Tag Archives: Atlanta

2023: A Year in Review- So Very Mortal

Posted on by
3
Advertisements

The Innards of the Happiness Jar 2023

These last few days past Christmas have been wet and dreary in Atlanta. It feels like the appropriate way to wind down the year. I opened my annual happiness jar yesterday to properly reminisce on the gifts and trials of 2023. In March, I introduced my principles for living joyfully and my new bike, Luna. Two months later, in my previous post, I discussed my ambulance ride from downtown to Grady Hospital. While it has been a wild year, my happiness jar is a small practice that reminds me how to find gratitude and reflect through the year. This year, alongside my bike, I held incredible moments of kindness and tough soul-shaping pains in the same breath.

In spring 2023, I had a series of cycling firsts. I finally tried (supported) bike camping with the Atlanta Cycling Festival. In that week of their trip to Rockmart, Georgia, I met my peak week distance maximum at around 100 miles. In March, I took my first bike-based birthday ride for Borith on his BeltGrind route. Ride joy is contagious, and it carried me to lead an April ride to my favorite Indian plaza in Decatur. Then, in mid-May, a cycling accident took me off the road. It was an abrupt reminder and wake-up call. We are so very mortal. The loss of independence during the following eight weeks in a wheelchair was transformative. The combined inability to care for myself, prepare meals, or write was challenging.

My Aunt Shampoos My Hair

In response, I had a beautiful outpouring of support and compassion from my community, friends, and family. My favorite aunt, Sheru, made a surprise visit to Atlanta from Toronto to get me from Grady. She later helped me bathe and read Urdu poetry to me. Just a month later, she suffered a stroke. Now, her motor functions and language abilities are a little different. When I visited her in November, I tried to reciprocate warmth to her. Already aware of the dilemmas of diabetes and heart disease in my family history, I am even more attuned to the requirements for preventive medicine. My concern about holistic health has grown firmer.

Good health begins inside the body. Not long after addressing my physical injuries, I proactively sought the help of a therapist. I learned to carry the simultaneous gratitude for support along with patience during my temporary disability. Discussions with my therapist have highlighted the beauty of slowing down and bringing compassion to myself. Again, this reminds me that the first component of health is having the right mindset. A senior member of my care team noted that your self-image can benefit your healing. As I see myself as an outdoors lover, I was motivated to return to operating under the power of my limbs.

Ice Cream for Hearts and Healing

Community is the second component of my health and has been the best miracle of this year. My expedited recovery is thanks to the benevolent energies and grace carried through my cycling community. People I did not know well checked in on me. Friends visited, brought me meals, and transported me to appointments. I am getting by this year with a LOT of help from my friends. Through many deep conversations, I am reminded how interwoven our lives are. As I shared my concerns, others shared their hearts. We are now woven closer together. Healing really does happen in community.

Community Love

Finding and enjoying meaningful work has been incredibly arduous this year. I supported a progressive, community-based developer for a short contract this year. In the happiness jar, I recalled a February public comment I gave at the Dekalb County Commissioners meeting. I had the chance to complain about the Dekalb Police Department and express my disdain for Cop City in one truth-to-power moment. In other joy, I led a bike-sharing theme camp at Alchemy, our regional burn. Through this community project, I got to spread the joy of riding, and advance the cause of adventure.

BBBBikes Camp at Alchemy 2023

An important part this year was the continued efforts at writing. My focus shifted from UpStreamRose to a series of emails via Substack. While my right wrist was broken, the difficulty in writing became an unexpected gift. I started feeling bloated with words and feelings when I could not hold a pen. It was a reminder to keep at this craft. Thanks to voice-typing applications, I kept some writing going. I have been grateful as people have connected with me through conversations via writing. Through these interactions, I sense we have collectively drawn ripples of awareness and expansion in 2023.

Magic Is Something You Make

I punctuated the year on Christmas Eve with a bike ride for Palestine. I still feel shocked that so many Americans cannot acknowledge that this country is funding genocide in Gaza. This horror is happening before our digital-and-always-connected eyes. A global collective awakening pushes Americans to realize that they are on the wrong side of history. With some invitations to holiday parties and seasonal festivities, I look forward to hugging friends and celebrating the end of 2023. Ultimately, I am happy to tuck the horrors and humanity of 2023 into hopes and efforts for a smoother and kinder 2024.

 

From The Isolation Journals

Why I am in a wheelchair instead of on a bike this Memorial Day weekend

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

Wheelchair Host

TRIGGER WARNING: Gore

On the third day of the Atlanta Cycling Festival, Monday, May 15, I lay on the asphalt while four people held each of my limbs, and a wartime medic kept my bloodied head in place. I suffered major trauma, including almost losing my right foot – after I was sideswiped by a falling cyclist during the city’s most popular group ride, M+M. Moments before the collision, I felt fit and fierce on my bike, even riding past city hall shouting, `Stop Cop City!` I had spent the day at City Hall in line as public commenter #218, wishing to speak truth to power while the city of Atlanta funds a controversial police militarization project packaged as a training facility.

Moments before the accident, I was catching up with friends while riding downhill on a four-lane ramp leading into Interstate I-75. We were going three times the average speed ( over 30 MPH, as captured by Strava data). Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a cyclist on the sidewalk losing control of his bike. The next thing I saw was his bright green mountain bike immediately in my trajectory, and then I woke up on the asphalt in paralyzing pain. There are varying accounts of whether the helmet-free rider on the tricked-out mountain bike was doing tricks. His life-long BMX riding appeared to help him manage a roll instead of my face plant. Still, it’s worth noting that doing tricks such as jumping curbs, riding sidewalks, and doing wheelies have become common in this weekly group ride despite the known dangers of such shenanigans on a 400+ cyclist ride.

After spending most of last week at Grady Hospital, I still do not know the extent of all my injuries. My visible scars include a cast on my right leg (the one which almost lost its ankle), a cast on my right arm up to my elbow, a chipped front tooth, a cracked other tooth (all attached to a deformed upper lip with two stitches, lacerations across along my right side of the face, a bruised & bandaged right shoulder and scuffed up knees. Unseen are the pains in my jaw, tongue, nerves, neck, and shoulder. Plus a foodie’s inability to eat hard or spicy foods. The rest of this warm season will be navigating our Kafka-esque medical system for insurance approvals of specialist appointments and walking a dangerous line of pain management. Before that Monday, I’d never broken a bone; now I can join the homies in injury BINGO.

