Needs and "Needs"

In elementary school, we learn that there is a difference between needs and wants.  Needs are items that secures our survival.  Shelter, food, water, and air are the most basic needs there are.  Some would argue that clothing should be included in the list, but for some people, clothes aren’t needed (others would perish with clothing I know but not everyone needs clothes so it doesn’t make the top four).

"Needs" can also infer something that someone has grown accustomed to and needs psychologically, like cigarettes or coffee. The human body doesn't need those for survival, but one's mind might be yelling nonstop at itself until he or she has the first puff of smoke or cup of joe in the morning. Without their "fix" these humans can sometimes resemble apes as inferred from the slouched posture and language based on grunts and growls. heaven forbid you cross them in this state.

My personal needs are as follows:

1. The basic four: food, water, shelter, and air.

2. Company. Because I grew up 24/7 with my twin brother, I feel lost and very depressed when I am alone. I thrive when I have some form of social interaction. I would rather be bored with my friends than having fun by myself. Now there are times in which that I do enjoy being alone, but I always have one way or another to contact someone with me at all times. This is so that I can touch the outside world just in case I choose to do so. 

3. A way to express myself. Besides being a corporate zombie, I need a way to be my own person. I need a way to change my hair colour the way I see fit. If I want to put another hole in my body, I need to be able to get it done ASAP.  Same with tattoos. And yes, I do realize those are wants, not needs, but they’re a bit higher on the food chain than a specific type of beer or the latest Tool CD. They are an extension of my personality, and therefore a need.

Friends and family is all I need to lead a comfortable life. I take care of them as I would take care of myself, if not better. In turn, they will do the same. My friends know that I don't keep a running tab on how much I spend versus the amount they spend; its just all for the greater good of friendship and fun. They are my pillars, my foundation, my ceiling, and my walls. They are everything to me and without them, life would not have meaning.

Damaging Solutions From the Frappuccino® Generation

Being American, I normally take things for granted.  I can go to the store and splurge on a couple CDs (the new Eagles album and the re-mastered NWA hit “Straight Outta Compton” are out now), some video games (that feature rabid bunnies, talking balloons, and murderous undead minions), and a 99-in-one device called the Magic Bullet.  I don’t need these things to survive, but I take them for granted.  I forget the majority of the world can’t splurge on such items.  I do admit that it is a bad habit that we as a country have, but not one we should obsess about with every second of our waking day.  We should try to make a difference though.  The big question is rather than what can we do, what should we do?

Can one do more damage trying to help someone, than if they didn’t do anything at all?  If this is possible, how do we know whether or not we are making the right decision?  Naomi Klein, a socialistic journalist, talks about the decaying garment district of Toronto and the sweatshops in Jakarta and how the two are intertwined in her essay “A Web of Brands”.  In “Live Free and Starve”, Chitra Divakaruni, an educated Indian immigrant, states that while Americans hear of children sweatshops, their actions to stop these actually are hurting those they are trying to protect.  Klein talks of the old industrial garment factories of Toronto and the shame that some are being turned into expensive lofts, rather than being used.  She depicts artists and designers living next to old-fashioned garment stores.  Klein then jumps to Jakarta, where she talks to workers, whom work for next to nothing, making coats and computers they will never wear nor use.  Klein protests the rich CEOs getting wealthier and wealthier off of the work done by temporary workers.  Divakaruni writes, from her own unique perspective, about the picture painted to “help” those harmed by child labor, whereas it is in fact hurting them.  She states that while they are being paid less than they should, they are helping their family with their pay thereby ensuring they don’t have to live on the streets. Divakaruni remembers Nimai’s, her family’s boy servant, sense of pride over those that begged, he walking a bit taller because he was a responsible family member.  She finishes by making the reader think about not only calling for the end of child labor, but also a better life for the children.  While sweatshops and child labor are evils in the world today that most want to eradicate, we should take heed of Divakaruni’s message and figure out the best method possible to ensure the well being of the victims of those evils.

