Here Comes the Sun

O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?

                     --Shelley

Let’s face it, 2020 has been a bummer.  Topping the list of wretched events: the spread of COVID-19.  Equally dreadful, though not as deadly, is the descent of our country’s standing under Trump’s lack of leadership, demagogic buffoonery, and a full-scale attack on decency, if not on democracy itself.  Those two calamities have caused a parade of misfortunes to follow that have plagued everyone and caused worldwide anxiety and suffering.

In the natural course of events, though, after a hard rain (even forty days and forty nights of it) comes a splash of sunshine; after an illness comes recovery (usually), after the war comes peace, after grief comes acceptance, and after a sinner goes to confession, a priest usually offers forgiveness.  I suppose, most things being arguable, one could quibble over any of these assertions, but, finally, let’s agree that misfortune runs its race and eventually comes to the finish line.  After World War I, the war to end all wars, came a period of peace leading to World War II.  And so on.  After the Great Depression with its shanty towns and failed Hoover initiatives came Roosevelt and the New Deal.  After a hurricane wind tears off the roof, we get the hammers and saws and ladders and eventually the repair job is better than the roof was before the storm.  Bad stuff always presents itself, and then we face it and deal with it.  Mostly, we know the rhythm of fate; it comes and goes, always has, anyway.  Though I suppose dinosaurs, if they could talk and reason, would quibble with that view. 

Timing is the difficult part to appreciate because we just don’t know how long it takes for bad stuff to break down and blow away.  It is not like tide charts, ebb and flow details according to a precisely calculated schedule.  No, we have to wait it out with the realization that today is not tomorrow.

Pardon the schmaltz, but I recall a line of poetry written by classmate of mine in high school.  I admired his work and thought his artistic powers were unequaled for someone so young.  Looking back, I suppose he was brilliant in that high school context and for his age and exceptional intellect, but because I have had a lifetime of experience as a teacher and avid reader of poetry, I now know that his poem was good but not exactly groundbreaking.  Still, the line sticks in my mind: “Rainbows come on rainy days.”  What a thought, I thought.  What a beacon of wisdom.  And it is.  Was.  Always will be.  It highlights what we already know, which means, I suppose, the line reprocesses a lyrical thought that many writers have made over the centuries.

So, of course, spring follows winter and rejuvenation comes after the leaves fall and the snow melts.  The plague will end.  Trump will be just an unpleasant footnote in history.  Right now, though, a sun-kissed future is hard to imagine.  But it will come.  It will come.

Words, Words, Words

"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less." "The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things. 'The question is,' said Humpty Dumpty, 'which is to be master — that's all.'"   Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll 

Alice asked Humpty Dumpty what he meant by using the word “glory.”  The anthropomorphic egg replied, “It means what I choose it to mean.” 

That’s language for you, isn’t it?  Let’s say, for example, one uses the words freedom fighter to refer to a person admired for his or her military exploits, as long as those exploits are aligned with what right-thinking people admire.  To another person of a different political shade, however, a freedom fighter may be what the rest of us right-thinking people would readily judge to be a terrorist.  Political choices usually make themselves known when one selects diction.  To the point, think about these slippery words: democracy, justice, truth.  Such unfocused words are amazingly bendable, so much so that they simply lose their shape and meaning.  Like looking into a funhouse mirror, one might easily distort these words to risible proportions. 

For instance, North Korea’s officially calls itself the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.  I may be using a biased definition, but, as a one-party dictatorship nation, North Korea is not even close to what one imagines a democracy to be.  Right along with the Democratic Republic of the Congo, North Korea is about as authoritarian as governments get.  The Democracy Index, an effective guide compiled by UK-based company does its best to measure the caliber and quality of democracy in 167 countries, of which 166 are sovereign states and 164 are UN member states.  Guess which two countries that use an eponymous term to call themselves democratic but are as far from the meaning as possible?  Yup, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and the Democratic Republic of Congo.  By the way, our self-declared freedom-loving republic, leader of the free world and favored by our own assessment as an ideal democracy, is rated no higher than 25th among democracies in the world.  Go ask Norway and Iceland what the word democratic means.  They have the highest rated democratic systems among all nations in the world.

