About that Fasces

I posted about the Kings and Queens emblems yesterday as an afterthought while two small children climbed over me clamoring for attention and time on the computer. When I found out it had been linked by the City Room (that never happened here before) I was a little horrified, and sure enough when I checked my post there were egregious typos. I should be used to looking like an *ss by now, I should actually try to start enjoying it.

I've had a little time to mull it over and read Daniel Meeter and Thew's comments about the borough's symbols. Thanks for reading and commenting, as always. I'm actually enthralled with the fasces, I like the feel of bundled sticks and woodpiles, things like that. I looked up the word fascinate thinking it might have the same root but I don't think it does. Fascinate derives from a word meaning evil spell, and I'm wondering what's in the fasces to fascinate me so much. According to many, plenty of bad things. But there's something good in it too.

Over in Queens, they get to identify with tulips, wampum and roses in their emblem, all sweetness and light. Sugar and spice and everything nice. As Brooklynites we get to grapple with the stigma of the fasces seen in our emblem and in the columns at Grand Army Plaza, among other places. Although it's become associated with tyranny and crimes against humanity, like the swastika, which originally meant "auspicious thing," in Asia, it had meaning before it was appropriated by fascists, more along the lines of balanced governance.

It's a bundle of white birch rods encasing an axe, held together with a red cord. I think the cord is interesting, it's the good part, because it symbolizes restraint. I mean, you don't have to get guillotines, guns, bombs or biological agents out to hack away at another human being in knee jerk fashion, you can just adopt a dismissive or vitriolic tone and go at the segment of humanity that annoys you or that you don't identify with, whose values you disavow, or whoever it is you call riff raff. People who can't spell, people whose children throw tantrums, people who are oblivious to your existence. People who drive SUVs or who have big strollers holding 6 year olds or people whose parents pay their rent for them. People who want their shirts even when someone was killed. You can hack away with words and dismissive attitudes as we constantly see in the vomitoriums of various blog's comment threads.

I can't think of any one I know that couldn't at one time or another be associated with either the axe (take that asshole) the rods (we the clique all think you really suck) or the (sigh of relief) red cord, the conscience controlling the mob, a symbol of compassion and self doubt that maintains the promise of balance and the hope that a person will have enough wisdom and honesty to stop judging another. I mean, is there anyone so perfect they're actually justified in that? We all make mistakes. Is there anyone alive who never for a moment treated another person monstrously without even realizing it or behaved like a complete fool?

But there's alot of stone throwing out there. I've enjoyed it as well, but it seems whenever I get my stoning on, I always wind up hitting myself, f*cking ouch. We can disavow the fasces as a symbol of the horrors humans are capable of in an attempt to dissociate ourselves from all the biased governance within our own self-involved psyches. But isn't it more useful to keep it around as a goad for vigilance? We can use it as a mirror of what we are capable of and strive for that cord of wisdom which can reestablish respect where formerly there was only the psychological equivalent of barbed wire. That's why we have that Eagle on top of the columns, the symbol of triumph, because there is no greater triumph for humanity than redeeming as a brother or sister one whom you had just viewed as inhuman or worthless or dangerous.

So that's what we Brooklynites get, if you want to look at it that way. Good times.