In “A Web of Brands” Klein’s overall message is that while it is sad that an industry has declined, but what is worse is that the job has been outsourced to a third world country where the workers are paid next to nothing.  Divakaruni’s message in “Live Free and Starve” is a little more chilling.  She states that while a bill proposed to hinder child labor practices has good intentions, the general American public doesn’t realize it may actually do more harm than good.  Divakaruni muses, “when many of these children turn to the streets to survival through thievery and violence and begging and prostitution – as surely in the absence of other options they must – are we willing to shoulder that responsibility?”  Both author’s messages come in two parts, though Klein’s is focused more on the location of the problem, rather than making the audience think deeper about the solution to the problem, like Divakaruni’s does.

Both authors use narratives to support their arguments, but Divakaruni’s account is more founded than Klein’s.  Klein remembers, “I started to tell the Kaho workers that my apartment in Toronto used to be a London Fog coat factory but stopped abruptly when it became clear from their facial expressions that the idea of anyone choosing to live in a garment building was nothing but alarming.”  Her narration about her trip to Jakarta places her as an outsider, a visitor, a journalist.  Divakaruni remembers, “When the [children’s] hunger was too much to bear, they stole into the neighbors’ fields and ate whatever they could find … even though they knew they’d be beaten for it.”  Her account has more credibility because she grew up there.  This was the norm; she was an insider, a participant.

Klein and Divakaruni give us insight into the worker’s lives.  Divakaruni confirms the stereotype of child labor, in which children “spend their days in dark, ill-ventilated rooms doing work that damages their eyes and lungs.”  But she also tells us of Nimai, who worked for her family, doing chores around the house, but being treated very justly by her family, more so than the majority of child laborers.  She remembers Nimai “thought he was a responsible member of his family”, because he could help his family out with his earnings.  Klein, on the other hand, tells of workers who, because of bad conditions, went on strike.  Rather than fix those conditions, Klein reports, “overtime would no longer be compulsory but the compensation would remain illegally low.”  While Klein, because of her Western upbringing, portrays everything in a negative light, Divakaruni, while maintaining her stance that child labor is bad, does show her audience a slightly positive side to the situation and the danger of fixing it with another problem.

Before reading these works, I was under the opinion that there was nothing we could do to stop poor labor conditions, for both children and adults.  Corporations are always out to make a profit, so bids will always go to the lowest production company, be it here in the U.S. or in China. Now I believe we can do something, moved by both Klein and Divakaruni, but we need to study the situation thoroughly to see how best we can help these workers lead a better life before we set a plan into motion.  Just like a marathon runner plans every leg of the race and not just the first mile, we should too.  Americans should stop thinking that there is nothing they can do, stop accepting the fact that the world is full of suffering, stop sitting in the sunshine, drinking five dollar mint chocolate Frappuccino^® and actually get up and better inform themselves and others about our world’s plights.  Yes, Our world, because we all live here and it’s the only one we have.

"Future generations may well have occasion to ask themselves, "What were our parents thinking? Why didn't they wake up when they had a chance?" We have to hear that question from them, now." - Al Gore

A Menace of a Gentleman

Normally I wouldn’t consider myself a menace, someone who alters the general public’s space, but then again, I do look like a certain stereotype.  Before we get into what makes other people question my character and intentions, we should discuss why people’s first impression of me is wrong.  Let’s paint a portrait of myself using my actions as paint, rather than my “extreme” physical appearance.

I’m twenty-one years old and stand six foot one inch tall.  I’ve been a swimmer all my life, as well as a water polo player.  I excelled in water polo at the high school level, becoming one of the best players in the state and eventually being asked to try out for the US junior national team.  “Benjamin Sager” is on 8 trophies at Westside High School, a record that has not yet been beaten.  Graduating in the top fifteen percent of my class, I excelled in the arts as well as the sciences.  I obtained the rank of Eagle Scout when I was fourteen, while most scouts don’t achieve the rank of Eagle and those who do are normally almost eighteen.  I help out around the house, and get along with my family as well as the next guy.