Justice is another problematic word.  Typically we look to our legal system to ensure that justice is accurately served, “an eye for an eye,” and all that biblical wisdom, but as we all know, law and justice are not comfortable bedfellows.  If one has enough money or political influence, justice may be delayed or forsaken altogether.  The written definition of justice does little to help us understand the function of justice in our malfunctioning, broken world.  The universal image of justice (blindfolded figure holding sword and scales) works well only in our imaginations.  Again, what is fair and just for one is nothing of the sort for another.  Social justice, for instance, depends upon one’s point-of-view and one’s social affiliations.  Historically discriminated against groups (gays, racial and political minorities, migrant workers, homeless people, and all those on the margins of mainstream society) probably view America’s justice system as an injustice system, one in which they have little or no influence.  Such as it is, that is the truth.  Which brings us to truth itself.

Truth ought to be easy to corner, right?  I mean truth is what Aristotle and Plato and Aquinas deemed it to be.  Truth is what Jesus said it to mean.  To use a circular definition, truth is what we know to be true.  Fire is hot.  A triangle has three sides.  “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”  Truth is true.  But like putting one’s finger on a bead of quicksilver, truth has a way of refusing to be held down for inspection.  So as one digs into the views of truth over the centuries, mostly from philosophers who love to split hairs, one is left with a spinning head and a world of confusion.  One might even conclude that truth is such a complicated notion that no one can ever know what the hell it is.  Donald Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudy Giuliani, claimed that ‘truth isn’t truth,’ which makes no sense at all, and one may venture to say isn’t true.  But whatever it is, people will never agree that the answer is truth itself.

These touchstone words (democracy, justice, truth), grand concepts all, are worth fighting and even dying for, I suppose, but, finally, they also are beyond words.

Clear and Present Danger

For the sake of argument, imagine that your neighbor chooses, against expert advice, to shun health department and community regulations: he or she burns piles of leaves even though a burn ban is in effect, he or she uses prohibited pesticides on weeds, and, astoundingly, he or she plays solitaire Russian Roulette as an entertainment for the local kiddies.  This renegade neighbor has everyone talking.  Oh, wow, what a zany character.  An over-the-top foe of political and legal appropriateness, this screwball neighbor keeps the local authorities at arm’s-length by employing a gang of attorneys and professional enablers.  As this out-of-control scofflaw often says, “It is what it is.”  Apparently, no civil or criminal commandment can curb this neighbor’s uncontrolled behavior.

Furthermore, as absurd as it may seem, this impervious neighbor has come under suspicion for playing a part in the deaths of thousands of people by failing to control the sickness emanating from his or her illegal fur farm operation, from which a virulent virus has spread to the surrounding community.  When questioned about the appalling tragedy, he or she gives a big smile and the two-thumbs-up gesture, saying, “It is what it is.”

Not very subtle, am I?  I apologize.  Yes, the buffoon I describe is indeed Trump.

To the point, though, a person may be involuntarily committed when symptoms of a mental illness or substance use disorder deteriorate to the extent of endangering himself or herself or others.  Is it too off-the-rails an idea to suggest that Trump fits the description of someone who is a danger to himself and to others?  One need not employ an investigative commission to conclude that the orange man is, at the very least, a clear and present danger, not just to himself but to all of us, the whole world.  In fact, results of a German website poll as reported on Fox News in January of 2020 placed Trump at the top of the list of threats to world peace, easily trumping Kim Jong Un, Ali Khamenei, Vladimir Putin, and Xi Jinping. 

Benito Mussolini and Captain Ahab are the two figures who most remind me of Trump.  Il Duce, the dictator, wore an invincible pride and hubris that Trump mirrors.  And Captain Ahab was so fully self-involved that he was willing to risk the lives of his crew to fulfill his revenge on the white whale.  Melville’s Moby Dick was on the reading list during my undergraduate studies, and my professor’s lecture on solipsism still stays with me, that notion that one’s self is all that can be known to exist.  Like a black hole, a solipsist incorporates everything and everyone around him for his or her private use.  He is the star.  Everyone else serves in a supporting role.  If he kills everyone around him but still gets what he wants, so be it.  It is what it is.

The underlying question remains: is our president really mentally ill?  That question is for the mental health community to analyze.  Regardless, of their conclusion, it is easy to conclude that the grandest liar in the history of US presidents, the Captain Ahab of America, is a clear and present danger to himself and all the rest of us.

