Sunday, April 11, 2010

I dreamed this the week we workshopped pieces about where our names come from. "Laura" comes from the laurel wreath, signifying victory.

Last week I had a dream that I was sitting on a hill, looking over the neighborhood where I grew up.  I was gesticulating wildly, eloquently explaining details of my childhood to whoever I was sitting with, somebody who I do not think found this subject particularly interesting.  I remember telling them, trying to grasp their attention again, "Most people can't understand."  They heard, but they still weren't listening.

I ran down the hill to meet my Dad and his perfect brothers who, in real life, all have perfect perfect sons, athletic and studying at, you guessed it, perfect places like Princeton (those Westman boys grew up in that big white house, conveniently, perfectly ordered, the number 1234 on the block).  We were all watching some weird show in a big pool of water, something you might see at Sea World, and when we were invited to join in, we all dove in headfirst.  It was a grand spectacle:  people zooming around underwater to jostle it all up and give us the illusion that we were flying through the water.  It wasn't officially a competition, but someone told me that I won it!  And they gave me roses!  Long-stemmed, beautiful red roses that hadn't opened yet; the kind you always want to get on your birthday, or after a performance, or maybe on Valentine's Day if you ever actually have someone of the variety that might give you roses on a Valentine's Day and isn't your mother or your kindhearted roommate.

I was elated, albeit a little confused.  But the roses fell in the water and got all turned up and sideways and bustled around with the rest of us.  Someone drove the long stems through my feet toward the ground, right through the tops of my feet.  My feet: one through the left, one through the right, so that the buds were looking up at me, blooming.  Smiling almost; and as I looked down at them I could see that the defiant tattoo on top of my right foot was not even there.  How was I supposed to take any steps?  To move at all?

And everyone was really proud of me, like it was supposed to happen that way!  Like it just happened to everybody! The tips of the thorny stems poked through just enough to touch the ground beneath my bare feet. Blood speckled the concrete as I tried to walk, and I winced at every step.  I tried to smile.  One foot in front of the other, I followed them as they left the area and headed for the city.

Even though I desperately wanted to, I couldn't take the roses out until I got home; this was one of those silly dream-rules that you simply must accept as a captive audience member and awkward participant in your own subconscious.  Somehow I also knew the whole time that I might never get "home," whatever that meant, which just made me even sadder.  And yet I accepted.  They all kept walking, either because they didn't notice, or they thought I would just catch up soon.  

I tried to follow my dad and my uncles, who met up with men and women I recognized as teachers from my past.  They beckoned, and I did my best to hobble along quietly behind them, but I had to keep stopping because of the pain.  I wanted to put band-aids on my feet, but I didn't have any and didn't want to slow anyone down to ask. I didn't know where they were going or what they wanted from me.

And I didn't call out to ask them to wait.

I ran up a nonexistent hill on Virginia Avenue, near where I lived once (that year of triumph and disaster that still comes back to me in dreams), a thin trail of scarlet blood behind me on the pavement.  There was a series of increasingly more difficult obstacles to overcome as I followed them up, up, up toward my family and I stepped out a window and -- finally!  There they were! I had caught up!

They were out on an extremely narrow ledge overlooking some romantic version of Chicago.  I didn't think I could manage to balance on the ledge with them, especially with those awful roses speared through my feet.   I was scared I would fall, anyway.

The moon was shining over the cityscape below, reflected with clouds in the lake - what a beautiful world sprawled out in front of us.  The first breezes of summer called to me.  I wanted to release myself into the air and let all my happiness carry me over the water all the way home and I closed my eyes and in my brain then there were no swords through my feet and I was swimming through the sky . . .  but I couldn't find the happiness and I was scared and I was in so much pain. As I was trying to decide what to do, my plastic bag (with shoes and clothes) fell away, below.  I watched it tumble out of sight, my shoes hitting open windows on their way to the ground that I could not see.  

I didn't know whether to go after it or follow the Westmans or crawl back inside, and the roses burned me from beneath my bare feet.  And then my family stopped moving forward - and my uncle Dan looked me in the face and said, it's okay Laura, we're coming back in.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I dream in meta-fiction these days


Last night I had a dream that we traditionally had an open community forum instead of just writing letters to the editor about something here in Washington, DC. This week, I had letters prepared about various things, like the importance of The Vagina Monologues (and asking for more funding and more support on campus for them), the power of a low-carb diet and a request to hold an open Q&A to increase awareness, the push for increased dialogue about many things on campus, and a list of true statements to say to my friend Harry, among other topics generally sensitive to me, that my twenty one year old self would assertively discuss.