Looking at recovery is a roller coaster path of ups and downs. I’ve been told it might take up to a year to recover my full body functions. It might be 3 to 6 months before I can ride my beautiful blue bike. I went from developing a love for cycling to having that very activity pushed out from under me. It feels a little bit like I am walking through the stages of grief. Already some moments are reviving my 2008-based PTSD. I am just 2 and a half years into sobriety and remember HALT while taking pain pills. Initially, it felt brilliant to see the sun when I was wheeled out of the hospital, I quickly fell into anguish when I accidentally saw my face in the passenger side mirror. I did a double-take when I saw my broken teeth and discolored, bruised, and swollen face. I quietly cried tears behind a pair of aviators.

I am here and have a possibility of 100% recovery only because the camaraderie within the cyclist community made sure cars did not crush the rest of me into the road. By my miraculous luck, two off-duty Grady nurses pulled over after a work shift in scrubs and helped manage the gory scene. My heart goes out to a fellow cyclist who held my hand and played music for me while I struggled to stay conscious as we waited for EMS. Post hospitalization, beloved amigos from my favorite weekly ride, MWR, created a WhatsApp group for my boo-boo care. I might not have a foot on my leg without the community who swarmed to help me. The organizers of the M+M ride created a GoFundMe page (link below) in anticipation of my medical bills. The funds will be a fraction of the financial burden I anticipate for physical recovery and mental health support.

As I learn to write and function with my left hand, my spills teach me lessons in humility. When my favorite aunt gave me a towel bath in my first-floor half-bath, I realized I actually need to learn to ask for help. I have to throw Sabrina, Miss Independent, on ice for a while.

If it weren’t for this community’s support, instead of being in relatively good spirits, I might be drinking spirits again.

Please consider supporting my GoFundMe campaign, as I  am unsure if I will get any financial support from the proximate cause of my accident…the cyclist got to leave the scene without any ambulance assistance.

[CLARIFICATION: The cyclist who created all this trauma stayed beside me and waited for EMS. An earlier version of this piece on my Facebook account created some confusion]

___________________________________________________________

 

GoFundMe: GoFundMe by M+M

Venmo if you prefer to do this directly. https://account.venmo.com/u/Sabrina-Hassanali

Get Well Soon video made during ACF Midweek Roll with heart-warming messages from my bike family
https://youtu.be/MP14AT5X9c8

I will be writing weekly updates
and reflections on my free Substack. Show me your love and plug in your email.
https://substack.com/@sabrinahassanali…

 

A Year In Atlanta: Home, Community, and Work

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

Magic Is Something You Make

My journal cover exclaims, “Magic is something you make.” It has been a year and a week since I returned to Atlanta. The moments I recorded in my journal attest to the magic and mayhem of my making. The past week in review speaks to the efforts of the year. On Tuesday, April 11, 2023, I led 15 hungry cyclists to my favorite Indian restaurant in Decatur. That Thursday, I added a third bookshelf to the collection at my townhouse. On Saturday, by dumb chance and good luck, I spent an afternoon sailing Lake Lanier with friends. Finally, I joined local Bike Grid enthusiasts for a slow roll up Peachtree Street Sunday. The magic is ON, and I continue to cast a few designs forward.

Bikers Can Boat

On April 11, 2022, I shipped my collection of old journals and mementos from my ex-boyfriend’s apartment in Tokyo to my mother’s home in Tucker. Shortly after that, at customs & control in Narita, I turned in my Japanese residence card. Then, with both anxiety and goals as carry-ons, I set off to my hometown. My three-prong goals for Atlanta were: to make a home, participate in the community, and to do meaningful work. Here are my thoughts on a few critical magic milestones from this return.

1. Home

For the first five months of my return, I took up a garden-facing room at my mother’s house. Over the pandemic and in Japan, I had longed for an oven. Beyond that, my ideas of home were transformed by my experience going from a 1,100 square foot house (Bluffton, South Carolina) to a 200 square foot efficiency (Suginami-ku, Tokyo). The Atlanta I returned to was (is?) in a white-hot housing market. Things were expensive and going fast. I wanted something cozy and inside the perimeter.

Eventually, I bought a townhouse in a Chamblee-area community to store my books and souvenirs. In this complex, I can hear birds chirp from nearby woods while I drink coffee in the mornings. On the grounds in the rear of the property is a park that follows a creek that later connects to more water. This place is a great place to get my footing.

2. Community

In pre-COVID Tokyo, I was part of a thriving international community of ex-pats. My social silence grew as our gathering spaces and social outlets diminished post-Pandemic. I missed eavesdropping in the grocery line and making conversations with strangers. On returning to America, I looked forward to creating and being in community again.

Desi Decatur Ride

Through a CouchSurfing(CS) event last summer, I made friends with a group of the Atlanta cycling community. Through group riding here, I have found another sort of home. Atlanta by bike looks different. I began to appreciate the nitty-gritty needs for cycle infrastructure. On the Beltline, cruising through the newly connected areas of Atlanta, it is much easier to see historically underfunded areas in the grip of gentrification. My cyclist amigos share a sense of civic duty. We made good chit-chat with a city official on our Sunday ride. As we deepen community relationships through fun and advocacy, I suspect I will continue to appreciate the new takes on Atlanta.

 

 

3. Meaningful Work

When I left the US in 2017, I was tired of the direct services legal work I had been doing in southern Georgia (across the river from Bluffton, SC, where I lived at the time). Thankfully, the sabbatical from law practice (and respite from Trump) brought me a new way to examine my professional capabilities. From there, I found joy in teaching, coaching, and consulting.

