Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Homework For January 26th, And Dinner

Students As Leaders:

  • Write Leadership Values Statement
    • Redemption, security and guidance
  • Practice for Resident Assistant Interview
  • Research for Critical Theory Model of Leadership presentation
Perspectives on Terrorism
  • Read Chapters 6 and 7
  • Take online quizzes for:
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Lecture on Chps 6 and 7
  • Discussion Post
  • Preliminary Research for Paper on al- Shabaab in Somalia (Horn of Africa)
Criminology and Social Justice
  • Read Hagen Chapters 6 through 8
  • Take online quiz for chapters
  • Do I have a midterm in this class?...
Introduction to Conflict Resolution Psychology
  • Read three assigned articles
  • Write response and thoughts on each article
  • Midterm in this class?...
Introduction to Sustainability
  • Build a Tiny House at Dignity Village Homeless Community...
    • LIKE A CONSTRUCTION BOSS
    • Also because it's part of my grade and actually really rewarding
For Dinner I had Chili. Made by my Aunt Jenna. I forgot to pick up sour cream at the store so that was sad, otherwise it was delicious.

My Brain Is On Fire

Straight up, I came up with the title for this post in a second and completely embraced how dramatic it sounds. My brain is literally on fire, and this isn't going to be a post about how sad life is, or how my thoughts keep me up at night. Let's be honest, that isn't something new to the human race (or the current generation of young people who are committed to intrapersonal understand to such a fault it borders on narcissism). Nah, instead I'd like to talk about how every god damn time I want to write on this blog, my mind floods with topics to write on and I end up writing nothing. Yup, same topic as last post. Why you ask? Why such an informal tone? Because my class was cancelled for tomorrow so I get to stay up late(r) and write on my blog while I''m just tired enough not to put effort into a formal tone.

I feel like my inability to control the spreading fire of thoughts in my mind is due in large part to my upbringing. Not to say that I didn't have all I needed and a loving family to support me, no, but I did spend a bunch of time in front of a variety of screens. Television screens, computer screens, GameBoy and then Nintendo DS Lite screens....my phone screen. It's just how modern times are. We remain relevant and up to date on pop culture and news by putting attaching pieces of velcro on our eyes and the pairing screen and just soak up what we see. I am no different. I'd like to think I'm a critical thinker who has a well of independent thought and ideas but in reality, I'm pretty sure I unconsciously absorb all I see and just process it slower than how I see it. Like most of us. It's like Deja Vu, but for human thought. We have this great idea, thinking we are innovative or special for thinking it, when in reality someone else wrote a Facebook rant on the subject, and they themselves heard it from some other source. It's crazy in all honesty.

And this is what I mean. With so much input to process, there is no way we as a technologically savvy society would not end up constantly consuming, thinking and regurgitating other people's ideas. I mean, if I'm being totally honest, I'm not the first person to think of writing a blog about a "new adventure in life," and it would be ridiculous of me to think that anyone really gives a shit about what I write. Sure this blog could go viral and soon everyone is hanging off my every word, but it's unlikely. Like I said, there is so much to consume and my blog isn't even a crumb of what's out there. My blog is hardly interesting for anyone besides me!

So in conclusion, I'm just going to suck it up and just write, because in reality it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Man it feels great to stay up so late and be like a normal teenager!!....by writing a post for a completely unknown blog.......Wait, it's not that impressive....I already covered that in this post....SEE WHAT I MEAN PEOPLE! I have to constantly remind myself to move on from thinking my blog matters to anyone but me!

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Time Lost

The fact that this post is coming so long after the prior one truly shows what kind of person I am. A procrastinator. I didn't forget about this blog, my blog, over the time since I last wrote. On the contrary I think about it all the time! I wonder what I will write next, and where I left off and what I should focus on in my life. There is absolutely so much to write about that I don't know where to start! To make myself feel better, I am going to provide a link to an article I was introduced to in my Conflict Resolution Psychology class yesterday that talks about the downfalls of being a pre-crastinator and how procrastinating can actually bring about more creative work. Progress and efficiency versus creativity and innovation? Hmm, I'd like to think that my keen ability rush and do things quickly is a strength in its own convoluted way. Like I said, I didn't forget about my blog when I wasn't working on it. I just had so many ideas I wasn't ready to commit to just one and start writing (that is, until I was bored in the library before my only class of the day at noon so I figured I'd take a crack at it).

