it distills all that you say here. Your ancestor article, as well. Your act is meaningful, and not only to you. People like to throw around the word “performative,” but most of what we take as normal is performative.
But focusing on the heart of this post: colonizers have fucked up a lot of things, but perhaps the worst, long-term, is hijacking the term “communism.” The Big C communists in China and Russia really fucked over the concept of a community helping those in need, didn’t it? Maybe the right term is communitarianism, but it doesn’t matter; any time one brings up alternatives to capitalism, the strawman argument is that “look at China/Russia/Venezuela! (Not Cuba, they seem to be doing all right, ignore them) is that what you want?” And no, that’s not what anyone wants really. We want something like what existed all over the place before capitalists murdered people who took care of each other, and stole the Commons and made it into private property. So yeah, you want the land back? Fine by me. I just read that 95% of Texas is privately owned. Some try to be stewards, but they are landowners first, with the feudal connotation that implies. There’s a lot to talk about, I’m not sure my comment can encapsulate it as well as your post and poem have, but I am glad you wrote all this and I’ll be sharing it.
Part of the sad thing about communism in Russia is it was partly born out of a community-centric system in which resources were shared at the community/village level. The communal. So the Soviet system messed up even that country's older relationship with communism. Not that that was perfect in itself, since serfdom was only abolished in the late 1800s.
(I think Texas is 98% privately owned. This is a great insight: "Some try to be stewards, but they are landowners first, with the feudal connotation that implies." Yes.)
Joy Harjo wrote my favorite poem, Perhaps The World Ends Here. It’s my dearest bit of scripture, really. I love thinking about radical hospitality within the context of a theology of the table. Which is just another way to say a theology of sustenance. Your lovely poem captured the feel of it so well. Thanks for sharing it.
Joy read at the University of Montana right after she was selected as poet laureate. Someone requested she read that poem but she didn't have it with her, but a person from the audience had the book because she'd brought it to have it signed. So Joy read from this person's book. Wouldn't that be awesome?
The Irish Exit, absolutely proof of good social skills, and I might add intelligence. No doubt the behavior and sentiment are derived from the Irish toast - May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead!
I love all of this. I originally picked this up, realized that I was operating at a deficit and didn't have anything to give the words, and then set it back down. I'm glad I came back to your words, and thank you for them.
As best as I can tell, the term "Irish Exit" is an Americanism that is basically some dicta applied to the only way I've ever known to leave a gathering. I don't think that it's derogatory? Either way, I'm like 1/32nd Irish so feel free to say "it's cool, I got an Irish-ish friend" and use it in good health.
And you know how many times I've gotten a text or call asking where I went? Maybe twice. The universe is indifferent and everyone is replaceable. Don't waste your time with useless pleasantries when all you want to do is go home.
I was, as they say, today years old when I learned the phrase "Irish Goodbye." A thing I have learned to do over the years, because in the context in which I grew up, it's the exhausting (though often sweet) opposite; it's the "Minnesota Goodbye" referenced below.
I once left a party full of extroverts and booze by writing out the recipe for a drink a friend and I had invented that evening, and titling it The Introvert's Goodbye. So that's my version, I guess.
Per google translate, the German translation for "Irish Exit" is "irische Ausfahrt," and you'd better not pronounce it "ass fart" because that's unprofessional and definitely not hilarious.
I have never heard it as “Irish Exit” but I have heard it as “South Dakotan Exit” from a white man who grew up there and everywhere. And it was definitely in response to a “Minnesota Goodbye” which is long and lingering and definitely painful to some. Although I do think it has its origin in the pain of parting and shows a considerable lack of wisdom by prolonging that pain. There is much to be said about this.
Thank you so much for this post. There is so much to dig into here and I definitely will. Thank you for all the history and the poems. I intend to give them the time and attention they deserve.
It's one of those terms that I've just always heard (which probably slides it into the derogatory side as a matter of course). I probably heard it from my maternal side (the Branigans) but who even knows.
I have a lot to say but i want to read the links and poems first and they are too small on my phone. But Irish exit isn't offensive. I'm Irish. We do that, sneak out with no goodbye My Italian side usually prevails... The Italian exit takes 3 hours because we hug EVERYBODY keep finding stuff to talk about at the stairs, the door, the driveway... More later. But great post. Thank you.
So beautiful that poem. Radical hospitality--and what a gift that is, alongside history that is so recent it makes my head spin. The celebration looked beautiful too, so many people sharing in that history, defying it. It makes me feel hopeful at the same time that I rage. So glad you shared all of this today.
You've probably seen these, but here are newspaper clippings of Métis Removal from Missoula by the Anaconda Standard and the Missoulian in July 1896. It's kind of hard to stomach - the verbiage was laced with blunt racism.