Along the Beltline

Time in Tokyo also transformed what I dared to envision for Atlanta (granted, Atlanta may never be as progressive. It sits in red Georgia, after all.) Upon my return last year, I started attending seminars at the intersection of housing and justice. I volunteered for a conference where I met GSU Professor and Housing Scholar Dan Immergluck and got a copy of his book Red Hot City. Atlanta’s car-centeredness points to the complex interplay of transport, housing, and access. In another seminar, I crossed paths with an old Atlanta CS friend who was Dan’s student and just finished his master’s in urban studies. At such a seminar, I learned about the movement to Stop Cop City. Finally, through the right partnerships, I feel lucky to have identified work for a community-based small-scale developer in Atlanta bringing affordable housing to under-developed parts of the city.

4. Tough Stuff

One of the most challenging parts of my move has been the saga of my journals. Since age 7, I have intermittently written words in journals to deal with life, changes, and reflections. In Tokyo, I took on the task of reading and notating about 25 lbs of handwritten diaries. Unfortunately, those journals I sent from Japan last year did not make it to Tucker—thanks to the US Postal Service. Then, to add salt to the wound, my family lost three generations of jewelry in a burglary from my mother’s home around Christmas time. As I figure out how to carry these losses, I am grateful that I can still appreciate what is in front of me now.

Boats or Bikes?

From my complex’s backwoods, we can eventually get to Briarcliff Road. My family has lived on various parts of this road during our 30+ years in Atlanta. If you take Briarcliff Road and travel on it south, you can eventually see the changes brought about by the Beltline. In a sense, I rode back home without knowing precisely what it would bring.

Opening up to a breeze can refresh your room or your life. The capacity to restore is at the heart of my beliefs and hopes about home. To live as you dream requires determination. It helps to have supporters and to build in community. Reflecting on the intermittent roller coaster of the last year, I feel blessed to have found a warm sense of community. After long perseverance, I am engaged in work that I believe makes the world a better place. Finally, as I continue my personal mission of flourishing to the bounds of my human potential, I hope to make more time to write and share as I organize, educate, and empower.

Fun with Flowers

Meet the Sky-Blue Luna: On Joy as a Guiding Principle For Life

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

Day 1 with Luna

World: meet Luna, my celestial blue bike. If you follow my Instagram, you know I am enthusiastic about riding in Atlanta. So as a Valentine’s Day gift to myself, I splurged on new wheels. Physically, the bike elevates my power on rides. Spiritually, the bike is a conduit for joy. And, well, Luna is beautiful. As I ride, weaving around potholes and through alleys, I am grateful for the time I made for frolicking in the city. When I ride with a group, I sense camaraderie with other cyclists. Post-cruise, my endorphins run high, and I feel invigorated. In this way, adding the bike Luna to my life is an act of nurturing joy.

 

I believe we are in a constant state of becoming our true selves. Therefore, I experiment with myself to hone in on what vibes with me at a deeper level. Many self-growth writers focus on how to correct imperfections. Instead, my approach is to double down on the good stuff. First, I use bliss as my bellwether, and then I lean in. I pay attention to my feelings and then create opportunities to encounter JOY. For example, in 2017, when I decided to move to Tokyo, I followed my joy of travel. While there, I connected with others developing a transnational identity. Being abroad helped me highlight that elemental sense of who I am and brought me closer to encounters with joy. From this and many life lessons, I pursue opportunities for joy as my guiding life principle.

What Joy?

Before going on, let me try the imperfect art of definition. Joy is neither happiness nor bliss. But it is somehow related to both. In Atlas of the Heart, Dr. Brené Brown suggests: “Joy is sudden, unexpected, short-lasting, and high-intensity. It is characterized by connection with others, or with God, nature, or the universe. Joy expands our thinking and attention, and it fills us with a sense of freedom and abandon.”

Joy, then, is like catching a warm ray of sun and appreciating it. Nurturing joy is not simply falling into hedonism. It is more aligned with being an Epicure. It is pausing and enjoying the good things in life with balance and in stride. It is setting the stage for magic. If, as Dr. Brown suggests, joy is fleeting, how can we plan to have more joy in our lives?

White Roses for a Blue BIke

Cultivating Joy

It has taken me years to learn how to integrate joy into my life. It is an inexact art, but I know it begins with the capacity to listen inwards. Here are three practices that have helped me cultivate and follow joy in life:

  1. The Happiness Jar

Over the course of a year, take note of the moments that brought you gratitude. Write them down on a little slip of paper and stick them in the jar. Then, at the end of the year, read and remember those moments. Along the way, you learn what to prioritize.

Last week, for example, a friend of mine reached out because she was in my area, and we went to lunch. It turned into a whole day of hanging out. I added a note about her lovely surprise visit to my happiness jar. Later on, when I reminisce, I will remember how important it is to have unscheduled time for such chance encounters.

Research shows an intriguing link between joy and gratitude (see, again, Atlas of Heart). The trait of gratitude predicts more fantastic future experiences of in-the-moment joy. Joy predicts further experiences of in-the-moment gratitude. And dispositional or situational joy predicts greater future subjective well-being.

Thus, I recommend paying attention to happiness. Over time, this adds to my well-being.

The contents of my 2022 happiness jar

  1. Growing Awareness

Becoming aware of your inner reaction requires silencing outside noise. In that way, we can focus on what resonates with us through sensitivity to perceptions, sensations, and feelings. Awareness helps us notice the beautiful moments in life. Meditation helps grow awareness. Awareness, along with attention, is like a muscle. The more we practice it, the stronger it gets.

  1. Pause to stay with it

My lesson for the joyous moments is to pause and allow the good feelings to sink in. It is a bit like making tiramisu. You place all the good things together. But the most challenging step is to avoid eating it right away once you stack the layers. The best tiramisu hangs and soaks goodness overnight. Then, you have tiramisu infused adequately with patience and deliciousness.

If I am alert to good feelings, I pause consciously to stay with the aura. I might even hold my hand to my heart as if holding the moment close to me.

  1. Practice Opening Your Heart

If all of this is foreign, and you struggle to find joy and happiness, I suggest a mini 12-week course from Julia Cameron. Her book, The Artist’s Way, explores activities to discover your inner creativity. The lessons are not limited to would-be artists. Her lessons are designed to open your heart and senses to learning what makes you feel burning with aliveness. The book combines practices, essays, and quotes bound to ignite our buried inner selves.