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/17/opinion/sunday/why-i-taught-myself-to-procrastinate.html?_r=0

Read it, it will make you feel better about all those times you put something off to the last minute and envied the smart planner who got it all done weeks ago.

But back to reality and the whole point of this blog: reflection on my days. How poetic.

When I last wrote I spoke about how I had come to terms on my new independence, one I didn't necessarily ask for. I am so happy (and relieved) to say that I have grown from that post, it was honestly very cathartic. Since then I have had my friend come and visit me in Portland, gone home to New York to see friends and family, come back to Portland and am on my third week of my second quarter at Portland State.

Karin Rose, my oldest friend, came out to Portland for a week in December and booked the two of us a room at the McMenamins Crystal Hotel in Portland. We had a great time, it was nice for both of us I think to have the other to talk to about life, school and the gentlemen in our lives. Being such old friends, we seem to skip over the small talk and just go right for the embarrassing stories of misadventures and complete candor about what we think about our lives currently. I won't say that guys don't do the same thing, this kind of tell-all friendship where you talk for hours about a combination of deeply personal anecdotes and raunchy jokes and tales has no gender preference. What I will say is ladies do it better, on average. That's all!

We rode the bus and train all over Portland, going to Pittock Mansion to walk around the foggy grounds and rooms of lives long outlived. We shopped non-stop, for all manner of things. Karin even got a helix piercing at a tattoo shop we went to so I could get inked (I ended up not, but at least only Karin's mom had to deal with her nineteen year old daughter modifying her body randomly). Seeing a total of three movies over one week, we were real winners I must say. We got to see Star Wars: The Force Awakens at the Baghdad Theater, which was AMAZING. Despite craning our necks in the third front row to see the magnificence, it was a perfect experience. I mean, we got to eat pizza in our seats at a unique theater in a fun part of Portland, #memories if I do say so myself.

One of the best parts was vegging out in the Crystal Hotel's hot pool in the basement while talking to Karin about my time in Portland, honestly and raw. As someone has struggled in her own time with feeling alone and unproductive, she had some great advice. She also told me I need a boyfriend when she isn't there. Can't beat the advice of a best friend!

Going home was great though. I spent everyday with friends and family, doing things I had daydreamed about in class at PSU. Catching up with my mom and assuring her that I was doing just fine in Portland was needed on her behalf, but her hugs and cooking were all I wanted in all honesty.

I really do love that woman.

My dad got an Xbox One for Christmas from my mom, and Fallout 4 to play on it, so we bonded over killing raiders and mole rats, all the while helping people along the way. I got to hangout with my niece and nephew who (shocker) grew like two weeds over just three months. Sure I got tackled to no end and a few times I lost hair to someone stepping on it while playing on the couch, but there are things I am okay with if it means I get to tickle and love Shia and Sean again, in person!

I got to see my Grandpa, who is the only grandparent I've ever had, and listen to his anecdotes about nursing home life. He was a Seabee in the Navy before getting all domesticating and working for IBM for a few decades, and his service inspires me. It's because of him I may just join the Nacy after graduation....but don't tell my mom.

And New Years. For the first time in months I felt like a real teenager, and for the first time in my life, I acted like one on this wonderful day. All I will say on this wide web of our modern day is that I have the best friends in Ali and Matt, they are smart, resilient people who are extremely loyal. I love them. That is all.

And now I'm back in Portland and loving it! I am taking 20 credits, applying to be an RA next year here at PSU (I've been working on my application for an entire month) and basically just kicking ass with how hard I am working. I feel good. I have friends, I have an outlet for my energy and I have a supportive family.


Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Paradigm Shift: Act Two

I am not going to blow smoke up your ass and say that I had it in me the whole time to be happy in Portland. Or that everything is as dandy as a warm blanket on a cold winter day. I have not reach a higher plane of realization about my life. I'm still alone, in Portland, and no one cares that I am here. But you see, dear reader, none of that matters when it comes to how happy I am.

