The Drug Question.

Dearest TASPers,

I am going to make a concise enumeration of some fundamental issues that have been gnawing at my innards all through the night for the past week and some days, and I want you to please remember that ideas should be separated from individuals and that none of the statements or expressions of personal preference contained therein are meant to construe any sort of overt act of individual criticism, or cultural criticism at large.

First, concerning the issue of substances which may or may not be present or used
at the upcoming New York Reunion.

Without becoming preach-y or calling on DeForest & Veiller, I think that it can be said that there are, at times in the human experience, concerns and circumstances which cause an individual extreme distress and concern, regardless of assurances given otherwise, and regardless of a logical grasp of pertinent facts.

These things said, I can attest quite firmly that at least one member of the slated party of reunion attendees has spent long hours in meditation and creating lists and attempting to exorcise logical fallacies, and has come to the conclusion that she is not at all comfortable with drug activity on the part of her fellow TASPers during a reunion which will cause some members to make ample arrangements by way of travel involving an indebtment to parental figures, who would never knowingly allow her to enter into such a situation, and who hold views, like her own but for different reasons, disposed against her participation in such activities. She recognizes that such activities are by no means the defining aspects of personality for the advocates, and are by far secondary to the characteristics and long chains of nostalgia and shared experience built over the summer in St. Louis, and furthermore, has sufficient knowledge of drug culture and the merits of drug-based group social activity to understand the reasons that other members of the reunion would wish to partake in such activities in the company of those trusted and loved.

She also comprehends quite clearly that :
a) these actions do not presuppose an obligation to partake on her part
(or on the part of any others present who decline,)
b) one cannot attempt to prescribe the (morals/ethics/lifestyle choices/intellectual preferences/political statements/methods of amusement/escapisms--take your pick, I hope that I have included all!) of others.

However.

After lengthy cogitation and individual conferences with a good number of our crew, she must regretfully state that she is absolutely torn between the fervent desire to see those people who have grown more dear to her than almost-anybody-else-on-the-earth, and the sinking personal realization that she will not be able to handle "sitting in" (or out, for that matter) on group drug activity.

And here, I will switch to first person.

In the long list of reasons for and against drug use, I am all too well acquainted with the reasons pro, but cannot shake a gut compulsion (call it my Midwestern conservative background, if it makes it easier to stomach, but really, it is just the fact that it is something that I am chronically uncomfortable with) that such behavior is something that I cannot let myself be even a marginal part of.

There is no dogma involved, and no implicit motive other than I am sick to the core with the thought of seeing some of you stoned/high. I understand that the experience is not a terrible one, but it is an experience that I have, for better or for worse, spent a good four years of my high school career consciously avoiding.

Quite frankly, if I wanted to face a situation that I know is a contentious moral issue for myself, I could do it here in the shelled-out gut of Ohio. And a contentious moral issue (personally) is the last thing that I would want to come spreading its long metallic arms between myself and those that I love. Who would want that? It would be quite silly of me to require my mother to drive me out to New York State for a crisis perhaps involving breakdown and promising disillusionment and unhappiness on my part, and probably consternation on the part of those who wish that I would "lighten up". I wish that I could. I wish that I could continue hammering out my thesis essay or analyzing sin and consequence and individual obligation in Thomas Hardy without stringing my innards out to the tune of experiential ethics, but I feel that I must write this, and now.

Indeed, these statements and this situation at large is unfortunate, because I have been forced to call back into consideration the basic social fabric and countercultural, anti-establishment leanings of institutions such as Reed College, which once were the proverbial Parthenon on my proverbial Acropolis. I realize that for all of the allusions to Hegel and Desmosthenes I have culled over the years, for all of my hooroar-ing allegiance to Kerouac and the absinthe school of French poets, for all of my "studies" of Leary, I do not lead a liberal lifestyle, and on this small precipice of time, do not want to and am not ready to, even if I did want to. In all honesty, I was calling these things into question before. A dear friend of mine who ascribed to a moral and lifestyle code quite similar to my own has ruined herself with drugs in the last semester, and I have noticed fundamental--small, but quite discernible to a friend as close as I--changes in her being that frighten me immensely. And this can't be contended. This is the only truth I know concerning any equation involving illegal, consciousness-altering things, myself, and my TASPers.

I am very, very afraid.

If you read only one part of this, read this:

I would like concrete assurance, in the form of a comment posted below, that substance-related entertainment and activity will not go on in New York during the duration of my stay. Indeed, I will be arriving on a Saturday and hopefully staying through to late-night Sunday, and would be silly to list the days prior to my arrival in which a goodly number of individuals are still gathered. That said, I have learned from Henry Clay that one must compromise, and to those of you wishing to experience something interesting and communal (and huzzah! without a sobbing & confused Jessi in the background) will have both a Thursday and Friday to do so. Mind you, I am not condoning such behavior. I love you. Be safe and please do not do silly things.

To those who find this entire post preposterous, please recognize the torrents of anxiety and dread and fear that I have had to crawl through to even summon the minimal requisite amount of courage to voice these fears. I know that you might have reasons to convice me that drugs are not bad, or that I should shrug off the yoke of dominant society which feeds me moral judgments based on Congressional rulings. I understand these things, but I cannot bring myself to approve, and cannot come to New York if I am not given such assurances. Really. I mean this. I can-not come if you do not promise me "no weed; not on those days."

Please, please, loves. Tell me the truth. Do not tell me that you "do not know" what will happen, because if you plan on busting out the (insert scientific name) those two days of the weekend, I will not and cannot hold you against it, and only ask that you tell me now.

If this does not seem amply confidental to disclose such information, I am readily avaliable, either by email or telephone, or, less desirable in this case, conventional old mailbox.

I know that this is an impossible amount to ask.
Essentially, so that all confusion is cleared, I am asking that the rights and desires and silly little sick-to-the-stomach principles of an unclearly defined minority be respected over the "positive" desires of the group seeking to participate.
In short, I am asking that I be respected.
This is not something that I am used to asking,
and may well be the only time,
but I want to see you all. All of you. Sober.

Please.

And know that I hate this. I hate this more than anything, but it will be what I must do.
And there are sacrifices far larger than I could ever seek to enumerate that would be involved in giving up the opportunity to see all of you. I love you immensely, drugs and all, but I do not want to see any of you on drugs. We survived at Danforth with only the bold intrigue of our various deranged minds & wits, a delightful amount of caffeine and a less-than-advisable amount of sleep deprivation, and with all of our forces gathered (and a bit of Modernist architecture to condemn), the merry state of St. Louis should be easy to recreate.

There may be better ways for me to formulate my argument, Aristotleian logic or otherwise, but truly, I am not asking for a debate of principles or a discussion of drugs themselves. I am attacking no-one. I am bringing forth a plea for respect, tolerance, and compassion based on the groups that I will be either annoyed, hurt, uptight, hopelessly confused, hair-rippingly-distraught, or worse yet, seized by feelings of betrayal, if I come to New York to witness such things. At heart, this is a plea. If not for understanding, then for consideration in spite of all of that.

Any additional commentary or support would be appreciated more than anything in the world.
I love you. And the biggest request of all: Please show love to me. I am coming a long, long way to see you all.

Pleadinging,
One Very Concerned Jessi.