This writing was very beautiful, I wanted to comment when I first read it but I couldn't find words. Your poem brought me back to my mind from childhood, I had a long ride over country roads and I would just watch the woods go by mile after mile and wondering over and over to myself, "who made the trees?" It seemed just natural to my child mind, the radical hospitality of this life experience we are having on this earth, was just right there, to be seen and felt. And yet it was so easy to lose that awareness over time. Now, aging, it it easier again to feel it. I'm a cliche I guess.
Anyway, this writing/sharing - the sounds of the firewood gathering, your poem, the other poems, the way you explained the invisibility/silence regarding Métis cultural history in the US at least as compared with Canada. It was a radical hospitality to me and I thank you for it.
Regarding your intro re: IPD: I grew up on the east coast in the 70s and 80s and was thus taught the history of the Revolutionary War, colonists, and the Constitution up the wazoo. Native peoples were taught as well, but this consisted mostly of illustrations of their houses and clothing and all the "treaties" they signed. Maybe a 3 or 4 day series of lessons per year. Indigenous people were never a constant in my day-to-day consciousness; a lack of education is only one of the reasons for this but in the end I'm really the only one to blame because all the info is available. But here's the thing -- since I've been reading your writing, I do think of indigenous people every day. Every day. All the time. I think of actions and consequences, injustices and losses, and ways of knowing that as a White person I'll never fully understand. I can't get away from any of it. It's all in my face constantly now that I can see it. I spend a lot of time asking myself "How did I not know this?" Anyway, thank you Mr. Crabby Pants. Not that it's your job to open my eyes, but you did, and I'm very grateful.
Do you ever feel that any words you can come up with to respond to something are empty and pointless, and only actual in-person -- in fact, lifelong; in fact, generations-long -- radical hospitality, and generosity, would do? This is one of those times. And I wouldn't fight you over any of it.
Thank you, Nia. ❤️
🧡
Your poem is a beautiful question we should ask every day. And it distills all that you say here. Your ancestor article, as well. Your act is meaningful, and not only to you. People like to throw around the word “performative,” but most of what we take as normal is performative.
But focusing on the heart of this post: colonizers have fucked up a lot of things, but perhaps the worst, long-term, is hijacking the term “communism.” The Big C communists in China and Russia really fucked over the concept of a community helping those in need, didn’t it? Maybe the right term is communitarianism, but it doesn’t matter; any time one brings up alternatives to capitalism, the strawman argument is that “look at China/Russia/Venezuela! (Not Cuba, they seem to be doing all right, ignore them) is that what you want?” And no, that’s not what anyone wants really. We want something like what existed all over the place before capitalists murdered people who took care of each other, and stole the Commons and made it into private property. So yeah, you want the land back? Fine by me. I just read that 95% of Texas is privately owned. Some try to be stewards, but they are landowners first, with the feudal connotation that implies. There’s a lot to talk about, I’m not sure my comment can encapsulate it as well as your post and poem have, but I am glad you wrote all this and I’ll be sharing it.
Part of the sad thing about communism in Russia is it was partly born out of a community-centric system in which resources were shared at the community/village level. The communal. So the Soviet system messed up even that country's older relationship with communism. Not that that was perfect in itself, since serfdom was only abolished in the late 1800s.
(I think Texas is 98% privately owned. This is a great insight: "Some try to be stewards, but they are landowners first, with the feudal connotation that implies." Yes.)
Joy Harjo wrote my favorite poem, Perhaps The World Ends Here. It’s my dearest bit of scripture, really. I love thinking about radical hospitality within the context of a theology of the table. Which is just another way to say a theology of sustenance. Your lovely poem captured the feel of it so well. Thanks for sharing it.
Joy read at the University of Montana right after she was selected as poet laureate. Someone requested she read that poem but she didn't have it with her, but a person from the audience had the book because she'd brought it to have it signed. So Joy read from this person's book. Wouldn't that be awesome?
Truly would be amazing.
Also, I’m Irish. And Irish goodbyes are proof of good social skills as far as I’m concerned. 🤌
They are!
The Irish Exit, absolutely proof of good social skills, and I might add intelligence. No doubt the behavior and sentiment are derived from the Irish toast - May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead!
Sláinte
Patrick
That final, most official, word on this! 🇮🇪
I love all of this. I originally picked this up, realized that I was operating at a deficit and didn't have anything to give the words, and then set it back down. I'm glad I came back to your words, and thank you for them.
As best as I can tell, the term "Irish Exit" is an Americanism that is basically some dicta applied to the only way I've ever known to leave a gathering. I don't think that it's derogatory? Either way, I'm like 1/32nd Irish so feel free to say "it's cool, I got an Irish-ish friend" and use it in good health.
It really is the only way to leave, isn't it? A furtive glance left, a furtive glance right, and POOF! you're gone.
And you know how many times I've gotten a text or call asking where I went? Maybe twice. The universe is indifferent and everyone is replaceable. Don't waste your time with useless pleasantries when all you want to do is go home.