Gag, Hack, Pee-ew!

Perhaps you have turned your head in disgust when witnessing a bitter, out-of-control argument, two upset drivers barking at each other over a parking spot.  Or think of that moment when you observed a violent act, a bloody fistfight or a recording of someone being murdered.  An outrage occurred that you just could not countenance, so you looked away, the reality overloading your ability to cope.

       Well, that first presidential debate was one of those moments.  It was a cat fight, a snarling, fur-flying brawl to be forever unseen.  It was a puddle something disgusting to sidestep on the footpath.  If only memory banks came with a delete button.  If you stayed for the whole putrid mess, you must be exhausted, not to mention repulsed by what has become of America’s political well-being.

       Who won?  Who lost?  Not referring here so much to the candidates.  How can one judge a contest that has few or no rules of competition?  This tilt was more like a pig calling contest (the loudest “sooie,” along with the most ridiculous snorts and grunts proclaims itself as the dominant slop master).  What value was the debate to the health of democracy in our country?  The tone, I mean, was difficult to stomach.

       When and if the next Biden-Trump debate airs, perhaps a long walk in the rain is in order, or a viewing of a Three Stooges’ rerun, or just about anything that insures you may look away from the political reality of what we call a presidential debate.

Eggs is Eggs

       Recently over coffee, a retired anthropology professor whom I have known for ages proclaimed that race is a word that has no scientific substance.  “It is a social construct,” he said, “without physical or biological significance.  Everyone knows that.”

       “What” I said, “are you going on about?” 

       “Race, don’t you know.  It’s a word without knowledge-based meaning.”

       “Don’t be daft,” I said, suspecting that he may be talking out the side of his mouth, a trait most social scientists share.  “We use racial identifiers all the time, common as salt and pepper.  Have you read a newspaper lately?  You should stay current, my friend.  Whether we use skin shade or cultural antecedents, or what have you, we sort people by their obvious, or not so obvious, attributes.  That’s what we call race.”

       “Yes, we do.  Of course, those are all arbitrary markers that separate people who are biologically virtually identical.  As the saying goes, ‘Eggs is eggs.’”

       “Please, come now, we hoi polloi reject esoterica from eggheads who nest in ivory towers.”

       “Well, you shouldn’t.  No reason to be anti-intellectual, though that condition seems to be the unanimous custom among the majority of humanity.  Simply put, I am saying is the recipe for making a human being is about the same for each and every one of us.”

       “Then why,” I asked, realizing that he was serious, “do we make an issue out of it?  In filling out printed forms, we often are confronted with those little boxes to self-identify ourselves.  What are we?  White, African American, Indigenous American, Asian American, Pacific Islander, what?  The species Homo sapiens is always broken into categories, isn’t it?  Those categories are what we consider race to be, don’t you know?”

       “Yes but ponder, if you will, chicken eggs.  We have grades of eggs, don’t we?  Small, medium, large, extra-large, jumbo.  We also have shell pigmentation differences: white, brown, green, speckled.  And other distinctions: free range, conventional cage, enriched, and so on—but finally what we have is a clutch of chicken eggs.  Extrapolating, you may regard human beings in the same way we categorize chicken eggs, if you will.  That’s the human race in one basket—chicken eggs.”

       “Okay.”  Unable to pass up the opportunity, I added, “I thought you just making a yolk.”

       “Not at all,” he said, straight-faced.  “Of course, we look for distinctive differences among people even though there are no significant biological differences.  Infinitesimal DNA marker differences, that’s about it.”

       “So we are asked to define ourselves by using specious and baseless templates, are we?  That cracks me up.”

       “Yes and no,” he said, evermore straight-faced.  “There are surface differences among people, true, but we are all the same basic construction.  People like classifications.  What’s the difference between a Catholic and a Protestant, eh?  Even though the two may be siblings, they divide themselves by claiming a religion classification.  We have been doing that for the span of history.  Undeniably ethnic, language, and cultural differences make themselves known among people, but otherwise we are all one big human family.  When you open an egg carton and check the goods for cracks, you may find that some of the eggs have shells with differing coloring shades.  No big deal, right?  You will still make an omelet from the lot.”

       “Race has become a matter of superficial features, then?  That scrambles my mind.”

