Political Ecology of Story

I just joined a group of students at Berkeley- for wine, around a wooden table- at a French delicatessen named after one of my favorite animals- the chicken. Connecting over glasses of vino as academics have done for eons. En vino veritas- in wine there is truth. I felt seriousness, a connection that I miss at Davis- a criticality that they bring to what they are doing and where they are. It challenged me. 

We met with a professor with a big heart. A man who once wore the vesicle on his sleeve – but had it gnawed at by Berkeley. By vested interests. By moneyed interests. By forces larger than any of us around that wooden table have seen in battle.

It’s so important for students to understand what their mentors are going through- the hazing they’ve encurred to get where they are- and what their research threatens. I’ve only heard the story from my mentors, who are young, and yet unscathed. Without the shared knowledge we are all complicit in our own silos- captive- alone- isolated. Thinking that we are the only ones to feel this way or that.

But we are not alone. Somewhere in an office somewhere- there is someone very much like us- wishing they were telling their story around a wooden table of like minds with some cheap wine to loosen the tongue.