From that description, one might peg me as the average young adult who was a smart, well rounded jock.  Now here’s what make people think twice about me, starting with the least “offensive” going to the most.  I have a bleached faux hawk, with colours ranging from peroxide blonde to honey blonde to dark chestnut (for now because my hair is ever changing).  I have five piercings, three of which are normally visible.  I have my left ear cartilage pierced and gauged to an 8 gauge.  Both my ear lobes are stretched to a 0 gauge (with this gauge, I can stick pencil erasers through my earlobe).  I have several different “plugs” ranging from solid titanium to red hollow glass to black plastic with an icon of the Virgin Mary (I’m not religious but it makes for good laughs when I talk about my “virgin” ears).  The non-visible piercings are located on my torso.  I have both nipples pierced, and before you ask, no, those didn’t hurt the most; the cartilage did.

While only some people cringe at my visible piercings, my tattoos get the most attention out of the two.  My first is a black outline of a tree that I designed, which symbolizes my twin brother’s and my pledge to not forget our “roots”.  The second is a red maple leaf on my left shoulder that marks my confirmation of my Canadian citizenship (I’m a dual citizen).  Thirdly, I got a caricature of a piranha that I designed on my left ankle.  It symbolizes my time spent swimming for the Villager Piranhas as well as coaching them.  The last tattoo that I have had inked is a memorial tattoo designed from my late grandfather’s tie clip.  Above the “tie clip crest”, “memento mori” is inscribed, which translates from Latin to read, “Remember that you are mortal.”  Under the crest is “WKW”, my Grampy’s initials in his style of writing.  To “normal” people those two descriptions couldn’t be the same person, but they both describe Benjamin Sager.  Well, as you know him today.  More tattoos and piercings are most certainly going to be added. 

My outlandish appearance once caused a change in space at The Menger Hotel in San Antonio.  I was visiting family and friends while on break from school.  One day we were going swimming in the hotel pool, which is a fair walk, in which you walk past many conference rooms, from the elevators to the pool.  Being a swimmer, I am comfortable walking around in my board shorts, so I had nothing covering my tattoos and piercings.  While on my way to the pool, I walked past the opening to one of the conference rooms, which was hosting a Painted Horses Association convention.  The convention had just let out, and several attendees (mostly seniors and baby-boomers) were crowding the hallway.  Needless to say I turned several heads (their teenage daughters must have liked the “bad boy” image) and many moved out of the way because they assumed I was some “punk kid”.

One senior was dressed up like a pink version of the “Electric Cowboy”.  Hot, neon pink accented her black boots and black jeans.  Her pink shirt was studded with rhinestones and sequins.  To top it all off, she was wearing a hot pink cowboy hat with a silver bow attached to it.  She was chatting with her granddaughter, who was wearing a wholesome but revealing outfit.  She wore a torn and weathered cowboy hat that had a turquoise and silver hatband.  Her matching necklace was draped around her neck, accenting her plaid shirt that was tied in a knot, rather than using the snaps to keep closed.  She wore jean shorts, if you could call them that.  Daisy Dukes were more what they were.  She finished off the ensemble with old brown boots.  Needless to say, the older woman definitely didn’t seem to be a fan of my “alternative” appearance.  She moved quickly out of the way so as to assure not having any chance of a close encounter with me, dropping her papers which scattered all over the floor.  Without hesitation, I stooped low and began to pick up her dropped quarry while she just stood there staring at me.  I handed her papers back to her, and walked away.  While they thought I was out of earshot, I really wasn’t.  I overheard them saying, “That was an interesting fellow.  I didn’t expect him to help me with my papers.  You (directed towards her granddaughter) should date a nice boy like that!” 

Needless to say, not only did I change their public space, but I also showed them that while my appearance may be harsh to some, it's always my actions that show what type of person I truly am.  That's why mothers always try to tell their kids, "don't judge books by their covers."  But as we grow, most cast that aside when they shouldn't.  To some I look like a menace, while to others I look like a "fun dude", to everyone, I'm a friendly guy and an overall "gentleman and scholar."