       My learned friend remained unbending, way too serious for my taste.  “Semantics, isn’t it?  My view is strictly scientific, a matter of biology.  For most people, however, they respond the way Humpty Dumpty did when he said, ‘When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean–-neither more nor less.’”

       “Which brings to mind, underscoring your point,” I said, “when I spit into a phial and send it off to AncestryDNA, the results come back proving that my family’s DNA has been migrating and is associated with regions on a map. Apparently, my ancestors spent time all over the place, as assuredly yours did as well.  The results simply showed where my ancestors called home but do not identify any particular racial category.”

       “We are one race.  Just accept that.  Commonly, however, race is seen as skin color or shade, perhaps a language or diet context, plus a geographical placement—all pretty arbitrary, actually.”

       “So why do we find the need to stage the human race and slice it up as if it were a pie chart—this bit White, this other slice Black, then a hunk of Yellow—since all pieces of the pie share the same ingredients?”

       “That’s what we do.  That’s who we are.  We always look for cohorts, don’t we?  We have an affinity with those hatchlings with whom we share the coop, so to speak.  We want people to self-identify their social or ethnic category.  Are you Roman Catholic or Protestant?  Sikh or Hindi?  Buddhist or Muslim?  Homosexual or Heterosexual?  White collar or blue collar?  Middle or upper or lower class?  Graduate school or undergraduate school or no school?  Vegetarian or flesh-eater?  Liberal or conservative?  Dog people or cat people?  Should we care?  Well, we do. We enjoy sorting things even if those things need no sorting.”

       My anthropologist friend mentioned that the Human Genome Project found 99.9 percent of genomes gathered from around the world were identical in all subjects.  Put another way, the blueprints showing how to make a person are undifferentiated from one human to another.  Hard to believe but the human family amounts to identical siblings, all one giant family.  But there it is.

       Eggs is eggs.

Stars and Stripes

Several thousand protesters, move through city streets.  Many chant slogans (“Hey, hey, ho, ho, fascist Trump has got to go”), some carrying signs that read “Black Lives Matter,” and others hold cell phones high to videorecord police who move in unison alongside the phalanx of marchers.  Ahead, a sizable contingent of counter protesters line the curb brandishing Trump placards and waving dozens of large American flags.  Cops riding bicycles form a protective buffer between the opposing groups.

  This has been a familiar scene over the last several months, testimony to a politically divided country and several cause célèbre misadventures.  In case you haven’t noticed, our flag is more prominently displayed among one contending group.  That detail strikes me as salient as the two sides trade barbs and insults: the “Make America Great Again” crowd waves the Stars and Stripes as if the flag represents Republican-Trumpism attitudes.  Passing protestors have only few, if that, Old Glories hoisted among all the placards and raised fists.  Apparently, the pro-Trumpers have concluded that the Stars and Stripes represents their sort of patriotism, and the BLM bunch has conceded the point, though I wish they wouldn’t because they are as equally proud members of this country as their political opposites.

       You may have noticed Trump hugging the flag as a show of how much hew loves our country.  Honestly, who hugs the flag while smiling for the cameras as a show of patriotism?  Who?  Donald Trump, the fawning buffoon, that’s who.  He is a showman, a salesman through-and-through.  You may also have noticed, too, a recent press conference where Trump stood before dozens of American flags, a wall of flags, to deliver an off-the-cuff speech.  And I am sure you have noticed how Trump employed federal police to clear a street full of peaceful demonstrators so he could reach historic St. John’s Church for a three-minute photo op.  There he stood with a condescending smirk holding a bible head-high.  Get it?  “Look at me.  I am a bigtime Christian.  I want your vote.”  Flag and Christianity, two powerful symbols to let voters know what he exemplifies.  The problem is, in my view, he is neither a patriot (consider his bone spurs to avoid military service) nor is he a devout Christian (consider his vulgar and ghastly moral and ethical behavior).  I should tread softly here in gauging Trump’s allegiances to God and country because who am I, really, to judge others, but, let’s face it, we all have (certainly most Americans) come to the same sad conclusions.  Even a goodly number of those in his family have called him out as a fraud.

       What else is he, then?  He’s salesman, a huckster, a confidence man.  He sold a false bill of goods and services to middle America, to all those good country people who farm and go to church each Sunday and work hard to support their families, all those people in the fly-over red states.  He has defrauded those people who truly want a great America but must settle for a diminished America.