Joy Riding

Who Needs Joy?

In Desert Solitaire, American wilderness enthusiast and social critic Edward Abbey wonders why desert frogs sing in the rain.

“Has joy any survival value in the operations of evolution? I suspect that it does; I suspect that the morose and fearful are doomed to quick extinction. Where there is no joy there can be no courage; and without courage all other virtues are useless. Therefore the frogs, the toads, keep on singing even though we know, if they don’t, that the sound of their uproar must surely be luring all the snakes and ringtail cats and kit foxes and coyotes and great horned owls toward the scene of their happiness.”

Though it is dangerous, frogs sing, Abbey, surmises it is because they celebrate life. I agree. When we focus on joy, it inspires and moves us. Nurturing joy is an act of self-love and celebration. Being true to yourself and perfecting your love of yourself can be a challenge. Honing in on and growing my inner self through the sharp lens of joy is an antidote to the ups and downs of life. Joy is not only a barometer for the capacity to enjoy life; it is a time-tested route on the path of spiritual enlightenment.

From Joy to Enlightenment

The ancient Hindu wisdom of Sat Chit Ananda reminds us that our bliss, Ananda, is a route to enlightenment. While the world sells us images of external sources of gratification, we can naturally develop a nagging sense of lack. On top of this, modern lifestyle changes add to a growing sense of social isolation. Together, these trends push people away from their inner knowledge. As we make opportunities to learn from joy, we move toward a higher bliss. We rejoice in knowing we always have the capacity for joy, peace, and light.

Joy, then, is the surprise appreciation we develop when magic comes from the mundane. It is at the heart of doing something new, going on an adventure, or a chance meeting with an old friend. On rainy days I find myself longing for the next bit of sunshine. As the sun returns, I take Luna out. Along the way, I will encounter the Phoenix’s rebirth in Atlanta, flora and fauna of the city, the power of my body, and new roads to travel. My heart sings, and my spirit soars over these blue handlebars. Luna and I become adventure partners on a joint joy journey.

A Bridge I Had Not Crossed

Atlanta, Inc: How to Fail Your Constituents

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

Atlanta Police

Last year when I returned to Atlanta, I began participating in seminars, conferences, and public hearings. In many ways, the city I returned to looks shinier and hip. Yet, I find myself trying to make sense of Atlanta and why it operates less like a city and more like a corporate playground. As a practicing attorney, I often realized that the legal system is grounded in preserving the interests of the haves over the have-nots. In Atlanta, I see that the city’s actions and policies also have this same predisposition. Community activism and concern for the public good first took me to law school. It inspires me to write, advocate and elevate dissent to this day.

 

Regarding housing and public safety, I find myself woefully embarrassed by Atlanta, Inc. While Atlanta claims to be “a city too busy to hate,” this is essentially trite lip service. The former home of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. overwhelmingly has forgotten the message of economic and social justice. In the decade since I have lived in the city, Atlanta housing has become increasingly expensive, police abuses have escalated, and corporations are continuously placated. Together, these concerns have brought me to re-double my activism in demanding more from city officials.

 

On Housing

Atlanta Affordable Housing

 

City Kick Backs to Corporates

While Money magazine concluded that Atlanta is the best place to live in its 2022 list, it also pointed out Atlanta’s failures in housing. At a multi-disciplinary seminar on Atlanta, I heard from globally renowned Urban Studies scholar and Georgia State Professor Dan Immergluck. His new book Red Hot City highlights various LOST opportunities to improve the availability of affordable housing in Atlanta. Consequently, over two decades, Atlanta has intentionally grown whiter and wealthier. Thanks to ill-conceived incentives for developers, Atlanta has deprived its public coffers. City leadership has lined developers’ wallets with unnecessary incentives like tax credits and kickbacks. To add insult to injury, Atlanta fails to tax commercial properties effectively. In doing so, they deprive the city of funding for well-publicized affordable housing promises. By and large, the product of these stupid policies has been to impoverish public finances, gentrify historically black neighborhoods, and intentionally attract only higher-end developments.

 

Georgia and the Love of Corporate Landlords

 

To make matters worse, the largely Republican-backed Georgia legislator is cozy with real estate interests. As a result, Georgia has some of the worst tenant protections in the country. As Georgia is considered largely landlord-friendly, it has attracted institutional investors looking for the easiest way to make money with the lowest overhead. Consequently, the Atlanta housing market has seen an uptick in displacement in neighborhoods targeted by out-of-state investors. Since local jurisdictions are pre-empted from rent stabilization and other tenant reforms, the state has one of the highest rates of evictions in the country. With the changes in the housing market post-pandemic, the situation has gotten worse. There are not enough units available at either affordable or gouging prices. Altogether, Atlanta is a tough rental market for a newly transplanted employee due to its costs and few tenant protections.

 

 

On Public Safety

Behind Bullets and Bullshit

Stop Cop City

George Floyd’s murder in 2020 brought a global reckoning for changes in policing. Not long after Black Lives Matter rallies were held across the country, in June 2022, an officer of the Atlanta Police Department (APD) killed Rayshard Brooks, a black man who was trying to sleep in his car at a Wendy’s. Atlanta erupted in righteous protest afterward. The Wendy’s was burned to the ground; the police chief stepped down. Such actions are not new. The APD has consistently eroded the public trust and undermined or neglected to provide for the safety of black and brown residents of Atlanta. Even regional policing authorities have used illegal tactics and excessive use of force without substantive consequences.

 

In the wake of Rayshard’s murder and the countrywide cries to reform policing, Atlanta responded to #DefundthePolice with the exact opposite. Through the Atlanta Police Foundation and corporate backers (see Mainline for an excellent summary of the Atlanta police-prison industrial complex), the creation of a police safety training center was announced. Behind closed doors, in an undemocratic and widely criticized process, police supporters and the Buckhead community agreed to a perverse plan to build this facility on a former prison farm and in a tract of lush forest. This project, dubbed ‘Cop City, ‘ would use millions of precious public funds to build a state-of-the-art facility without addressing how the police will remedy their abuses on black and brown communities.

