Chapter 24: Underneath the Veil; the Vital Breath of Anger

"Listening causes me to find the existence of truth behind the veil." - Loreena McKennitt

It was Saturday afternoon during our 30 minute lunch break and I only had a few minutes left to call my group leader James that I wouldn't be able to come in on Monday evening. Volunteering or "assisting" as they like to call it, for the Landmark Power to Create course was not my idea. But Jules suggested this would be the best way to attend and listen in on the course without paying for the registration fee. At this point in time I was driving for Lyft and freelancing on the side and struggling mightily to keep up with my bills. So the reasoning made sense to me. What I hadn't anticipated was that assisting would mean arriving two hours before the course began at 9am to help set up and also staying behind an hour past 11pm to help clean up and prepare for the next day. My back was killing me and I was physically exhausted. The last thing I wanted to do after working 16 hour days that weekend was to attend a 2 1/2 hour Monday evening session after working a 6-7 hour day driving for Lyft. 

To remain in "integrity" as they like to say, I called beforehand to let James know that I wouldn't be able to come on Monday because that's what we as participants were instructed to do. You give your word and you follow through; if you have to break your word, you clean it up. But when I called to notify James of the situation, I was met with a very different response. "You gave your word that you'd attend every session and I expect you to be there Monday night". And that was it. No acknowledgement that I was assisting for a different Landmark course that weekend, no acknowledgement that I was physically exhausted and in considerable pain. It was you gave your heart and now you're breaking your word. What was communicated to me in that interaction was that James didn't give a f*ck about me or my well-being. All he cared about was looking good in front of the other group leaders and looking good in front of the course leader. As I ended the phone call and returned to the giant conference room where the course was being held, I took my seat at the back of the room. The course leader for Power to Create (a different instructor than my Self-Expression and Leadership Program [S.E.L.P.] course) resumed his lecture but it all sounded like the Charlie Brown indecipherable teacher talk "Wah wah wah wah, wah wah. wah wah".

Several things were running through my mind. First, I wanted to drop the S.E.L.P. course altogether. It's not even like I was getting anything from the course. We were supposed to create a community project and recruit the people in our lives to get excited and inspired to support what we've created. Struggling to come up with anything, I finally settled on creating a Social Media Campaign called #DearBabyMe where people post baby pictures with inspiring messages to their younger self. Nearly 2 months in I had gotten zero traction, a handful of Instagram likes but no one had followed my lead and posted their own photos and captions. After trying several different approaches and reaching out to everyone in my expanded social circle, my project was an abject failure. To be honest, my heart was never into it. I didn't have the bandwidth or energy to devote my time into something that would take even more time away from my figuring out my career path. And my health was declining where my back wouldn't allow me to sit in the chairs for the sessions. I had to bring a Yoga Mat and Zafu meditation cushion to attend classes. 

Tangent: attending SELP and all these Landmark courses in quick succession was a big source of stress and tension in my life. I resented the long hours and the Western centric, masculine forward, legalistic approach to their curriculum. I resented going into business partnership with Jules (the person who introduced me to Landmark in the first place) that amounted to all talk, very little action, and further financial drain. I resented my dad previously trying to pass on a self-employed family business to me of running a water store, when that's not where my passions or interests lied. And I resented that Helie closed KAFE in 2017 because it cut my one safety net; I felt abandoned and left to fend for myself. So my body accumulated years and years of tension, stress, and resentment that only exasperated whatever legitimate back issues I had through natural aging and wear and tear. 

If I didn't drop SELP, then I wondered if I could at least transfer out of my current class and finish the course with a different class. I didn't particularly gel with the course leader because for all her self-confidence and bravado, I sensed a deep insecurity about her own leadership and ability to motivate. Quite a few people had already dropped out of the course and our numbers dwindled by the week. And I damn sure never wanted to see James again.

"When we convince ourselves that we are 'good' people who are beyond 'negative' emotion, we suppress vital parts of ourselves that are deserving of communication and expression." - Mimi Zhu, Be Not Afraid of Love 2022

Which brings me to James. After my phone conversation with him on Saturday, I began to see red. And with each passing hour and each successive twinge of back pain my anger was only growing. Before I left SELP, I wanted my pound of flesh. Literally. As I drove for Lyft on Monday morning after getting very little sleep, I grew consumed with rage as my head grew light headed and my body started shaking. How I didn't cause a car accident through road rage is a minor miracle. If he didn't give a f*ck about me or my pain, then I'd make sure he would identify and experience my pain. I would stop by the Big 5 sporting goods store in Culver City before SELP and purchase an aluminum bat. I would honor my word and attend the evening session except I would make a beeline to James and beat him within an inch of his life. Maybe I would go full Ken Griffey Jr and swing at his chubby face. Maybe I would go straight for his legs and break his tibia so he couldn't run away. But I was determined to shatter his back and leave him in a bloody mess. After I expended all of my energy, I would toss the bat, scream out "there's your integrity", and triumphantly walk out of the course in a home run trot, consequences be damned. I envisioned each swing, the sound of bones crunching as music to my ears, salivating at the growing pool of blood that I'd leave. 