       He has desecrated flag and Bible.

Go to Hell

   Those who say that they are in the light but hate other believers are still in the dark. John 2:9 

       Because Christian fundamentalists conclude that everyone is an appalling sinner, including those making the claim, we are left with little wiggle room to gain salvation (fully accepting God’s grace and so on) or we will go to hell.  It is tribal, isn’t it; either you are one of us or you are not.  Take it or leave it.  No way around that.  Either we are in line with the canon, or we are called out and left out.  Because, by definition, an inerrantist cannot be wrong, that category of fundamentalist Christianity is by default outwardly fanatical, bigoted, intractable, and acidulous.  I confess such a claim is a simplification, but in my view the same conclusion goes for fundamentalists of every arch-supreme religion: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and all the other -isms that begin with capital letters.  What a lot of trouble they all bring to our already broken world.  I know, I know, you will agree, religions themselves are not inherently bad, but the ultra-religious certainly do put out a stink when dealing with those outside their specific castle walls.  One does not need a graduate degree in history to demonstrate all the trouble that misguided religions have caused—wars, pogroms, and outrages in each recordable century of human existence.

       I am reminded of intractable evangelists almost daily, for they contribute to the present-day cultural divide in our country.  Recently, I encountered a man walking an eye-grabbing, large Saint Bernard.  I greeted him with a smile and said, “Wow, what a gorgeous dog.”  He replied, “Yes, people often notice and remark on his appearance, which gives me occasion to tell them about the power and love of Jesus Christ.”  I see, I thought, using a dog as bait, so you may proselytize and spread the good word.  Hey, bud, I thought, how about giving fair warning before setting a trap?  I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I merely nodded and asked to pet his dog before leaving as the sermon was just gaining steam.

       My father was a Lutheran minister, so I have experienced some of the damage the diehard-fixed-view crowd can do.  I remember my father talking about one congregate who drove him up the wall with off-putting zealousness.  This devout salesman of his brand of religion would approach others with tears in his eyes, point to a small gold cross pinned on his lapel, and begin, “See this cross.”  Oh boy, at that point he would start to blubber and carry on, usually asking the poor soul whom he had just accosted to pray with him right there, right then.  I’m guessing that results of this fervent Christian’s testimony drove away more church members than he captured in his snare of playacting.  I say playacting because he used the same schtick on damn near everyone on the church membership list and probably on every neighbor within three blocks of his home.  In the end, I believe this champion of the faith just didn’t think that my father was Christian enough to lead the flock, so the fanatic started a crusade to install a proper religious leader, replacing my father with someone who believed there was no such thing as a metaphor in the Bible.  Odd, that, because I knew that my father was pretty fundamental in his religious leanings.  To a small degree, that zealot contributed to driving my father from the church and into a depression—back then folks called my father’s condition a nervous breakdown.  Though I do not know all details of what happened to depose my father from the ministry that he loved, his calling, all the accounts that leaked down to me had something to do with that man with the cross on his label and his ardent posture toward what true religion must be.  His way or hell to pay.  Isn’t that it for so many I’m-right-and-you’re-wrong snoots.

       Rooted in doctrine from the Middle Ages or earlier, these anachronistic fundamentalists stand for literal interpretations of sacred texts that they, only they, understand fully.  They are know-it-alls, so why disagree?  Fundamentalists believe in truisms that only apostates would deem to critically examine or doubt.  All beliefs, the core elements of pure religion, must be adopted by the initiate.  Or else!  Understand?  Or else!  Could it be that there is a schadenfreude element at work here as well, that some joy comes from the thought that the deserters from the ranks of the onward Christian soldiers (or Islamic soldiers or whatever religious brand applies) will melt in a lake of fire?  It is good to punish heretics.  Sacred book inerrantists have been doing it for centuries.

       To the point: the ultra-religious, not the religions themselves, cause trouble. They shouldn’t but they do.

Follow Me

       Recall fails me—don’t remember when or where—but it probably happened during my undergraduate college days in Seattle.  What stays with me though is the occurrence that for whatever reason should be shuffled to the bottom of my memory deck and forgotten.  But part of what occurred remains vivid.  Here’s what transpired: someone unknown to me walked into the room where a dozen or so partygoers sat chatting about god knows what.  A young man about the age of the rest of us entered the room; he must have been invited because he acted familiar as if he belonged.  He smiled, stood in the center of the room, clapped his hands, and said in a forceful voice, “Everyone stand up and balance on one foot.”  Odd request, I thought.  Then he insisted, “Now!”