When I was in middle school, dealing with best friend drama as all twelve year old girls do, I was venting to my mom about how sad it made me when my friend ignored me, (or something else my friend did that bugged me) and my mom laid it on thick. After listening to me for what I can only imagine was twenty or so minutes, whining about how cruddy my life was because of this girl, my mom said to not to let my happiness rely on other people. In fact I think I remember her saying "Stop letting someone else control your happiness. I'm done listening to you complain. The solution is easy, either find a way to make your own days good, or keep letting this girl depress you. Either way, stop talking to me about it."

At the time I was totally convinced my mom was a stone cold bitch and didn't relate to my feelings at all. I'm bringing up this anecdote because, as it turns out, twelve year old me was wrong! So Mom, sorry for thinking you weren't a good person, because this advice is saving me right now.

This concept, that I shouldn't look to others to make me happy, is something I thought I had mastered. I am fine with doing things on my own, comfortable in my own skin and confident enough to go out in the world without an arsenal of friends to stick myself to and do everything with. Sure, I have my main core of friends who I like to do most things, but I have it in me to chose to do things on my own and be independent. KEY WORD: CHOOSE. It is a totally different ball game when you literally have no choice but to do things on your own. It is one thing to say "I just want to do this alone" or even "I need some me-time,"  and a WHOLE OTHER THING to realize your only option is to do everything alone because there is no one to be with on your good days, or any days for that matter.

So coming out to Portland I was patting myself on the back for being so independent and when I got here and put that independence to use, I realized I had taken too big a spoonful of it. Even my Aunt, who isn't a very touchy, sensitive person said to me that she worries I'm not getting enough human contact, not enough human touch. Other than her, my uncle and cousin, I am not yet close to anyone out here. No one to hug, no one to pat on the back or high five. So, she now sometimes will give me a hug, or hook her arm in mine while we are out shopping. She thinks I don't realize what she's doing, but I do. And while I am awkward at walking with another person's arm hooked to mine, I really like it when she does it. But that's a secret I'm gonna keep, I think if I tell her, she will stop because she will have assumed I mentioned it only because I don't like it. Mixed signals people, they are a real struggle.

Back on topic, I've quickly begun to give myself my slack when it comes to socializing in Portland. I've put so much emphasis on meeting people and getting out that I valued myself on how fast I could meet fun people and start going out. And when I didn't make many friends, and the closest thing I've done to being a typical rule breaking college student was sip my friend's martini at her birthday dinner last week, I thought very little of myself. And if you think about it, that is such a twisted thing to do to yourself. I was basically setting myself up for failure. How the hell am I supposed to make friends really quickly after moving out here when I had so much to get accustomed to, so much in my mind, body and spirit to transition.

I won't say that I'm all better now, my mind clear of worries. I won't be walking around campus, earbuds blasting Michael Franti and Spearhead, while smiling brightly at everyone who I walk by. What I will do is chill out. Being alone is not so bad after all. I mean sure, I still wish I was surrounded by friends and had things to do other than wander Portland alone, but all this time by myself has produced some stellar introspection I was unaware I needed.

I've gotten the chance to better understand who I am at my core. I talk with random people in the street and store because it lifts my spirits and keeps me awake. I hate being alone, and handle it poorly. But I am working on that now. The power to be happy does not lie completely out or in me, it lies around me and my perception of the things I encounter. I have to learn to stop looking at other people and wishing I had the company they have. I have to look at my time as a refresher course in how to be productive, and how to keep myself stimulated. Look up the news, get informed, go to events and above all, not to become stagnant and complacent in my loneliness. I take my medicine, I brush my teeth and comb my hair and sometimes I wear the same outfit two days in a row. I'll admit that since getting to Portland, I've gained a few stretch marks on my tummy and hips from all the stress eating I've partaken in. A physical reminder of my struggle of here.

I'm glad I'm here though. I am growing up! Even though I miss my home friends, being within a short distance of people I can spend time with, Portland has offered me a chance to strengthen myself and learn ways to manage and cope. For me, that's the most important part. Truly.

Paradigm Shift: Act One

My first quarter at Portland State University is coming to close. By the end of today I'll be done with my last final, for Conflict Resolution, and the next thing I'll be looking towards is picking up my friend Karin from the airport! Yes, I am lucky enough to have my oldest friend come across the country to see me, but more on that later.

As I sit in the Library at PSU, waiting for 11:30 AM to roll around so I can meet my friends to complete our online Conflict Resolution final, I just want to look back at my time so far here in the Pacific Northwest.