When I was about to begin reading my written (and rather eloquently written, I might add) arguments, suddenly a flood of people arrived, as if on the Vern Express (late, as usual), like they had all gotten on the same bus due to a late metro train and come just in time. People from my old life, people I knew in high school, in middle school, people I thought I was in love with at some point, people who I thought were mean, people who I thought were too cool, people who I would be bashful to be myself in front of until Alice Turner taught me that I'm just fine the way my brain is and that I am worthwhile; people who never thought of me as anything else other than "nice" and "Elissa's friend." There were people I might always have a funny bond with, because we tried things together (one, arriving with his current girlfriend to attend the forum, came down the escalator and, seeing me, turned and took my hand), coming in with teachers from their high schools and their favorite college professors.

They all walked past me and my classmates to gather in the back of the room, ordering beverages and seating themselves comfortably. Nervous -but mostly excited - I waited for the microphone to be passed to me, so I could give my list of assertions and grievances. And maybe all those people, who - to be honest, probably hadn't thought much about me since we had last seen each other - I always thought had the wrong idea about who I was, and I know it wasn't that important because we all change and evolve, and naturally I couldn't have been myself around them before - but they probably didn't notice -

and all those people, I was finally about to show them what I believed in and who I was. I watched as, one by one, my classmates passed the microphone from person to person, saying something unimportant like "I think Gelman Library should be open longer," or "Why can't we take less than three science credits for our B.A. in a social science?" or "Has anyone seen my Blackberry?" until people stopped listening so intently. The noise level in the back of the room, filled with people from Emerson and from North Carolina and from all over, was rising uncomfortably.

As casual conversation started overcoming the miked college students, the ordered seating in the back became more and more jumbled and the whole ordeal seemed like a poorly organized party as everybody stopped listening to each other. Finally I was next in line to speak, and I uncrumpled the sheets of paper that I had carefully scribbled all over, flattening them against my knee in anticipation.

Despite the diminishing audience, my fellow speakers kept grabbing the microphone from each other to speak. I didn't know any of them very well, and they were very noisy.

I got nervous and I didn't reach for the mike, though it was clear that nobody was going to just hand it to me. And since my audience had started disrespectfully milling around, I accepted the double futility of the action. I walked up the escalator and out the door to meditate. There was grass outside, spilling over a large cliff. It was lonesome, but the view of the ocean was spectacular.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Lucy said, write about feeling old, but not being old.
I kick off my walking shoes and sit down with a pen.

Feeling Old and Not Being Old:
It feels like wearing two pairs of socks in June.
It feels like looking out over your ocean, shiny and markedly apprehensive
you watch your Walrus and your Carpenter beckon you forth to eat.
It feels like surveying a map of your spacetime
and seeing your sixyearsold shame break bread with your fortyyearsold fear
and inevitably you are paralyzed in present.

It feels like wearing a backpack filled with stones
little laughter pebbles falling to the bottom through the cracks of the heart break rocks bundled
worn smooth from nervous touchings
time-distorts
and your mother saying, Sweetie, hi.
Your father asking, can I carry it up the stairs for you?

It feels like automatically saying No Thanks, since you are used to doing things for yourself these days.
It feels like knowing it will all still be waiting upstairs after dinner no matter how much you eat this time, the backpack heavy-sad.

It feels like wanting to shed that itchy itchy skin already but it just hasn't finished growing all the way.

It feels like seeing your face in photos of your mother from back when.
It feels like seeing your face in photos of your mother not yet taken,
it feels like always eating leftovers microwaved too long.

It feels like the globe spinning time dilation slow
a fruitless push against the head wind;
A glance at your wrist and into the air.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Poem to explain my Monday (or, how it feels to be unsure as to whether love is unrequited, and being too scared to find out because she is having a lot of fun and afraid to lose it)



he asks me questions and tailors my theories.
he listens not to most people but to me
and today I could not take my eyes away.

And when I am finished, he smiles a big smile, the one you only see when he flashes it by accident when you did something really funny and took him by surprise 
and tells me with all those teeth and the smiles in his eyes,
that was beautiful.

children of light,
two birds of many feathers shining together
perpetually caught swinging pendulum-time between the points
between passion and practicality
between devotion and dedication
between living and existing 
and between love and rationality.


wild nights inside
the ancient books that explain recent adventures,
the assembled theories, jumbled cross words:
intentions and that which is 
justiciable
never quite in tandem.


