Elwing's Experience at Burning Man 1999

I've posted along these lines on the Burning Man E-Playa bbs so some readers may be familiar with what I have to say. Others can rest assured that I recognize the fact that my own, personal interpretation of any event is limited to my own experience, and is by no means meant to influence or guide anyone else's experience. Finally, I will add that I am NOT BITCHING! I had a blast, once again, at Burning Man 99, and look forward to 2000 and beyond. I'm just exploring some thoughts here, and offer you the opportunity to do the same.

It is my understanding that, despite the base origins, Burning Man evolved as an experiment in temporary community. While I'm no scientist, I must confess a certain fascination with this kind of experiment and its results. How does a society evolve? When does the structure of a culture move past the basic requirements of human survival, and into the realm of social development? How often do we get to see an entire society begin from the ground up, a city formed out of the void, so to speak? That's what we have at Burning Man.

So, with this in mind, what is happening, socially and culturally in our little microcosm? I have only second hand knowledge of anything before 1997, but the pictures and words tell me that there was anarchy, near chaos (albeit ordered chaos), and relative lawlessness. This chaos peaked in 1996, when a drunken driver crashed into a tent and killed a camper. Growing pains at their most critical. . .

The growing pains were probably exacerbated with the media "discovery" of Burning Man in 1995 and most notably in 1996. The HardWired book, HBO exposure, and even bits on mainstream media such as Nightline and World News Tonight, opened the eyes of the world to a "grand party in the desert." Add to that the impact of the internet, and you have instant tales of El Dorado spreading throughout the world. Streets paved with gold? Well, golden brown playa dust, maybe. . .or golden tanned flesh, if that's more your bent.

The population of this temporary community, Black Rock City, doubled almost instantly after 1996, then doubled again in the two years following. 10,000 people my first year ('97), 15,000 by '98, and now 23,000 citizens as the final counts for 1999 come in.

Anarchism, as a political principle, is not suited to extremely large groups of people. At some point, centralized control becomes essential. Otherwise, organized chaos becomes uncontrolled chaos and the entity will implode from the power vacuum sucking at its heart. Law must be declared and enforced. And so it has been. . . from the "No Guns" and the "Park it and Leave it" policies, to the point where a theme camp was actually ejected from Black Rock City this year (an unprecedented course of events in this community that so prides itself on free and unguarded self-expression). The city government which once merely sought to make sure no one died has now come to take responsibility for the protection of individual psyches. The citizens can no longer be expected to govern and police themselves, they must now be protected from themselves.

One of the facets of this experiment which captures my attention is the birth over time of xenophobia and bigotry. When a community is just beginning, it is all-accepting. Difference is embraced and nurtured as the community begins to develop an identity and a purpose. But as identity is established, mere differences become aberrations. Tolerance declines as elitist attitude replaces egalitarianism. Possessiveness blossoms, alongside territorialism and control issues.

Direct and blatant enmity has come to be directed at "outsiders". The Media, "frat boys", photographers, "tourists" who wear street clothes. . .all have been vilified. And in this process, the stereotypes perpetuated by prejudice grow stronger, to the point that any individual not naked or clad in outlandish costume was cursed with the worst epithet of all. . . a Spectator.

Spectators. The curse so unique to Burning Man and Black Rock City, has come to mean so many different things. What is a spectator? Well, Webster's online dictionary simply says that it is "One who looks on, or watches." (Well, it also says it's a kind of woman's shoe, but that's another issue altogether.) Given that definition, aren't we all, at some points or other, spectators at Burning Man? For all our attempts at "participation", don't we often just stop and watch?

But at Burning Man, spectating has been branded a crime. Of course, in the general philosophy of this city, participation is contribution to the growth and identity of the city, while spectating is making a deduction from the city and the will behind it. If you are here only to watch, then you are taking without giving. I'd dispute this, with the basic premise that so much of the art and performance at Burning Man would be pretty meaningless without an audience. Watching, or more specifically, appreciating, is a valuable contribution to the artist. But I do agree with the idea that, if you don't take part in the community you miss out on an integral part of the experience. The idea, I suppose, is that you should participate at least as much as you spectate.

People once came to Burning Man to entertain themselves. Now many are coming to be entertained, and that is a dynamic that many of the Burning Faithful find distasteful (even heretical, but we won't look at Burning Man as a cult/religion just now.) It is the difference between being a citizen and being a tourist. Or, I suppose, the difference between being a participant and being a spectator.