Coming out here, I really had no idea what to expect, the whole point of it was to follow my sense of adventure and seek something new. I say this, but I still had an idea of what I wanted to happen. I was thinking I would make friends fast, commuting would be a welcome reprieve from my busy schedule, I would get along well with my Aunt and Uncle all while barely spending time with them, and that I would hit up some nightclubs, going out with new people and basically living it up in a city setting. Man, it would have been so great if that had happened. My transition from east to west would have been seamless and I would have immediately been supported in my decision to come out here.

Yeah, so that didn't happen.

Once out here, I barely spoke to people other than my Aunt, Uncle and three year old cousin. I have only hung out with people on three occasions outside of school, all of which had to end before 10 PM as I needed to get back to Oregon City to get picked up by my Uncle. My time was no longer my own, as commuting dictated my life. Where I went, how far I wandered from campus, how long I can enjoy myself before I had to cram myself on the train with other swaying individuals. Feeling trapped by perimeters controlling my life that I don't remember agreeing to, I truly began just accepting my loneliness. If I never have time to get to know people, and my time isn't my own, then the easiest course of action was to just stop trying to find friends. Stop trying to be more than just a passing face on the PSU campus.

I felt unsure of myself, sad that I was alone, but all the while still glad I was experiencing something new. Each day I would vacillate between being okay with barely talking to anyone all day, and others I would be so frustrated that I would keep my head down all day and keep my mouth closed. Both extremes are unlike me. I love people, and in all honesty can barely keep my mouth shut when I sense that I have an audience who will find me amusing! All these emotions of disconnection and apathy I have learned to associate with my depression. And for a few weeks (three) I was off my medicine because I figured if no one was going to talk to me, then I didn't have to be happy, so fuck it. And honestly, I barely noticed a difference. when I stopped taking my medicine. I mean, I had that shit anyway, the fact that I have to take it. But normally, when I stop taking it, I enter a black hole and seem to only see in black and white, slow motion. This time, I think I didn't notice a difference because my reality matched my perception. I really was alone. If I died, no one would know, and I;ll have gone having made no true friends in Portland. A failure. And it's true. When I'm on campus, no one texts me to ask if I want to hangout.

No one even knows I'm here.

With all this in mind, my first quarter at Portland State doesn't end with me alone in a library writing a blog post about how shitty my life is now after I decided I should be adventurous and move to Portland. If that were the case I wouldn't even be writing this post, I would be in the Student Union Building, asleep on a couch because I have nothing better to do and no energy to even scroll though my phone's contents.

With you reading this post, I'm sure you can tell I've gotten my ass in gear and figured a way around my nineteen year old angst. And I'll tell you how: A Paradigm Shift.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Should I be Guilty? Nah

There is a part of me that thinks I should take up my time on this blog writing about things that matter. Topics like race relations and US tendencies to hold a double standard of judgement when it comes to Muslim Americans (in relation to the minority of terrorists in the world) and gun control. Or even to write about current events and just respond to them in a critical and well thought out manner. 

SOMETHING to contribute to the conversations that are happening in the United States currently But then I remember that the most views I've had in one day was five people, so it's not like I have anything close to a soapbox to stand on for people to listen to me. I literally go to school and barely talk to people right now (to my dismay!), so in reality I'm not squandering an opportunity to be heard. It's not like I'm Kylie Jenner who wastes her position as a person who uses cultural appropriation of black culture to be considered desirable, and then does nothing does to defend the beauty of the culture she is taking advantage of.

So I guess right now, in a weird way I am grateful for the lack of relevance in my blog. It affords me the chance to just write about my life and not have anyone comment on it. So thanks everyone for not paying attention to this blog! Most don't even know about it, and, right now, I like it that way.

Thursday, December 3, 2015

Black Lives Matter Essay: Conflict Resolution

I haven't much time to write this, my laptop is about to die, BUT I just finished a paper for my Conflict Resolution class on #BlackLivesMatter and while it isn't perfect (#cramming), I am still very proud of all the research I put into it! There is so much more I want to say, but the paper was limited to ten pages and I have had limited sleep these past few days.