And one, 
starved for some semblance of love long desired:
peach fuzz and the flesh 
so soft and sturdy
a swim to the finish,-- what finish?--and
she, hungry for the win,
forgets the important parts.


Or she knows them
all by heart.


Everything we ever wanted
is here.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

This is what I wrote to the Hatchet last year


I really wish you'd stop indulging your columnists. If I were an outsider checking out the GW Hatchet last week, I'd make horrendous judgments as to the emotional immaturity of students on this campus. Last Thursday's issue, perhaps unintentionally, emphasized and legitimized the hook-up culture ("Dating is not dead, just different," Feb. 12, p. 4), lack of "real love" in relationships and cited scientific reasons for not engaging in sexual behavior ("It's OK not to have sex," Feb. 12, p. 4).


The assertive, sometimes wistful nature of these love and sex columns last week was insulting. Your columnists keep trying to whittle down the intricacy of our relationships into categorical, analyzable, short theses only relevant to their own experience. Declaring a social theory out of what you've noticed in the alleged "brothel-like atmosphere" of this college campus is simply na've and obnoxious. Everyone tackles this stuff in her own way, columns like these are just alienating.


Conrad Murphy completely failed to address the physical risks of sex. Perhaps a big reason why some people are also "OK" with not having sex is they don't want to worry about pregnancy or disease. Also, a tip: Evan Schwartz should probably stop referring to women as cows. Not a cute metaphor.
Laura Westman, Junior

