by my friend: Pendarvis H.
I recited this phrase, or some variation thereof, so many times last Wednesday, that it started to lose meaning. Twelve hours of asking the same question to people, and even more time asking it to myself. It reminded me of that one day I said the word ‘spoon’ a million times and ended up thinking: Why in the hell did they call it that in the first place? What does it really mean? What does it all really mean!?!
At one point, I got mad at the question. At another point, I got angry with the premise of the project. The distance traveled pissed me off. The time it took to conduct the interviews annoyed me. The technology I was using made me frustrated a couple of times. And the people who wouldn’t speak to me — especially those who shut me down before I could fully state the aforementioned phrase — gave me the greatest inspiration to be mad.
I smiled as folks gave me disingenuous denials in a Subway restaurant near the Pittsburg BART station. I smiled just the same when a guy brushed me off as he rushed into the BART entrance at 24th and Mission. I looked past those interactions, and kept seeking people who’d answer my question.
At the end of the day, I sat in the Chipotle up the block from the Ferry Building on Market Street, filing my final interviews.
The 12 hours I spent running around the Bay speaking to people resulted in an eclectic collage of human concerns and resolutions. A 15-year-old African American boy blew my mind when he said that Black people made him mad — “the ghetto ones.” A cab driver in Pittsburgh caught me off guard when he let me know that self-medicating was the solution to his anger. A 79-year-old French woman, waiting at a bus stop in Richmond, explained that she lives by herself and doesn’t get mad at herself; hence, she is happy. And I believed her. And then there was 26-year-old Tommy Cross who explained, on his way to work, that the lack of opportunities for those who need them the most is what pisses him off. Tommy works in education, he told me, where he combats this struggle everyday.
In the end, I conducted 28 interviews on the record, and many others off the record. But the folks I spoke to in person were only part of the story. People all over the world responded to my initial Medium post with vivid, sometimes emotional accounts of what makes them mad, from drivers failing to stop for the disabled to the ugly fissures in Silicon Valley. Some wrote about feeling powerless; others condemned senseless acts of violence. One woman opened up about the danger she faces taking public transportation at night.
This tweet about sexual health caught my attention too:
I laughed at the fact that just about every person between the ages of 15 and 32 said they don’t like liars, posers, misconceptions of the truth, and stereotypes. I laughed because that’s the “digital native” generation — a group that has seen massive amounts of lies and misinformation from individuals and institutions come across their computer screens, phones, and televisions since they were born.
Being a product of that generation, I understand.
When I turned their responses around, asking them if they ever lie or cheat, every single person admitted to the same offenses.
I understand this too. I tell a lie every now and then. I’m not proud of it, but I’m human.
And in the end, that’s what this project brought to the light: We’re all human. With human concerns. And human reactions.
While approaching people at random, I noticed something: Most people’s first instinct was to acknowledge the anger caused by the actions of other humans. This was surprising — I had expected people to name some of the bigger, overarching problems facing our society today: income inequality, San Francisco’s tech bubble, police brutality, public transportation, the city’s housing crisis.
But instead, a large majority of folks commented on their relationships, their emotions, and their feelings. More often than not, people told me about being lied to or betrayed by a trusted “friend.” A number of people in customer service roles discussed “how to deal with people.” The common thread was about how people treat people.
There was the woman who didn’t like when people litter. There was the guy who didn’t like people talking behind his back. There was Kathy, who gets annoyed by the homeless folks who camp out in her coffee shop and Carlos, who gets mad when people ask him where the bathroom is. The skaters kids were mad at the scooter kids; other teens were frustrated by people who don’t listen, people who don’t pay attention, fake people.
People. That’s the root of other people’s anger. What are people going to do about it? That’s the question.
“Hey, my name is Pen. I’ve been traveling around the Bay Area asking people what makes them mad and what they’re doing to fix it. May I interview you?”
I recited this phrase, or some variation thereof, so many times last Wednesday, that it started to lose meaning. Twelve hours of asking the same question to people, and even more time asking it to myself. It reminded me of that one day I said the word ‘spoon’ a million times and ended up thinking: Why in the hell did they call it that in the first place? What does it really mean? What does it all really mean!?!