I also want to make clear as the author of this paper that I in no way am trying to speak for #BlackLivesMatter. I am a white female going to school in a city that is known for having a limited diversity. While I speak about the issues at hand; the prejudice, discrimination and blatant lack of value assigned to black lives compared to white lives, I do not live this reality. I come from a place of privilege where I can talk about these things as a person who hasn't really come into contact with people who assign me a lesser value because of my skin tone (my gender, yes, but that's a whole other demon). I respect and admire all the work that is being put into this movement and completely support it myself.

How Black Lives Matter Became A Movement
Conflict Resolution Theories to Support a Change in Race Relations
Megan Blake Keating
Portland State University
The intractable conflict of race relations in America (Burgess).“If lower-power people are continually subjected to harsh treatment, or lack of goal attainment, they are likely to produce organized resistance to the higher-power people” (Wilmot & Hocker, pg. 128). In one line from Wilmot & Hocker’s Interpersonal Conflict, the foundation of the #BlackLivesMatter movement is embodied. When the current system, upheld by the designated power given to police officers to search, arrest and seemingly kill any suspicious individual, was proven to not be working, #BlackLivesMatter was born. Forged from a fire kindled by injustice, this movement has many reasons to be mad.
Founded in 2012 after the murder of seventeen year old Trayvon Martin, the #BlackLivesMatter movement has inspired thousands of individuals across the United States to take a closer look at how fair, or rather biased, their justice system is (Garza). Since then, people have mobilized, actively protesting against unjust deaths of black americans at the hands of police officers. Over the last three years, the #BlackLivesMatter movement has established a narrative that, while imperfect, creates a character set of police departments as the unchecked bad guys, and black americans the victimized minority. This narrative poses a backdrop that many americans felt compelled to doubt prior to the mobilization of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, a racist America; a nation far from having moved beyond racism. This climate, of clear inequality, is even further proven in the statistics that around sixty percent of unarmed citizens killed by police were minorities, despite only around thirty five percent of the United States population being black, hispanic or latino, asian, pacific islander, or native american, combined (US Census).
This structure of characters, setting, morals, and temporal complexity in any conflict narrative, as outlined by Sarah Cobb, effectively shows the basic elements of an issue, and in the case of #BlackLivesMatter, gives a solid foundation for anyone trying to understand what the perspective of this movement is. Naturally, the narrative of the #BlackLivesMatter movement is in conflict with the narrative established by many of the police officers and their respective precincts and unions they are affiliated with. Arguing that they are following through with their duty to “protect and serve,” it is not seen as a racist act to take down a suspect who is threatening a police officer. They claim it is not a matter of race, just of innocence. The values and morals coming into play for the police are black and white, right and white. The fact that it has been shown that the categorization of incidents of black and white regularly apply to the skin color of the suspect in question is something adamantly argued by police officers in question. These “skinny, underdeveloped plots” with “flat characters” externalizes the responsibility of each instance when a black life was taken by a police officer under abnormal circumstances (Cobb). These conflicting narratives of the two parties, moves the issue beyond who is right and wrong, and into the realm of power.    
Inherently, the police have designated power given to them by the state that gives them the responsibility to uphold the law, and maintain a level of security. The formal authority possessed by the police is meant to establish a level of credibility and accountability, one that is checked by the people that law enforcement protect. With this designated power comes power currencies in the form of resource control in regards to public safety and useful interpersonal linkages that connects police departments with all aspects of the criminal justice system, something they may be able to utilize when someone they care about is in trouble, or, as we will see soon, when they themselves are under investigation and resolve an incident in which they acted under mysterious circumstance without any consequences. Lastly, they have an expertise currency that manifests in their situational intelligence and handling of dangerous situations. All of these aspects of power that characterize american police departments put them in a position of power over the allegations made against them by the #BlackLivesMatter movement. They not only have the option to claim they did the “right thing” each time they must shot to kill while on the job, but in the recent cases championed by the #BlackLivesMatter campaign, the support for the police was immediate and unwavering. The inherent support that comes with idea that any action taken by a police officer during a dangerous situation was the right one because they were “doing their job,” is so powerful. Such an orientation of power in favor of law enforcement, #BlackLivesMatter argues with accurate precision, is dangerous. People feel very strongly about who should have power, and the ways they can use that power (Hocker, pg. 106).