Monday, April 27, 2009

Laura Westman
December 15, 2008
PSC190 Final Paper

In One-Dimensional Man, Marcuse identifies freedom when our society has been stripped of all measures of institutional oppression, when public opinion has been abolished, and individuals are free to think as agents of their own. However, this definition is inconsistent and incompatible with contemporary manifestations and ideas of freedom in American society. Because freedom today is largely based around how Americans perceive their own desires and freedoms relative to each other, we can utilize Althusser’s ideas of how ideologies shape our decisions and Foucault’s analysis of power and knowledge to transform the necessary components of Marcuse’s argument to become possible within contemporary American society.
Marcuse locates freedom under multiple levels of awareness. A person is free when he or she may “exert autonomy over a life that would be his own” (2). For Marcuse, obtaining this autonomy is a multistep process within our industrial and technological society: we must be “beyond necessity,” where we are free from want, understanding that society imposes “false needs” that constrain our true freedom, and we must make our technological system increasingly automated and mechanized to free ourselves of the physical and social restraints imposed by the division of labor within this technological system (4). Only in rejecting these false needs and freeing ourselves from economic, political, and intellectual constraints imposed by a repressive society can we be autonomous and consequently, truly free.
Marcuse argues that the rights and liberties that were once the foundation of American society are no longer the source of our freedom. Instead, our free market and developed industrial society have together created a “comfortable, smooth, reasonable democratic unfreedom” in which we unknowingly subject our own freedom to satisfying what we think are necessary goods and services (2). Our desire for these “needs” is purely historical; because of our technological industry, we are able to create them for what we understand to be the benefit of everyone within society. These “false needs” imposed by our ability to produce them for ourselves result in a sort of “repressive satisfaction,” a “euphoria in unhappiness” (5). The technological structure of society grants us a realm of choices, but the provision of choice in itself defines what we may choose, as well as requiring that we even choose from an array of given options. By imposing false needs and producing different ways to fulfill those needs, society preserves its own status quo and inhibits our own freedom of autonomy.
Our society not only preserves itself by controlling our desires, but also uses its expanding technology and power to control opposition. By constantly increasing the standard of living, our technological and industrial society imposes – purely by possibility – new needs and desires upon us that we cannot reject because we understand technological “controls” to be for the benefit of the entire society (4). Therefore, any form of opposition that repudiates these new needs and possibilities appears “neurotic and impotent” (9). In this way, our technological society inevitably suppresses any opposition through imposing new “false needs” that inhibit our real freedom (4). The process is simple; even “modes of protest or transcendence” are the “ceremonial part of our practical behavioralism,” comprising parts of our institutionalized society (14). Counterculture and subversive movements within this society are “digested by the status quo as part of its healthy diet” and usually impose no changes to the system (14).
Because of these weighty restrictions to free thought and inhibitions of autonomy, Marcuse locates our path to freedom in a negative sense, identifying freedom from the economic, political, and intellectual constraints of our society; these are both intangible and physical constraints. To be free from economic constraints is to be entirely free from want and from work; it requires a disconnection from the “work world’s imposing” of “alien wants and alien possibilities” that only force an individual to “prove himself on the market” in order to make a living (2). Political freedom lies in liberation from a political system over which we, as individuals, have no control and therefore have no freedom within. Intellectual freedom is obtained, Marcuse argues, by a complete abolition of “public opinion” and restoration of individual thought (). These locations of freedom are, however, only attainable by an increased “technological process of mechanization and standardization” of our society, and restructuring that “productive apparatus” of society to focus purely on “vital needs,” instead of the false needs it currently manufactures (2). Because the power of the machines in the productive apparatus is only the “stored-up and projected power of man,” humans can utilize the mechanized technology to increase their own freedom (3). Becoming free from the physical constraints of the productive machine processes of society allows us to begin the journey to freedom: becoming aware of our “servitude,” and distinguishing between vital needs and false needs (7). We find freedom in our acknowledgment and subsequent rejection of our servile position to the system in which we live; restructuring the system itself is then our path to freedom. By identifying freedom within liberation from the economy, major political systems, and intellectual constraints, Marcuse emphasizes the pervasive and powerful connections between each sector of society from which we must be liberated in order to be free. Freedom is found outside all of these impeding structures.
Marcuse may be correct in identifying the way in which political and industrial apparatuses of society inhibit what he defines to be our true freedom, but this criticism is incompatible with our own ideas and possibilities of freedom in America today. This limiting and repressive society of false needs is contradictory today: the system is necessary to ensure cooperation, sovereignty, and coexistence, but established rights and liberties, included in contemporary political rhetoric and social norms, protect people from encroachments from the government and from each other. The United States, as a society, is structured to allow the function and coexistence of many different people. When each person usually acts in his own rational self-interest, the idea of a cooperative society gets lost. We must find a way of operating and being “free” while still existing and thriving together in order to function. Marcuse’s theory of freedom cannot, however, fit the possibilities for freedom in contemporary America. Marcuse focuses on individual freedoms that are inconsistent with the composition we can find today.
American “freedoms” are always positive, relative freedoms that are related entirely to how we perceive our own realities. The freedoms we need, or think we need, which is arguably just as important, are largely related to what other Americans have. They began in the negative sense with the struggle for freedom from Britain and then, by necessity, are redefined as positive freedoms in the Bill of Rights and but have since evolved into a binary definition. This is the first sighting of the tension between individual freedom and its possibilities in the context of a society that must also sustain itself.
Because we have the power to demand freedom when we perceive its necessity, “freedom” in America is always relative and reactionary. We recognize it, acknowledge where we do not have it, and we demand more of it. Freedom is defined less by what specific liberties we claim, but more about who has any given freedom and who does not. Sometimes we demand freedom in response to an encroachment upon freedoms we may already have, like the current protest against Proposition 8 or civil rights and liberties cases. In other cases, we perceive that another person or group has a specific freedom that we do not, seen in American struggles for freedom from the American Revolution through the Civil Rights and Women’s Rights movements. Our ability to have reactive freedom comes from the nature of our democracy and theoretical ability to make our own demands of our government.
The different types of freedom that we see in the United States today are all in individual pursuit of happiness. Perhaps Marcuse is correct in identifying our desires as “false needs,” but American freedom is truly located in our perceived level of happiness relative to others and our ability to attain that level of happiness. Though we may be contained and our desires may be defined relative to others’, we still have the ability to work to achieve what we believe to be truly important. This is the cornerstone of American freedom.