The formation of cliques and subcultures is also a side effect of the growth of a society, and Burning Man is no exception. When the event populace consisted of several hundred or even a few thousand individuals come together for a collective experience, there seemed to be a more communal atmosphere. In the current environment, though, there are now enough other individuals with the same values and interests that cliques have formed. Black Rock City went from a single "Theme Camp" to the rise of entire "Villages" and districts. A walk through Black Rock City at the height of the week is becoming like a walk through some major metropolis, with a Chinatown here and Little Italy there. . .only the districts are a little less mundane and commonplace. There is still a general, civic-communal feeling to the city, but it seems to be over-reaching the bounds of common or shared experience. How long before attendees are coming solely for the Rave towns, or the SM villages?

Is this a road to ruin? Has Black Rock City already completed the rise and fall of civilization in a meteoric race through the cycle? In every Utopian experiment, the end result was either a totalitarian despotism, or dissolution. The human species does not seem to bide well in the absence of some kind of guiding, governing force. But it also seems that the very ideal of Burning Man is to escape the governance of this modern world, to be where you are personally responsible. . . not only for your own experience but for your very survival. I wonder if that ideal can ever again be truly met.

It is with these thoughts that I reflect now on my experience from 1999. I felt strangely detached, out of place this year. The energy (pardon my new-ageness) was odd, at least to me. And I have labored since returning to the world with my attempts to figure out what was wrong.

I tried to write off this experience as setting my expectations too high after the pure magic of last year. And that was probably partly correct. But this year was going to be different, and I knew that going in. I was only here for half the week, arriving late Wednesday night. I had to wait until Friday night for the arrival of my girlfriend, Kat, which meant that, while I had several friends in our shared encampment, my primary confidante and soulmate was absent. So these are things I had to take into account as my experiences were formed.

But there were other things. I never felt that sense of "risk" this year. There seemed to be no danger or spontaneity in the air. Of course, spontaneity and danger were everywhere, but I didn't "feel it" as I have in the past. Things felt sanitized and safe. Things felt planned. One of the pleasures of Burning Man is that you never know what you may stumble into as you cruise the playa, day or night. And this aspect was certainly there in full force this year. I walked into performances, took part in a couple of "game shows", and stepped through incredible art pieces. . . not to mention some of the other things I happened upon. Mine was NOT an uneventful week.

Yet, it all still felt "off". I can't describe it beyond that. Then, on Saturday night, the Burn itself kind of prematurely incinerated. Without the usual build-up of energy, the man popped, sputtered, and went up in flame (How odd, though, that the fire began in his heart. . . and that this was the 13th Burn). We had no choice but to cheer, but it was fairly lackluster from most quarters. "What the hell happened?" seemed to be the common question. But then the Man fell, and we danced. There was some of the old abandon, but it waned quickly.

On Sunday, as we watched the traffic jam leaving, I felt a kind of difference. The wind changed, literally, from North to South, and it warmed up. It "felt" more like Burning Man. Kat strolled the line of backed up vehicles, misting the folks in their overheating cars with cool water spray. We shared tequila and rum with the guys camped across from us. Suddenly, at last, the feeling was coming on. Too late, perhaps, but finally.

Kat drank too much over the remainder of the day, and I found myself wandering the playa alone on Sunday night. But this time was different. It was "right". Burning art dotted the playa, and a warm breeze lifted my sarong. It was easier to mingle into various scenes, and be part of whatever was going on. There were no firemen holding the crowd back from most of the installations and performances. Once again, it felt like the price for stupidity was death or dismemberment, rather than a stern scolding from a Ranger. The magic was happening.

But then it was Monday. It was over. Time to go back to the "real" world and all that we had escaped for such a brief time. And I found myself wondering if I had really escaped anything this year.

All that said, Kat and I are already making plans for next year. We intend to make plenty of prior arrangements so that we can attend for the full week. I think that helps to develop that sense of community that I missed this year. And we're planning our little activities, so we will have something to offer. . .so we can participate.

Burning Man itself is a massive artwork. It's a living work, and subject to all the forces of reality and change that mark passage through time. No one should expect a particular experience from this event, and counting on things to remain the same will almost definitely lead to disappointment. Maybe that's a trap I slipped into. I'm still not sure.

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