 

Since Cop City plans were announced, a broad coalition has coalesced in contesting these plans. Environmentalists, abolitionists, and community advocates have taken to the forest to protect it from development. Tensions have escalated since the plan was announced in 2021. Police-led raids of the forest have intentionally destroyed a community kitchen, campsites, and a mutual-aid operation. In December 2022, a protestor was murdered by police in the Atlanta Forest. While some agencies wear body cameras, no agency has provided the public with body camera footage. Despite training and equipment, the police again have failed Atlanta’s citizens.

 

In response, Cop City protestors held a rally in downtown Atlanta. In one of the country’s most surveilled cities, the police grabbed up random protestors and charged them with being `domestic terrorists.` The state agencies charged and funded to protect the community are working to terrorize the public. While it is unlikely the domestic terrorism charges will stick, they may have quelled some first-amendment dissent. In light of the repeated failures of policing in Atlanta, it is comical that Atlanta police agencies should deign to train other police officers.

Part of Atlanta Forest

Atlanta: Rooms for Improvement

 

Atlanta has some new bikeable paths and a few posh multi-use developments. Still, it seems that the city is more interested in boosterism for developers and corporations than the fate of its public. Instead of falling into despair, I focus on hope and a vision to work on progressive changes in Atlanta. In my attempts to jump into opportunities to improve the city, I have found unique and exciting opportunities to contribute.

In my return to Atlanta, I found many more ideologically aligned organizations doing good work. These inspire me to collaborate and create a path for a better city. For example, the Housing Justice League does community empowerment training for eviction defense and follows legislative reform at the state level. Beyond that, Atlanta is rewriting its zoning code. This is just one of several steps to help solve the housing affordability issue.

 

On the issues of public safety, there is no good reason to build YET another police training facility. Various interests compound to illustrate why Cop City should never be built. Instead of diverting funding from police, my hometown wants to eliminate a precious green space for a corporate-funded police playground. To that end, numerous organizations are fighting for justice. Community Movement Builders, a group aligned with the dissent against Cop City, recently trained legal observers with the help of the National Lawyers Guild.

 

Advocacy for sound policy and justice requires the courage to lead and take chances. Atlanta has always been a city of hustle and corporate climbing. I am reminded that the premise behind governance is the public good. Occasionally our public officials need to hear the citizenry to remind them. Only in this way can we expect accountability for the work of providing for all its citizens.

 

If you are interested in following along in my activism, please follow me on Twitter.

 

Home: Sweet Home

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

Home: Sweet Home

You can live in a tiny house, a mansion, or even in the woods. Any of these can be a home. Home has a special place in the heart and in the law. Both our idiom of “Home sweet home” and the ideas behind stand your ground defense share their foundation in the specialness of home. Well, what exactly is it? What takes a house and makes it a home? I want to understand the feeling that comes over me when I arrive home. So, searching for answers to this question, I began contemplating what it takes to make a home.

Last year, in early 2022, I was in Hawaii, checking out what it would be like to make a home there. I ditched that idea after a 3-month stint in paradise.  Then, in April 2022, after stopping in Tokyo to pick up my belongings, I returned to my hometown Atlanta. As I searched Atlanta for a place to make my own, I lived with my family. During the last few months of 2022, I bought a townhouse; now, I am making it a home. I have come to see these essentials in a home:  a sacred physical space, an aliveness, a place of belonging, and a sense of safety.

Waking Up in a Westphalia: Adventures

 

The Sticks, Bricks, or Stones

Inside the classic American home, there are perhaps two adults and maybe two kids. The family living in the traditional American home and their possessions are the second element of a home. They are the aliveness. Not the number of bathrooms nor the tile backsplash, but the gathered little details of daily life bring a place alive. A house needs activity to be a home. A home is a place that celebrates and supports the lives of the people living there. It is easy to note the absence of homeliness in an austere Airbnb or a poorly staged home for sale. They are spaces without a living, pulsing component. A home’s lived-in-ness is my favorite visual feature of a house. The toiletries, book collection, and mementos bring home alive. Those little lived-in details like an out-of-place coffee mug and family photos make a house a home.

Beyond the physical space and life items in it, two psychological aspects make a house a home. A sense of belonging is the first. This is home where the heart is. The idea that you can be who you are. That mental sense that you belong. Whether in the family or with roommates, that sense of relaxation in your surroundings. A home is where you can be comfortable in your skin. It is a place to recharge your spirit from the trials of life. I think people mean this when they recite “home sweet home.” It is coming, physically and metaphorically, into a place of love.

 

Patio over Courtyard

Take Off Your Boots

The building is in place, life knick-knacks included, a big heartful family is there, the last element to make a house a home is a sense of safety. It is precisely this sense of safety that one seeks in a home. For us humans to thrive, we need a safe place. This desire for safety includes knowing that your things will be there when you return. That people will not hurt you at home. Your home will protect you from the elements. It is a feeling that puts you in a state of calm. You can be at ease if you have normally been hyper-vigilant out in the world. The idea is that you can be in your home without being physically accosted, evicted, or bothered.

In this way, what is unnerving about having your home broken into it is a violation of your sacred space. When I visit my mother’s home, I appreciate her physical space. It is an enormous house. Our family photos remind us of the moments we celebrate. While I sense I belong, there is a strange quality at my family home. But it no longer feels safe. In reflecting on what we lost in the burglary last month, it is overwhelmingly the loss of a sense of safety.

In this feeling, then, I feel united with many other Atlantans. I sense the dis-ease around a family behind on rent. I can understand what it would be like to distrust a roommate. It feels odd to have traveled the world with relatively few mishaps and then returning home to so quickly lose a sense of safety. Beyond my immediate family, I find this loss of safety reflected of our country at large.

Hawaii Boat House: Not At Sea

Who is Safe Now?

My eyes are open to a very late recognition.  So many others live without that sense of security. I did not fully appreciate the depth and breadth of the Black Lives Matter movement. At it its crux, I now understand. The lives of so many Americans do not feel safe. I sense that the response is the growth in the abolitionist perspective. Mutual aid and community organizers are moving on this principle. Last month, `authorities` slashed tents and encampments in the South River Forest of Atlanta. The exact entity charged with the social (but not LEGAL duty) to protect is actively working to destroy a sense of safety in south Dekalb. If we do not feel safe in the American status quo, we must unite to create a sense of security. For me, then, this is the pressing question of our times. If life in the natural order is nasty, brutish, and short (according to Rosseau), where is the golden place where we can belong, be safe, and have the physical space to nourish our life activities?

