As Kevin and
I walked out of Sunday service, there I saw it: next to the dumpster
across the car strewn parking lot on top of mounds of grey brown
months old snow were the remnants of a discarded and forgotten organ.
How often do we sit in church pews and get swept by the music that
envelops us, but never reflect on the instruments and the history of
how that music is produced? I felt guilty. That mound of snow with
its broken organ became a symbol of indifferent wastefulness; I began
to reflect on my time as a transient resident of Detroit.
When I start
typing "Detroit is…" in Google, autocomplete results are
predominantly negative. "Detroit is crap." "Detroit is
dangerous." "Detroit is a war zone." "Detroit is
scary." The news has been dominated by Detroit with headlines of
the largest municipal bankruptcy, the phenomena of urban flight, and
the downfall of the automotive industry. The lights are out. The
roads are broken. The jobs are lost. The incomes are unequal. Detroit
is that broken organ next to the dumpster. Or at least, that's how it
has been perceived, labeled, and dismissed. Detroit, the gleaming
beacon of American industrialization and exceptionalism, just like
that organ, the gleaming centerpiece of visceral artistry and
spirituality, has been discarded in lieu of progress. We live in a
world speeding towards change willing to discard the trappings of the
past. How do we respond?
The decision
was easy. Two days later, Sarah, Elizabeth, and I drove by that
dumpster and saw the broken organ still there. After a few minutes of
struggling with wood and ice, it became obvious that the other parts
were too heavy or bulky for us to carry. In the end, we were only
able to salvage the keyboard: the interface between instrument and
man.
The keyboard
in my room sat for several days. Ideas were thought up and summarily
thrown out. Should I turn it into a wall mount? Should I use the keys
to create a lamp? Should I use the structure as a canvas? Should I
separate the pieces and create different projects? In the end, I
decided to use the entire structure as a whole to create a bookshelf.
I spent two nights measuring and making plans.
Eventually, I
bought some planks of wood and had them cut at the store. The
sideboards I had to cut myself. I ended up buying or borrowing other
tools like a saw, a sander, and a drill. The first day, I spent four
hours just cutting, sanding, gluing, nailing, and varnishing the
pieces. Along the way, of course I made mistakes. I broke some
drillbits, got splinters in my hand, inhaled some sawdust, put the
pieces together crookedly, and spilled a can of varnish. I got
frustrated and distraught. My product was imperfect and crooked. I
had to remind myself that I'm a novice. The experience was in trying
to create beauty and functionality out of trash and the barest of
materials. The project became a symbol of how to interact with
materials in an imperfect manner, but still find value in the
process. In the end, I was left with a flawed but valuable product
that I am proud to have created. I redefined the refuse to create a
bookshelf: a storage space and product of creativity.
So what is
Detroit? Where do the fingers of its people intersect with the
foundations of the metropolis? Where does its people get involved in
the process of redefining a dismissed city? With a city, flaws
permeate its existence and its redemption. In Detroit, I see people
work everyday to make it better. Doctors, caseworkers, legislators,
lawyers, volunteers, teachers, chaplains, and community organizers
face an avalanche of human suffering daily. They see the flaws of a
city and try to work with the barest of resources for
redemption. The victories of course are not perfect. The medicines or
housing or food or counseling that can be provided cannot fully
remedy the failures of social structures. Even after safety nets are
provided, people will fall between the cracks. The marginalized may remain marginalized. But, is that reality grounds for pessimism and
inactivity?
In the end,
my project taught me to enjoy the process. The process is what will
redeem Detroit. The results will eventually come to fruition, but it
is the process that most excites me about Detroit. There is an
excitement and an embrace of the process that is full of optimism in
the light of all the suffering. There are days that make it hard to get out of bed, but Detroiters still do and hope for tomorrow. People that I work with, have met,
and admire in Detroit see the marginalized at their level. They embody
the imperfect process of redemption along with the people they serve.
At the end of the day, it is in those imperfect interactions at an
equal level that redeems Detroit. It is in the solidarity of a people
in imperfection that allows for Detroit to re-imagine itself.
There
are objects, moments, people, places, and skills that, over time, eventually change, lose purpose, or is discarded. The
progression of violence, failure, and industry has rendered
Detroit, its people, and its industries irrelevant. Or at least that
is how it is perceived. Everyday, there are interactions in this
city, in any city, that are slowly redefining and re-imagining its
potential. As people, we have to acknowledge these efforts and not be
bogged down by the results. We have to allow our imaginations to see the potential and beauty of each and every interaction we engage in. So with that in mind, let's keep building
bookshelves.
[Sorry for the inactivity]