I was, as they say, today years old when I learned the phrase "Irish Goodbye." A thing I have learned to do over the years, because in the context in which I grew up, it's the exhausting (though often sweet) opposite; it's the "Minnesota Goodbye" referenced below.
I once left a party full of extroverts and booze by writing out the recipe for a drink a friend and I had invented that evening, and titling it The Introvert's Goodbye. So that's my version, I guess.
The first time I ever heard of it was from a German woman. Very curious where this came from.
You'd think the Germans would have something infinitely better to describe the same practice. They usually do!
Per google translate, the German translation for "Irish Exit" is "irische Ausfahrt," and you'd better not pronounce it "ass fart" because that's unprofessional and definitely not hilarious.
I will totally pronounce it as "ass fart" now ;). (Though the "Aus" is more "owss")
I have never heard it as “Irish Exit” but I have heard it as “South Dakotan Exit” from a white man who grew up there and everywhere. And it was definitely in response to a “Minnesota Goodbye” which is long and lingering and definitely painful to some. Although I do think it has its origin in the pain of parting and shows a considerable lack of wisdom by prolonging that pain. There is much to be said about this.
Thank you so much for this post. There is so much to dig into here and I definitely will. Thank you for all the history and the poems. I intend to give them the time and attention they deserve.
Something with 15 syllables, preferably.
It's one of those terms that I've just always heard (which probably slides it into the derogatory side as a matter of course). I probably heard it from my maternal side (the Branigans) but who even knows.
This is gorgeous Chris. And I might have yelped "Ooh look! It's Chris!" when I saw the photos online this morning ....
Ha ha, thank you.
I have a lot to say but i want to read the links and poems first and they are too small on my phone. But Irish exit isn't offensive. I'm Irish. We do that, sneak out with no goodbye My Italian side usually prevails... The Italian exit takes 3 hours because we hug EVERYBODY keep finding stuff to talk about at the stairs, the door, the driveway... More later. But great post. Thank you.
Thanks, Thomas, for both comments. I appreciate it, and will continue to disappear from gatherings with pride.
So beautiful that poem. Radical hospitality--and what a gift that is, alongside history that is so recent it makes my head spin. The celebration looked beautiful too, so many people sharing in that history, defying it. It makes me feel hopeful at the same time that I rage. So glad you shared all of this today.
The celebration really was above and beyond my expectations. It was thrilling.
You've probably seen these, but here are newspaper clippings of Métis Removal from Missoula by the Anaconda Standard and the Missoulian in July 1896. It's kind of hard to stomach - the verbiage was laced with blunt racism.
https://www.newspapers.com/clip/97204156/forced-metis-removal-from-fort-missoula/
https://www.newspapers.com/clip/111200755/plains-mtis-removal/
https://www.newspapers.com/clip/99071402/metis-removal-missoula-area/
Ouch. Those are indeed hard to stomach, Greg. Good to read, though, lest I forget.
Thanks, Greg. I don't know that I've seen these specifically, but certainly similar ones.
This writing was very beautiful, I wanted to comment when I first read it but I couldn't find words. Your poem brought me back to my mind from childhood, I had a long ride over country roads and I would just watch the woods go by mile after mile and wondering over and over to myself, "who made the trees?" It seemed just natural to my child mind, the radical hospitality of this life experience we are having on this earth, was just right there, to be seen and felt. And yet it was so easy to lose that awareness over time. Now, aging, it it easier again to feel it. I'm a cliche I guess.
Anyway, this writing/sharing - the sounds of the firewood gathering, your poem, the other poems, the way you explained the invisibility/silence regarding Métis cultural history in the US at least as compared with Canada. It was a radical hospitality to me and I thank you for it.
Thank you, Jay. I appreciate your kind words very much.
Regarding your intro re: IPD: I grew up on the east coast in the 70s and 80s and was thus taught the history of the Revolutionary War, colonists, and the Constitution up the wazoo. Native peoples were taught as well, but this consisted mostly of illustrations of their houses and clothing and all the "treaties" they signed. Maybe a 3 or 4 day series of lessons per year. Indigenous people were never a constant in my day-to-day consciousness; a lack of education is only one of the reasons for this but in the end I'm really the only one to blame because all the info is available. But here's the thing -- since I've been reading your writing, I do think of indigenous people every day. Every day. All the time. I think of actions and consequences, injustices and losses, and ways of knowing that as a White person I'll never fully understand. I can't get away from any of it. It's all in my face constantly now that I can see it. I spend a lot of time asking myself "How did I not know this?" Anyway, thank you Mr. Crabby Pants. Not that it's your job to open my eyes, but you did, and I'm very grateful.
Wow, thank you, Debbie. I appreciate that very much.
🦀 👖
good poem, chris.
thanks.
Thank you, Dougie. Hope you are well....