Obligation
We’ve borne witness to a murder in crisis, dozens of crows circling our quadruplex for the entire evening, cawing endlessly. I can’t imagine they’ll be anywhere else anytime soon, they’ve stumbled upon the gorgeous cypress tree in our garden and taken a liking to the stippled lighting she casts. Our upstairs neighbors gave us the scoop on the commotion: A baby crow got stuck in the wire fence around the edible plants section, and the murder formed a perimeter to protect him. One of our neighbors freed the corvid from his prison, but his injuries rendered him unable to fly. A (hopefully) temporary affliction, but one that plants unlikely roots for the otherwise airborne creatures. Until the baby heals, we have new neighbors. I intend to befriend them.
I’ve been thinking a lot about obligation lately, specifically in the context of the obligations we share for each other. My near decade of hospitality work painted a decent portrait of the manner by which people treat those at their service, and that portrait resembles Ivan Albright’s Picture of Dorian Grey (1943).
First, a small caveat that definitely tints my reading of all this: I started hormones 5 years ago, and have been undergoing a public metamorphosis since. The world at large offers the dolls very little in the way of grace, but the intersection of public-facing service work and transsexuality can be particularly cruel. When at the mercy of a crowd of sneering tech workers on their third second round of mezcal shots, tolerating the invasive questions and constant misgendering despite obvious cues to the contrary is best handled through mild dissociation. One could argue that applies to much of the early stages of a sex change. Dissociation is useful, but blunting psychic experiences takes its toll eventually. So, I may have beef with this line of work in ways the average server doesn’t. To be fair.
What are our obligations to each other in the context of hospitality as work? A cursory glance at any related subreddit would indicate the answer is complicated. “Is tipping a good thing, or should I continue to hoard what little wealth I’ve trawled from the depths of the vast sea where my soul once was?” etc. This confusion always baffled me, especially while I was on the front lines of a pandemic, my cappucino game so killer I was deemed an “essential worker.” And yet, tipping seemed like a tall ask for the maskless homeowners. They didn’t feel obligated to express support for those at their service at the cost of our own well being. I covered alot of shifts for coworkers sick with COVID-19, sometimes out of compassion for my comrades, sometimes out of obligation. I am obligated to pay rent, of course.
My confusion stems from this basic contradiction: We have all been tasked with stewardship of a rock hurtling through an infinite universe. That universe is generally ambivalent but through some act of divine benevolence, we are here. Perhaps it’s the naivety of a 27 year old, but shouldn’t we like, try to care for each other at the bare minimum? Why is cruelty so prevalent? I can’t answer that one, yet, I’m just now entering my new chapter as a Girl Who Reads Theory.
I have been told, often by the same people who described me as “naive,” that some kind of universal compassion in society is simply impossible. Maybe, but I’d like to at least give it a shot. I am watching our current society burn itself to the ground in order to fund AI deepfake schoolgirl content and endless violence against marginalized people, I can’t imagine this is the optimal configuration.
The crows are still causing a ruckus in our garden. The woman we spoke to at the Wildlife Center assured us they will not leave the baby’s side as he recovers. Not to be all Carrie Bradshaw about it but, I couldnt help but wonder…What urge compels these birds to stay by their companion’s side? The calls from the crows in the cypress tree ring out, responses coming almost instantly from the Buckeye tree below. A messenger descends, carrying food for the injured young one. Obligation fulfilled.
