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Endgame Volume I_ The Problem of Civilization - Derrick Jensen [157]

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a crushed piece of bread spasmodically clasped in the fingers of her left hand, which she absolutely will not allow to be forced from her. The patient does not trouble in the least about her surroundings so long as you leave her alone. If you prick her in the forehead with a needle, she scarcely winces or turns away, and leaves the needle quietly sticking there without letting it disturb her restless, bird-of-prey-like wandering backwards and forwards. To questions she answers almost nothing, at the most shaking her head. But from time to time she wails: ‘O dear God! O dear God! O dear mother!,’ always repeating uniformly the same phrases.”287

Laing says, “If we see the situation purely in terms of Kraepelin’s point of view, it all immediately falls into place. He is sane, she is insane; he is rational, she is irrational. This entails looking at the patient’s actions out of the context of the situation as she experienced it. But if we take Kraepelin’s actions (in italics) —he tries to stop her movements, stands in front of her with arms outspread, tries to force a piece of bread out of her hand, sticks a needle in her forehead, and so on—out of the context of the situation as he experienced it and defined by him, how extraordinary they are.”288

From within the context of industrial capitalism as those enculturated into industrial capitalism experience and define it, destroying one’s landbase (and then everyone else’s) to increase the size of one’s bank account makes sense. From within the context of civilization, as experienced and defined by the civilized—those who consider themselves in the most “advanced state of human society”—the destruction of all other cultures makes perfect sense. When you are bombarded from birth on with images and stories that teach you to perceive women as sexual objects, it should come as no surprise when you treat them as such. Likewise, when you are raised in an abusive household or an abusive culture where relations are based on power, and where those in power routinely use violence to terrorize those they wish to subjugate—when that is your experience of the world, when that is how the world has been defined for you—it may make sense to you to try to gain power over everyone you can. Or, and this brings us back to our discussion, anger may unduly frighten you—when those in power became angry, you suffered.

To be clear: All of this stepping away from anger—the presumption, for example, that anger toward the culture would lead to displacing that anger toward your friends—makes sense if you are afraid of your own emotions (or if you yourself displace your anger), if you are afraid of anger because you have been abused—made powerless in the face of “forces over which you have little control”—and realize in your body that the anger you feel only highlights your own impotence.

The point, it seems painfully (and beautifully) clear to me, is to not eradicate anger, but to try to be clear about when and why and at whom I am angry, and to be mindful of my anger. When appropriate, to let anger inform and even possess me so long as it does not consume me, as I can, when appropriate, let love or fear or joy inform and possess me so long as they too do not consume me. To aim my anger, not displace it, just as I would hope to aim and not displace my love, fear, or joy. I do not mind when someone expresses anger at me for something I have done to him or her. I do, however, mind when someone expresses anger toward me I do not deserve. The same can be said, obviously, for love and other emotions.

My dogs sometimes fight over their food dish, even though there is another a few feet away and even though they love each other even more than they love me. Every time they fight, minutes later they’re once again cozying up to each other. This may seem odd, but I like it when I see this process, because each time it reminds me again that anger is just anger—I learn the same lesson each time I hear songbirds scold each other, or see bees tussle, or I snap at my mom or she snaps at me—and I’m reminded that outside

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