Up to the point three years ago, when #BlackLivesMatter organized an effective media attention towards the practices of law enforcement officials against minority members of society, this idea of power was all the public support the police needed to feel comfortable with profiling certain american citizens as “dangerous” based on their skin color. Mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, even gave great credit to the NYPD’s “Stop and Frisk” practices, which were based on police officers “randomly” deciding to stop and pat down suspicious looking individuals walking in New York City, often using someone’s skin color to decide if they qualified. Even worse, many police officers and captains are in a state of power denial. With each death and abuse of a minority, the claim becomes even more spoken that, the denial more adamant, that there is no racial profiling going on, no racist undertones to the actions taken by police.By denying the very real issue of a racist system, the police are perpetuating the power imbalanace but illegitimizing any conversation to be had on the topic. But, despite their best efforts, the death of Trayvon Martin brought forth the issues being denied, and created an opportunity for #BlackLivesMatter to gain their own power.  
While the police possess a domineering type of power, one that makes nearly all their actions legitimate and dissenters look like whistleblowers, the #BlackLivesMatter movement has its own kind of power. Focusing on the effectiveness of the movement to call together people of all socioeconomic backgrounds, and ultimately all races, the communication skills of the organization are rivaled by none. When Freddie Gray was killed in Baltimore while in police custody because of a spinal cord injury sustained while being violently handcuffed and put in the back of a transport vehicle with not safety belt, #BlackLivesMatter responded immediately with a twitter response, protests and dozens of vigils held in honor of another person lost to police actions. After being choked to death because a police officer didn’t believe asthmatic New Yorker Eric Garner when he said he couldn’t breath while being held in a choke hold, BlackLivesMatter responded in record speed, making sure any news outlet reporting on Garner’s death knew that the husband and father of four was doing nothing to deserve being held to the ground for four minutes until his heart stopped and his children lost their dad. Helping spread the word about police on black violence, BlackLivesMatter empowered twelve year old Tamir Rice’s mother talk about her fun-loving son, who was shot on a playground when a white police officer mistook his toy gun for an actual weapon. The expertise that #BlackLivesMatter has shown in regards to spreading their message and inciting action and emotion from the American people, at this point time far outweighs the police’s power. For once there is a power imbalance in favor of those who have suffered at the hands of the institutions that are supposed to be protecting them.  
While in the case of the majority of the deaths, such as Tamir Rice in Cleveland and Eric Garner in New York, the victim was innocent, having done little or nothing at all to deserve the death that was brought upon them, one case does not fit so cleanly into this narrative, Michael Brown. Michael Brown did, it seems, act aggressively. He went into a store and stole cigarillos with a friend. After walking some distance, Officer Darren Wilson caught up with him. Moments later, Brown had over eight shots to the body, four of which were from the neck up and Darren Wilson had a patrol SUV with bullet holes and a few injuries consistent with fighting off an attack. No one can agree what happened between that time, some say Wilson shot Brown unprovoked, other claim Brown charged at him first. The facts are that Officer Wilson was responding to a petty theft and the eighteen year old suspect had to pay for it with his life. People were outraged, angry that a young man was deemed so threatening, so dangerous that he had to be shot at twelve times, that he had to be killed. It wasn’t until the Grand Jury’s decision, to not indict Darren Wilson, that people began to riot, to forcibly take the streets. Thanks in part to the direction & promotion, these riots had a clear purpose, and although stores were looted and fires lit, the word was out. “Hands up, don’t shoot” became the metaphor for all unjust police on black shootings, prompted by #BlackLivesMatter supporters to spread like wildfire across the nation. So, you see, with current events, it has become clear the nation is ready for a change, one that is led by the #BlackLivesMatter movement. So while the police remain the possessors of the state's designated power, it seems the #BlackLivesMatter movement has gained its own kind of designated power, that of the american people.