At one point, I got mad at the question. At another point, I got angry with the premise of the project. The distance traveled pissed me off. The time it took to conduct the interviews annoyed me. The technology I was using made me frustrated a couple of times. And the people who wouldn’t speak to me — especially those who shut me down before I could fully state the aforementioned phrase — gave me the greatest inspiration to be mad.
I smiled as folks gave me disingenuous denials in a Subway restaurant near the Pittsburg BART station. I smiled just the same when a guy brushed me off as he rushed into the BART entrance at 24th and Mission. I looked past those interactions, and kept seeking people who’d answer my question.
At the end of the day, I sat in the Chipotle up the block from the Ferry Building on Market Street, filing my final interviews.
The 12 hours I spent running around the Bay speaking to people resulted in an eclectic collage of human concerns and resolutions. A 15-year-old African American boy blew my mind when he said that Black people made him mad — “the ghetto ones.” A cab driver in Pittsburgh caught me off guard when he let me know that self-medicating was the solution to his anger. A 79-year-old French woman, waiting at a bus stop in Richmond, explained that she lives by herself and doesn’t get mad at herself; hence, she is happy. And I believed her. And then there was 26-year-old Tommy Cross who explained, on his way to work, that the lack of opportunities for those who need them the most is what pisses him off. Tommy works in education, he told me, where he combats this struggle everyday.
In the end, I conducted 28 interviews on the record, and many others off the record. But the folks I spoke to in person were only part of the story. People all over the world responded to my initial Medium post with vivid, sometimes emotional accounts of what makes them mad, from drivers failing to stop for the disabled to the ugly fissures in Silicon Valley. Some wrote about feeling powerless; others condemned senseless acts of violence. One woman opened up about the danger she faces taking public transportation at night.
This tweet about sexual health caught my attention too:
— Marie T. Fisher (@mtf419) noviembre 11, 2015
There were a lot that I did not see coming: war in Yemen and pigeons in the Mission. Two teens named Hoods and Jetz, told me that the pebbles in the street make them mad; they can deal with the unwarranted filming and scooter kids, but the pebbles — there’s nothing they can do about those. I was humbled by Reese, a 31-year-old musician and audio engineer, who told me that he gets upset when people aren’t chasing their true purpose, their dream; a selfless concern if I’ve ever heard one.I laughed at the fact that just about every person between the ages of 15 and 32 said they don’t like liars, posers, misconceptions of the truth, and stereotypes. I laughed because that’s the “digital native” generation — a group that has seen massive amounts of lies and misinformation from individuals and institutions come across their computer screens, phones, and televisions since they were born.
Being a product of that generation, I understand.
When I turned their responses around, asking them if they ever lie or cheat, every single person admitted to the same offenses.
I understand this too. I tell a lie every now and then. I’m not proud of it, but I’m human.
And in the end, that’s what this project brought to the light: We’re all human. With human concerns. And human reactions.
While approaching people at random, I noticed something: Most people’s first instinct was to acknowledge the anger caused by the actions of other humans. This was surprising — I had expected people to name some of the bigger, overarching problems facing our society today: income inequality, San Francisco’s tech bubble, police brutality, public transportation, the city’s housing crisis.
But instead, a large majority of folks commented on their relationships, their emotions, and their feelings. More often than not, people told me about being lied to or betrayed by a trusted “friend.” A number of people in customer service roles discussed “how to deal with people.” The common thread was about how people treat people.
There was the woman who didn’t like when people litter. There was the guy who didn’t like people talking behind his back. There was Kathy, who gets annoyed by the homeless folks who camp out in her coffee shop and Carlos, who gets mad when people ask him where the bathroom is. The skaters kids were mad at the scooter kids; other teens were frustrated by people who don’t listen, people who don’t pay attention, fake people.
People. That’s the root of other people’s anger. What are people going to do about it? That’s the question.
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