DeKalb County Police: Who do you serve?

Posted on by
2
Advertisements

On Monday night, December 19th, I had the misfortune of needing to call the Dekalb County Police to my mother’s house. We (my mother, stepfather, aunt & uncle, and I) had just returned from a joyous gathering where we met my cousin’s newborn daughter Amara, ate a late lunch, laughed, and played cards for a few hours. When we arrived back at my mother’s a bit before 8 pm, we saw that her home had been burglarized. After I called the police, we all anxiously waited downstairs, hoping no burglar remained in the house.

DeKalb County Police

It took over half an hour for the police to arrive. We realized that night that we had lost three generations of unique Indian jewelry, a coin collection, a safe the size of a college fridge, and a lot of faith. My very sense of security is shaken. Beyond that, what I witness in my local law enforcement: the complete lack of urgency, care, and competence, is most shocking. When I combine their response here to  Dekalb County Police actions in the South River Forest on the opposite end of town, I am perplexed. I wonder WHO actually does Dekalb County serve? What JUSTICE does the symbol on their police crest actually represent?

 

Dekalb County Police: Paid to Do Nothing?

Back to Monday night, the 19th, once the initial two police officers arrived, they did a sweep of our home. After a cursory look around, one of the officers left without notice! No one took photos, walked outside, or fingerprinted the house. I was a bit confused, and as the other Officer, Officer M, left, he gave us a card containing a case number. On the car, conspicuously unfilled on the card, was where Officer M was supposed to provide his PHONE NUMBER. Noticing that, I insisted that Officer M. take my phone number instead, so that at least one line of communication could be established. Luckily, in just a few minutes, Officer M called me to clarify some detail for his report. He happened to be sitting outside the house in his car, and as we talked, he decided to come back inside our home.

On this second entry, I asked Officer M how the burglars entered the home. As we were discussing and trying to figure out how the burglary happened (we had to figure that out ourselves), we decided, by chance, to look at the backyard. We discovered damage to the home’s exterior, where the burglars (presumably) exited and entered the house. Broken ceramic pots and glass shards sprinkled down from the upstairs window. After his second visit to the home, it was only then that Officer M finally called a detective. By now, it was past 10 pm.

After another half hour, a man, presumably the detective on duty, wearing a suit jacket, arrived. This detective did not want to take photos, fingerprints, or blood swabs. I have seen enough Law & Order (in addition to my legal training) to realize we would lose any evidence once the family began cleaning. After locating a few spots of blood over broken glass, we insisted that the detective take at least a blood swab. I actually had to provide the detective with Q-tips, a towel, and a bag so he could collect evidence. Why does a detective have no evidence kit? Beyond the suit jacket, what makes him a detective?  Of course, this detective had no card for us to reach him again.

 

When the two Dekalb Police employees ultimately left us, my family began cleaning. As we did, we wondered how anyone would find the burglars. Without taking photos, evidence, or inspiring any shred of faith in their capacity, I wondered how (if at all) the Dekalb County Police would even try to bring my family justice. They would not take photos nor make any substantive effort to document the condition of my mother’s home. I was left with a card saying a police report would be available in a few days and still maybe longer for a different detective to be assigned to the case. Hanging over us, their overall aura of nonchalance was excruciating. In the four days since, there has been rainy and stormy weather. All traces of blood and any further evidence are gone. Meanwhile, I suspect our family jewelry is getting fenced or re-gifted. Our family still has no assigned detective. We have received no follow-up and no leads. I feel a bit like the Dude in the Big Lebowski. Finally, I realized I would have to do some legwork myself.

 

Dekalb Police: Hired Guns for Developers?

On the other end of town, a much longer yarn has been brewing. On Saturday, immediately preceding the robbery, I attended a solidarity bike ride and rally for the #DefendtheForest movement working to #StopCopCity. The weekend event was a response to Dekalb County Police entering the forest the week before and slashing campers’ tents. Later, the Dekalb County Police arrested tree-sitters and charged them with domestic terrorism. Sending Dekalb County Police to disrupt peaceful protests (on a public park and a mutual aid operation) is a jarring escalation in a long-running dispute. A representative of the Atlanta Solidarity Fund speaks to the sense of shock.

There, at Intrenchment Creek Park, where environmental justice meets economic exploitation, in the less affluent section of Dekalb County, public resources are being spent to further the interests of a developer. Dekalb County tried to pull off a shady land deal with Blackhall Studios. While there is ongoing litigation, an agreement to prevent further destruction of the park is ignored. It appears that Dekalb County Officials are lackadaisical in enforcing the agreement prohibiting Blackhall Studios from working on the property while litigation is pending. Again, who does the Dekalb County Police serve?

What about us?

I suppose I have been a little confused lately. What exactly are our public services for? In the wake of George Floyd’s death, I heard many calls to `Defund the Police.`  I did not fully understand the force behind the idea. Now, I have a direct and personal understanding of the sentiment. While I was on the fence about the idea, I am coming along to appreciate the validity of some abolitionist arguments. I want my local taxes to improve social services and grow the community. I do not see why the police need militarized training and weapons when they won’t bother to do basic investigations and de-escalate conflicts. What exactly is accomplished in having police run around in the newest version of SUVs? Why is this where my money goes?

 

In dealing with this crime, I have turned into our family detective. First, I traced the entryway of the burglars into our home. With the assistance of my neighbors, I pinpointed when the lights came on at our house (while we were not home). Finally, I am keeping an eye out for online sales of potentially fenced jewelry. I managed to do all this while still waiting for updates and even the assignment of an actual detective from Dekalb County Police. Mainly I want to know where is the moral compass behind this agency. Who there is now inspiring any bit of trust?