There are two levels of American freedom: freedom in equality – the relative freedom described above – and freedom of pursuit. We can identify freedom within our own choices, within our ability to define what exactly will make us happy, and within our ability to become successful in that particular endeavor. Within a society built upon the idea of autonomy and sovereignty, freedom of choice, even a regulated freedom of choice, is absolutely necessary. His assertion that our society confines us by controlling our desires does not address the reason why our society can do this in the first place. In a way, we consent to the system, we need it; our operating within it, accepting the desires and working under the political and economic system, is a means of allowing us modes of choice and a system in which we can negotiate both types of freedom. There must, on some level, be a price for civility and stability.
Possibilities for freedom in contemporary America are paradoxical in this same way, but they can be harmonized through the institutions and mechanisms that theorists like Marcuse actually identify as repressive. Freedoms must, consistent with American values, tradition, and history, allow individuals to decide by which means they wish to pursue their own happiness, and grant each individual at least the same opportunities as his fellow citizens have to do the same. It is not clear from where we create our own ideas of what will make us happy. There is also a necessary aspect of negative freedom, a freedom from coercion or in which individuals must be kept free from others who will impede their own autonomy and liberty to make that choice.
Because of this aspect of negative freedom, Marcuse correctly states that we must be freed from economic constraints, but not exactly those he locates. While the obligation to work does seem to constrain our freedom, our society could not function without it. The solution to this problem is in tandem with the vague but valid notion of our society as a cooperative one. The structure of our government and economic systems must reflect this idea through more regulation, working to equalize our opportunities. Regardless of our own given resources, we each must work similarly to pursue our own happiness, and in this way, earn them in the context of the rest of our society. This type of economic equality will transform our relationships to each other and ultimately fix the problems Marcuse identifies within suppressing opposition, as we will choose our own ways of life in more ways than one.
Foucault, Marcuse, and Althusser argue that our perception of autonomy, the way in which we live our lives, and the choices we make are entirely dictated by the society in which we live, rendering us the opposite of “free.” However, the materialization of freedom within the United States today is centered on relative freedoms, defining them in the context of our historical situation and allowing us to decide within our society what we wish to pursue, while still holding society together cohesively. Using this definition, Althusser’s theory of ideology and Foucault’s identification of the relationship between power and knowledge can transform Marcuse’s one-dimensional society to fit harmoniously with possibilities for freedom in American society today. Marcuse finds limits in the places where we find freedom, rendering his ideas useless, inappropriate, and impossible in contemporary American society. Though Marcuse’s theory cannot be directly transposed into American society, his “one-dimensional” thought becomes all-encompassing when paired with Althusser and Foucault’s own criticisms. The combination offers a remedy and explanation for the impossibilities of Marcuse’s arguments within contemporary American society.
Althusser’s ideology transforms Marcuse’s Althusser, however, finds limits to freedom deeper within our own decisions. He argues that our own decisions are influenced by pervasive ideologies, so even our ability to gauge what will make us happy is not our own. This seems like a very pervasive limit to freedom, however, but actually the concept of ideology begins to transpose Marcuse’s argument to fit with freedoms in contemporary American society.
These relative freedoms identified above may seem to be another manifestation of Marcuse’s “false needs,” however, Althusser’s ideas of ideology transform Marcuse’s argument so that it has a possibility and location in contemporary American society. Altusser argues that ideologies are not systems of real relationships, but rather that ideologies are how individuals imagine their own relationship to reality. Althusser identifies this as an augmentation of freedom, however, ideology and Marcuse’s “repressive satisfaction” actually help to construct our own ideas of what will create happiness for us, and how we may obtain it as individuals comprising one society. This transforms Marcuse to fit into American freedom today by explaining our use of the institutions he argues are repressive, explaining how we construct our perception of ourselves in relation to others and to society.
Marcuse also argues that freedom begins when we acknowledge our opposition of servitude to institutions; a subjection that is seemingly inevitable, a necessary evil within American freedom. However, it is what we do with this position of servitude in the context of our perception of reality that truly defines the freedom, or limits to freedom, within our realities. Foucault’s The Eye of Power actually gives us autonomy in this respect, granting us freedom within our perceived relationships to the institutions that govern our lives.
Foucault’s power-knowledge analysis also transforms Marcuse’s arguments by giving individuals a mode of becoming more autonomous within our ideological system. In The Eye of Power, Foucault helps us to understand how we become subjects of the specific society that holds us back, arguing that power within a society relies on freedom rather than destroying freedom to exist and maintain itself. Within our daily practices of power between individuals in society, we are in a constant state of self-awareness that causes us to censor ourselves and to behave. Though Foucault may argue that knowledge and power relationships limit possibilities of action – limiting freedom – it is in these relationships that we find our link to freedom. Foucault’s identification of the relationship between power and knowledge indicates that with an increase in knowledge, we gain power, either over ourselves or over others. Marcuse argues that we must acknowledge our servitude to our society; this in itself is a shift in power-knowledge relationships. When we acknowledge our relationship to society in this way, we gain more power in the form of autonomy, allowing us to operate in what we perceive to be a free way within that structure, in whichever way we would like to pursue our own happiness.
Foucault’s emphasis on visibility also transforms Marcuse’s argument to fit possibilities of freedom in contemporary America. Because the key to understanding American freedom is understanding that we locate freedom within our perception of our own reality, in relation to other individuals and institutions. Foucault emphasizes the importance of visibility within institutions; he argues that visibility and surveillance subject us to the opinions of others constantly. However, visibility, especially within political structures, gives us the idea of control. If we can see every level of society, especially within the people who comprise very large and pervasive institutions, we enjoy the idea of control over it. Consequently, ideas can be expressed and freedoms can be demanded as necessary.
Perhaps we locate these as our freedoms because the constraints on us by our political and economic institutions – as well as their intellectual and social implications - are far too great and powerful for us to reject, and we must find freedom somewhere. However, such definitions of freedom allow us all to operate together within a society. Marcuse’s argument that the “false needs” created by society inhibit our freedom would be true if his definition of freedom were compatible with its manifestations in contemporary American society. Because Americans find freedom in their perception of reality, as long as we can negotiate our own desires and demand freedoms from government and from society, this definition of relative and reactionary freedom stands. Within a combination of one-dimensional ideas, Althusser’s ideology, and Foucault’s The Eye of Power, we can transform the one-dimensional thinking into a compatible model of freedom in contemporary American society.