After finishing my last Lyft ride for the day, I stopped at Playa Del Rey and took a stroll along Dockweiller Beach. If I'm going to throw my life away and be charged with assault, I might as well return to my happy place one last time and look at the ocean. I began with calling the course leader because I could have also been convinced she deserved a swing too. I retold the events of Saturday: that I had called the group leader about not coming to class on Monday and what his response was. And the tears began flowing that it was clear that he didn't give a f*ck about me and I no longer felt save in that environment. I wanted to know if I could transfer to a different course or I'd be happy to drop the course entirely. Her immediate response was, "I see from the attendance sheet that you haven't missed any classes. Everyone is allowed to miss two. You're clearly exhausted. Please go home and rest, and I hope to see you next week". That's what I had expected the conversation to go on Saturday. She then proceeded to ask if it's okay if the assistant leader Drew could mediate and set up a three-way call with James. I agreed.

Several minutes later I got a call from Drew and James joined the call moments later. Once again I repeated my account of the events on Saturday to Drew as well as the takeaway that James didn't care about my well-being. Drew acknowledged that I remained in "integrity" by calling ahead and letting them know that I wouldn't be able to attend class. James then chimed in and apologized and admitted that he was preoccupied during our phone conversation and didn't hear me when I explained why I couldn't attend class. And just like that my rage subsided. It wasn't that he didn't care, he didn't hear me. Granted I could go off about the rudeness of being distracted an preoccupied when you're on the phone with someone spilling their guts. But the whole source of rage and bloodlust was born of miscommunication. I no longer had the desire to commit premeditated assault. But I still had no desire to finish the course and see them again. Quick aside, I didn't care much for Drew either. Everything I heard uttered from his lips during the course oozed of materialistic, privileged cis white male dude bro; the utter bane of my existence. But Drew commented, that he noticed how I came to class with cupping marks all over my neck and shoulders and how I carried the yoga mat and zafu with me every week and apologized for not having said anything earlier. He shared that he had also suffered from chronic back pain for years and recommended a book that was of tremendous help to him, Healing Back Pain by John E. Sarno, MD, and how stress and other psychological factors can induce back pain. For the first time in 8 weeks I felt seen and cared for. 

When I returned to class the next week, I gave both Drew and James a hug and we laughed it off. I never did finish a community project for SELP, but I had gotten everything I needed to out of that course. 

Self-actualized people have a sense of justice. They have compassion and care for all people, and work to prevent acts of injustice and unethical behavior. 

That was the first time in many years that I allowed myself to express anger and rage fully. I was taught both explicitly and implicitly that anger was not very "Christian" and that it brought shame and embarrassment to my family. It was the example further modeled by my parents who always avoided conflict. As a result, I was socialized to bottle up my emotions and express my displeasure in passive aggressive tones; have a chip on your shoulder use it as fuel to study harder. Except it never did improve my academic performance. I did take Taekwondo classes when I was 6 or 7 years old and that could have been a healthy outlet, though I don't remember having any anger issues then. When I was older, my unexpressed anger caused me to retreat into my shell and quietly stew and keep bottling my emotions until I'd eventually lash out, like when I was a sophomore in high school and caused my mom to cry because she wanted to ask me something and I shouted at her to get the hell out of my room. I couldn't communicate and express that I was suicidal and the last thing I wanted to f*cking talk about is why I'm getting a C- in Spanish. 

But on that day in Dockweiller Beach, I allowed myself to momentarily transform into a monster: I did want to hurt James and possibly even kill him. And I was angry. But the wounded part of me that long since been bottled up in shame, the energy of rage from abandonment, not being seen or feeling loved, a rage that had long been pointed at myself into self-loathing and self-harm. James finally provided a target for me to point my rage outward and lust for vengeance and retribution. It was only when I was pushed to the brink of physical and emotional brokenness that I finally felt the extent of my rage that I surrendered my desire to inflict that on someone else. Faced with a decision, I consciously chose communication and understanding to break the cycle of pain. 

When you belong to a marginalized community, we are not given the same latitude of expressing our rage publicly. For a White cis-male, their privilege allows them to express their rage publicly without fear of state-sanctioned punishment. Look at the anarchists who openly threw temper tantrums at the outcome of the 2020 election and stormed the Capitol on January 6th. Look at every Kyle Rittenhouse who is able to brandish an assault rifle and kill in cold blood, only to be safely detained (and fed) by the police. Look at every mass murderer who freely published their violent manifestos on Facebook (go f*ck yourself Mark Zuckerberg for allowing this to continue) and deliberately spread misinformation without consequence. Look at a former president who can repeatedly incite violence against people of color, women, and political opponents without any consequence, and if anything was emboldened to raise the stakes each time. 

People of color, especially Black people, are not afforded those same privileges to express their anger.

Women, especially women of color, are not afforded those same privileges to express their anger.

LGBTQ, especially LGBTQ of color, are not afforded those same privileges to express their anger. 

It was when I finally learned to honor and express my personal anger and rage did I connect with what I wanted to so desperately protect: our collective survival and human dignity. I was allowed to be fully present and express a love-based anger over the senseless murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and everyone else who's lost their lives to police brutality. It allowed me to express a love-based anger at every mass shooting, the vast majority committed by white supremacists. It allowed me to express a love-based anger at the overturning of Roe V. Wade by the white supremacist majority (featuring Clarence Thomas who more closely resembles Samuel L. Jackson's character in D'Jango Unchained by the day) SCOTUS. It allowed me to express a love-based anger at the hate crimes against AAPI. It allowed me to express a love-based anger at the murder of Mahsa Amini and other women who's body autonomy are attacked by patriarchy, religious fundamentalism, and misogyny. 

My Anger and rage are things I hid under the veil of being a good person. But the veil has been removed as with the shame I used to have over my emotions. Because through those emotions flows a compassion for others and demand for radical and structural changes. And I found a more potent weapon to wield than an aluminum bat.  

Portrait Photography: https://www.zacharyleeportrait.com