Keeping in mind the power dynamics of this intractable conflict, and the narratives each party tells, it is important to talk about what may seem like a superficial subject, violence. Clearly the killing of innocent lives across the country is violent, but what needs to be address is the systemic, seemingly ingrained way in which it has occurred for hundreds of years. The well respected conflict resolution academic, Johan Galtung, utilizes a specific visual in explaining the aspects of conflict. Using a triangle, each of three aspects of violence is explained; direct, structural and cultural (Galtung). The structural violence, being the process of violence, in this case, is the stereotype in which black americans have been put, socially and economically. “The massive” violence of slavery “over centuries” that has “seep[ed] down and [turned] sediment” is massive structural violence in the form of discrimination (Galtung, pg. 295). This is what is unconsciously driving the police officers to naturally associate black individuals as dangerous, dehumanizing them into an “it,” more akin to an animal that needs to be put down when acting out than an individual that can be reasoned with, a system that echoes black american’s past as degraded human slaves brought to the americans to serve “pale masters” (Galtung, pg. 295). One of the worst types of structural violence against the black community is mass incarceration rates of black men compared to other demographics. Despite making up just over thirteen percent of the United States’ population, black inmates make up over half of the prison population.Along with, the racial separation between the poor black populations and middle class white populations that occur in many communities and the high mortality rate of black men all contribute to structural violence. An example that may be easier to apply would be that white americans who advocate for the #AllLivesMatter movement, do not understand their structural privilege as historically the “master,” and while trying to promote a universal value of all life, in reality show how, because of their privilege, they haven’t had to ever come to the realization that they are not valued any less by society because of their skin color, that not everyone has the right naturally given at birth. They, The second of three types of violence is cultural violence, the outcome or permanence in society. Also known as prejudice, cultural violence “preaches, teaches, admonishes, eggs on and dulls us into seeing exploitation and/or repression as normal or natural” (Galtung, pg. 295). It manifests in the form of associating black males with violence, alienation of black americans in both political parties, and day to day microaggressions and racism actions. Also know as discrimination, cultural violence is extremely difficult to change, as each generation of children are taught by their parents and in school certain ways of thinking that perpetuate it. If you will, it is a “brainwashing” of sorts (Galtung, pg. 293). Lastly, the most, and arguably the only, visible form of violence is direct. Easiest to determine, it is the crux on which the #BlackLivesMatter campaign sits. Fighting to end the direct violence of police brutality, and more specifically the many shootings that have resulted in a black american dying at the wrong end of a police officer’s weapon, direct violence is the superficial result of deep and ingrained structural and cultural violence that has been going on for many years (Galtung, pg. 295). This is why it is so difficult to change the pattern of behavior when it comes to police brutality. Police officers feel justified in making split second decisions on whether a person is a threat by using their skin color, it’s been rooted into their minds and thoughts since grade school, thanks to the cultural facet of the issue, and grow up to act on these beliefs in the form of suspecting those who are darker skinned.
With  all this information, it is clear that something in the American mindset and practice needs to change in regards to how race is dealt with by the police. There are two reasons for mediating disputes, according to Kenneth Cloke, to avoid or suppress so that one mollifies the conflict without ever dealing with the underlying issues, a settlement for settlement’s sake, or to transform a conflict, opening up a deeper understanding of the issue, allowing for a dialogue to occur that achieves a level of understanding of all aspects of a conflict, so that a solution can be reached (Cloke, pg. 1). It is this author’s opinion that the police fall under the former, and #BlackLivesMatter the latter. “Conflict can be seen as an expression of the highest level of social and political responsibility; as a necessary byproduct of justice,” this is why it is so important that #BlackLivesMatter is fighting against the violence perpetuated for hundreds of years against black citizens (Cloke, pg.1). It would the ultimate failure if the lives lost are in vain, and this national discussion about race relations and police brutality ends in settlement and  not resolution. This is all the reasoning one needs to understand the necessity and nobility of the discussion that #BlackLivesMatter is facilitating.




Works Cited
Burgess, G. & Burgess, H.(2003, November). The Culture of Mediation: Settlement vs. Resolution. Retrieved November 3, 2015, from http://www.beyondintractability.org/
Cloke, K. (2005, December 1). The Culture of Mediation: Settlement vs. Resolution. Retrieved November 3, 2015, from http://www.beyondintractability.org/
Cobb, S., & Portilla, J. (2003). Sarah Cobb. Retrieved November 14, 2015, from http://www.beyondintractability.org/audiodisplay/cobb-s
Hocker, J., & Wilmot, W. (2011). Power: The Structure of Conflict. In Interpersonal Conflict (9th ed., pp. 105-141). New York, New York: McGraw Hill Companies.
Galtung, J. (1990). Cultural Violence. Journal of Peace Research, 27(3), 291-305.
USA QuickFacts from the US Census Bureau. (2014). R