Friday, April 17, 2009

We truly are fraught with contradiction.

Locke argues that the duty to labor comes from a right to self-preservation, which we do by following the laws of nature that urge us to take advantage of what is granted to us by God.  Locke writes in Chapter 5, Section 31:

That same law of nature, that does by this means give us property, does also bound that property too.  God has given us all things richly (1 Timothy vi. 12) is the voice of reason confirmed by inspiration.  But how far has he given it us?  To enjoy.  As much as any one can make use of to any advantage of life before it spoils, so much he may by his labor fix a property in:  whatever is beyond this, is more than his share, and belongs to others.  Nothing was made by God for man to spoil or destroy.  

 The laws of nature oblige us to labor in order to avoid "spoiling" God's gifts, while operating in self-preservation.  In its organization of people, societies inherently automate this process, and we learn that we must labor as part of preserving ourselves within that system. The mechanism through which we can preserve our individual selves within our society is by laboring, as Locke writes in Chapter 5, Section 35,  "The law man was under, was rather for appropriating.  God commanded, and his wants forced him into labor."  
 The obligation for the rich to provide some property to the poor arises from the second proviso of Exodus, "enough, and as much" condition to property acquisition.  The exchange of "enough" between the wealthy and the poor is contractual.  The wealthy are obliged to give; the rich man's ancestor may have been but a poor man who stumbled upon a plot of land and tilled it efficiently, building a substantial fortune over subsequent generations from this first act of labor.  The "Charity" given from the rich to the poor is equivalent to this first act of property acquisition by laboring, granting nothing but opportunity, over which the poor must labor, similarly.  This is where the poor person's end of the contract comes in, as the "Charity" is not a free ride for the poor, regardless of the particularity of the benefit.  Both parties give, one by charity and one by laboring over that charity; society is stronger for it.
 The "strong individualist" interpretation might warrant Locke to focus on the importance of the poor's willingness to labor, but he must, in turn, emphasize the obligation of the wealthy to provide the poor with the opportunity to labor for their own subsistence.  Each effort needs the other.  Both must make a living; the wealthy may continue to prosper by employing the poor.  In this mutually beneficial model, both are operating freely and pursuing self-preservation and prosperity.
  The "strong individualist" interpretation would still require state mechanisms to help each individual preserve her or himself.   The entire foundation of government is to help individual persons preserve their selves, and this happens through labor.  Government policies to help facilitate this process are not only necessary, but the absence of such supports would be entirely inconsistent with the purpose of government.  The government must provide work support systems - these are more consistent with Lockean philosophy than welfare benefits - that require beneficiaries to engage in work-related activities to preserve themselves. 
 In this way, being a strong individualist does not require writing off the social obligation, as the "strong individualist" and "social obligation" interpretations of Locke's arguments are not of mutually exclusive situations.  Locke would not oppose taxation to support a work-support system; in the same way that a vote in an election is consenting to the will of the majority (Chapter 11, Section 140), paying a tax to a government under which I own land is equivalent to giving up some natural liberty so that I can be preserved under that state.  My livelihood and my security would not be guaranteed without that system.  Both actions consent to and legitimate the government and society.  In this way both interpretations can be fused, for what is helpful in preserving each individual is also an act in preserving the common, societal good.  The price for this process is a tax: a social obligation that serves many different purposes.  Strong individualism and social obligation are tied together, creating a stable, functional society.