The Contrast In My Photos Gallery

As I have returned to Atlanta, the kind of crime and drama I notice are incomprehensible. It often feels like I have come from the 1st world in Japan to Atlanta, a war-torn developing country. In Tokyo, I have a lovely memory of a police officer helping me pump air into my bike tires. In Atlanta, I mainly see cops gathered around coffee and donuts. Instead of public institutions, I have turned to my local community. My neighborhood association and the kindness of my larger community are helping me investigate and heal. Please follow along as I witness what goes on in my hometown.

 

Further Reading

Others also seem discontented over Dekalb’s Leadership:

https://www.wsbtv.com/news/local/dekalb-county/business-owners-want-dekalb-leaders-do-something-about-crimes-committed-against-them/REHLLCYK2VCJNOXGQUA73WWQVI/

Latest procedural action in the citizen’s action against the disputed land swap (as of 12/23/22). Emergency Request for TRO on Forest Land

 

An Atlanta Story: Bikes Howling Into the Moon as Cars are Stuck

Posted on by
1
Advertisements

The September Full Moon

At midnight on a late summer Saturday night, hip-hop music emanated from the traffic-jammed cars surrounding me as I traveled west along Edgewood Avenue with a bike posse. On my first group bike ride, I was both excited and nervous. This ride was supposed to make it across town and back (over 10 miles). Most car-driving Atlantans would be rightly terrified of biking this route. Car traffic, hills, and potholes are enough to scare the average Atlantan. While I was safely helmeted and well-lit, without the collective courage of this group, I likely would have stayed in the boring bar where I started my night. On my own, I could not have imagined cycling across Atlanta. But for that September Full Moon ride, I could have lived forever in ignorance and boredom in my own hometown.

Our motley crew comprised a ride leader on roller skates followed by cyclists of every race and age. We snaked our way through bumper-to-bumper clubbing traffic on Edgewood as onlookers stared at us. Occasionally, a cheerful drunk would greet us with a smile and a “HEY there!” More often, though, car drivers actively ignored us. They were stuck in gridlock; we cyclists were free to weave between lanes. This small gloat eased some of my tension.

Along with the heat, enthusiasm began climbing out of me. Without the layers of car steel as separation, the bumping music sent electric pulses through my body. My Saturday night fever grew, and I felt part of the night’s clubby scene. My bike and I connected with the groove and felt like I was dancing along with the city.

A Night Ride from M+M

Watch for Plates, Grates, Poles and Assholes

That night, the road hazards that first presented themselves became more apparent. Car drivers seem either distracted, indifferent, or actively vengeful. As we made our way to the west side of town, the occasional smell of Mary Jane and intermittent car honks punctuated our ride. En route, we encountered a sharp left turn and an immediate incline which slowed us all down. A shiny red Dodge Charger got behind the slowest rider (me) and began revving its engine. The car was less than three feet away and intimidating. When I reached the top of the hill, the Dodge and I were waiting at the same red light. As we were stopped together, I told the driver NICELY that his revving was scary. He laughed and told me he was “playing.” Then, the light turned green, and the Charger rolled up his window and sped off. This driver was driving recklessly. I noted the license plate; the other cyclists were unphased. While he was wrong to drive like that, the flow of the evening was so good. The road called us onwards. I let it roll off me as we caught a pleasant downward hill into the west side of town.

 

Summerhill Mural

I recalled my high school prohibition from entering this neighborhood. It was not considered safe when I was growing up. Now, here in the West End, was another happening corner. A few cool venues caused slowed car traffic. A whole line of scantily clad ladies was waiting to get inside a club. Meanwhile, crowds poured from parking lots and meandered along sidewalks to bars and clubs. From my bike, the excitement was palpable. That first ride showed me my old town in a new way. The Beltline has impacted the city incredibly by connecting previously segregated parts of town. Now, there are open public spaces to hang out and chill. Walking paths meet with restaurant patios giving  Atlanta a lively and dynamic vibe. I notice this as I remember my readings about legacy residents being displaced by growing rents, especially in southwest Atlanta.

Full Moon Ride November- L5P

Helpful Humans

After we passed the new westside developments, our group found a monster incline around The Gulch. Here I got a real sense of group ride camaraderie. I was sure my clunker of a vintage Schwinn bike was malfunctioning. I found it lying around in my mother’s garage not too long ago. The bike needed TLC, just as I required instruction for going up hills. Oh my god, the HILLS in this town! As I struggled with matching pace with everyone else, I hopped off my bike to push it up the steep incline. A veteran older rider offered to help me. I dismounted and let him take a look at my gear settings. This form of volunteerism was both refreshing and encouraging for me. As I continued to ride, I noticed that there are many good bike Samaritans among the group rides.

No club, dive bar, or café could meet the zest of cycling through Atlanta’s entertainment district on a Saturday night. After the ride, I felt electric. Every cell in my body demanded I dance, move, groove. Thanks to this ride, I felt thoroughly connected and immersed in the city for the first time since my repatriation. While I developed my passion for bike riding in Tokyo, riding where I grew up is a whole new beast. Since that Saturday night, I haven’t seen the city the same way. Since then, I have been hooked.

Get out the Vote Ride (Midweek Roll)

Bikes with the Final Word

Atlanta does not immediately pose herself as a bike-friendly town. The tenor of car driving is aggressive and irreverent towards human life. The public infrastructure is entirely car-based. For the tiny bit of bike infrastructure, there is very little enforcement. Cyclists are left to fend for their own safety. While mutual aid and camaraderie are the natural results of being relegated by the car culture, the future is increasingly anti-car. Cars are pollutants, dangerous to pedestrian safety, and cost us a time tax. They increase the cost of street maintenance, take up too much parking space, and are expensive to maintain. As the city embraces more progressive demands from its residents, the gospel of bike life is spreading. Until then, Atlanta is a car town with an addictive bike habit.

 

On Boulevard NE and Edgewood Avenue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Othering & Belonging: Diversity in Georgia

Posted on by
2
Advertisements

Surrounded by green pines and sitting on the red clay along Blue Ridge Lake, I stared into murky green waters. Under the water’s surface, a fish moved between the shade and the sun. She swam above rotting foliage and around a fallen branch. I watched her swim as I was digesting the hour before.

Blue Ridge Mountains, Photo by Juan Davila on Unsplash

“Where are you from?” The real estate agent asked me. I sense she was trying to size me up rather than have a conversation. I stared at her in mild shock and disbelief while trying to hide my angst. “I live in Atlanta,” I responded with blank eyes. I felt judged and was reluctant to gab.

Inside my head, I meet with my vagabond turmoil. My mixed bag of responses floats in my head. “I am from nowhere. I am from everywhere. A three-continent list would be the beginning of my life story and genealogy.” But really, who has time for all that? Actually, I no longer know where I am from. I am living in a constant state of flux. Identity, ultimately, is a limiting form of identification.  

How to Belong in Georgia?

Lately, there is a more significant issue. I no longer know where I belong. I feel like that oil slick hanging in the finger of Blue Ridge Lake- challenging to mix and sprinkled with yellow pollen dust. This theme, where are you from, I have touched on before. In Georgia, and in particular, now, this is a loaded question. I think the more relevant questions are: “Can we get to know each other? Where are we going? How can we work together to get there?”

Today, I am from a place where old lessons mix with an even older desire. Another middle-aged lady asks the same kind of question in the next hour. I looked for a non-BBQ lunch option and saw a well-loved Cuban sandwich shop in downtown Blue Ridge. After discussing the yucca frita, she asked, “What is your nationality?” I told her my ethnicity and that my forefathers are from India originally. She told me I looked Latina, and I grinned in acknowledgment.”How about you?” I asked back. She responded with a short history, “I am Tampanea (from Tampa, Florida). My father was from Spain, and my mother was from Italy. And then, my husband from Cuba. So here I am, arroz con mango.” The expression was perfect! A strange mix of rice and mango. I smiled, and we went on to a chat about Georgia turning blue in 2020. She mentioned that in the mountains of Georgia, there are pockets of people from everywhere. Her words absolutely resonated. I remembered my days of grass-roots campaigning; Atlanta is that salad bowl type of mix.  

Cortado Photo by Tyler Nix on Pexels.com

Our Rich Heritage

After lunch and cortado, I strolled along the train tracks cutting through downtown Blue Ridge. On a parallel street, tucked between strip centers sporting Trump posters, a shop called The Joint caught my attention. The shop includes a Beetle parked out front and psychedelic colored furniture on the grass. Here, I found an Atlanta ex-pat. For a little while, we both lived in Homepark. The Mudcats, a local Atlanta band I followed, played at her wedding. We chatted briefly about Georgia and the changes in Atlanta. Between our old memories and the mountain air, I knew I was related and belonged somehow to the history of this red-blue patchwork state.

The Trump Store just outside Ellijay

Heading back to the Airbnb, I pulled over for an irresistible photo. I spotted a real-life Trump Store behind a McDonald’s in a strip plaza adorned with for lease signs and potholes. Next door to the store stood a Vietnamese-American photo studio, and two doors further down was a Mexican restaurant, Mucho Kaliente. The dim-lit Trump shop sported a flyer for an Indian-American Labor Commissioner. Mr. Bhatt here poses with Trump as he campaigned for “Georgia First” & “America First.” That night, from my country farmstead Airbnb, I wondered how he would balance those with Trump’s racist rhetoric. I simmered on this while my Christian Korean-American host family cooked bibimbap downstairs.

Georgia Roots & Atlanta Dramas

Everybody I encounter in Atlanta is from somewhere else. The only people with ancient knowledge of the land in Georgia were pushed away. That now illicit history traced further back points at the ugly roots of our national story. The reckoning with our past is a step into what we are working towards. That is the only thing that will bring us all together. I am less interested in anyone’s background. I am more interested in their heart and how we can make space for all of us to belong. Atlanta is quickly gentrifying parts of its classic inner-city neighborhoods. Traffic along the 285 Perimeter gets worse annually. The effects of global warming make Atlanta even hotter. There are so many issues that touch all of us. It takes an understanding of where we want to go to work together.

Traffic is Democratizing; We all slow down (not Atlanta) Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Our Spiritual Evolution

A force moving us towards inclusion and cross-cultural understanding is the process of our spiritual evolution. One of my favorite books, The Road Less Traveled, puts it this way:

The notion that the plane of mankind’s spiritual development is in a process of ascension may hardly seem realistic to a generation disillusioned with the dream of progress. Every-where is war, corruption and pollution. How could one reasonably suggest that the human race is spiritually progressing? Yet that is exactly what I suggest. Our very sense of disillusionment arises from the fact that we expect more of ourselves than our forebears did of themselves. Human behavior that we find repugnant and outrageous today was accepted as a matter of course yesteryear.

Dr. Scott Peck

Dr. Peck builds his idea of spiritual development throughout his book. Essentially, energy and intention toward progress grow from individual effort. First, a person works towards putting their spiritual house in order, connecting values with action, purpose, and discipline. That effort is personal progress. From there, people work to bring alignment into their community. They empathize when others are wronged; they work with a sense of purpose in their day-to-day relationships.

We Do Love One Another

We unite against displacement, injustice, or “othering” which we do not suffer because of our spiritual evolution. The situation in Ukraine is an example of this. In western countries, there is a wellspring in support of Ukraine. (Of course, for another post, this support has a sharp edge. Why don’t we feel the same sympathy for the loss of life in Palestine, Syria, and Yemen?) I was in Japan when the world rose in anger against the murder of George Floyd. For a while, the Facebook group I admin-ed was a flood of support, irrespective of race. Later, in Tokyo, many locals and foreigners united for the Black Lives Matter march. In the US, mass shooting occurs regularly. How much longer till we bring together a balance of competing interests in the gun debate?

The very fact that we care about others speaks to our collective spiritual evolution. While the world gets smaller, thanks to technology and transportation, we can move towards a genuinely pluralistic society. We get there by working on what unites us rather than what divides us. A shared future, a shared planet, and healthier public institutions are the steps to make Georgia part of an even better Earth. Just as we seek ways to honor the rights of those we consider “different” from us, we can actively create a sense of belonging. We can work towards belonging regardless of political leanings, ethnic background, and economic class. There are infinite ways in which we can support one another. The goal, I believe, is to find how we are united rather than how we are different.