       Perhaps half of those in attendance stood without a quarrel and began imitating flamingos.  I do not remember how many others did what I did, which was nothing more than stare at the young man and all those who followed his directives.  Someone, perhaps it was I, asked, “Why should we do that?”

       That’s it.

       Which brings me to the present moment and the emergency orders from governors and other enjoined officials to contain the COVID-19 epidemic.  Officials are not asking us to stand on one foot, certainly, but many folks are asking, “Why should we do that?”  Protesters have gathered at state capitols to challenge bans against opening businesses, beaches, parks, sporting events, and places of worship, among other venues.  Though I do not align myself with the protesters view that we have the right to gather with our chums at the corner tavern and to spread droplets and aerosols all over kingdom come without government interference, I grant that disobedience to capricious authority (“stand and balance yourself on one foot”) is ethically proper and morally necessary.  The larger question here is the legitimacy of the authority telling everyone what to do.  Does the governor have the authority to require us to stay home, to tell us to wear a mask, to keep us from gathering for a funeral, to shutter places of worship, or to sort through a list of businesses and decide which ones are essential and which ones are not?  Depending on whom you ask, the answers are as diverse as the flavor choices one finds at a Baskin-Robbins.

       So far, though, most governors have opted for health and safety over the interests of immediate economic recuperation.  Pretty sure it is hard to go back to work or open the shop doors if one is really sick or dead, right?  But soon our society will once again be open no matter what state officials deem mandatory.  Once the financial car conks out, we all have to get out and push or we are not going anywhere.  And not going anywhere, just sitting in the middle of the road, does not seem like a realistic or safe choice.  There is, of course, a danger no matter what we  choose.

       Those who trust science for answers in reawakening America’s economy know that several stages of recovery must occur.  First, wide-spread COVID-19 diagnostic testing must be put in place.  Everyone should be tested.  Everyone.  Recovery starts there—testing and lots of it.  Without that, this crisis could go on for years if no suitable treatments or vaccines are realized.  So far, woefully, we fall short of knowing how to corner the sickness because we do not know who has it, who is likely to spread it, and who came in contact with the virus and needs monitoring.

       Next, deployment of robust evidence-based tracking systems must be installed.  Daunting job that will be, but all that testing must be sorted, studied, and put to operational use.  Think of tracking as a surveillance tool, one that traces the movements of a virus and all those with whom the virus comes in contact with.  It will be a lot easier to find Waldo if he’s wearing a beeping collar.  Ultimately, privacy issues arise when large numbers of citizens are surveilled; of course we should be concerned.  I am.  The hope is that tracking systems will be one-and done and will only apply to the coronavirus crisis.  Big brother concerns are real, though, and will be well into the future independent from what is done to track this virus.  Like the virus itself, once tracking systems are widely used they will be hard to contain.

       Finally, after testing and tracking phases of recovery, we hope for a treatment and/or immunization that will put a stop to the fear and turmoil dispersed by this virus.  We hope.  While leading immunology experts expect that cures will eventually arrive, no one can be certain.  A number of viruses (HIV/AIDS, Dengue, for instance) have never been defeated by vaccines.

       No matter what happens, several profound changes will come over the next few years because of COVID-19.  Public restrooms will be restyled, and cleaning methods will need improvement.  Self-cleaning features as well as placing limits on the number of people using the facilities will certainly be implemented.  As is, public bathroom facilities are bioweapons that are dangerous unless one practices extra precautions.

       Past practices of travel must also change dramatically.  Air travel, cruises, train use, and auto trips—the way we move from one place to another will need prudence and require physical distancing in much the same way we now experience it.  Post COVID-19 travel will favor destinations close to home, probably by car, and fewer stops at hotels and motels, choosing instead well maintained private vacation rentals.

       More, our workspaces will need reshaping.  To be useful, skyscraper office buildings in our urban landscape must undergo adjustments—recalibrating cubicle and office areas, refitting airflow systems, setting policy for safe use of elevators, and so on.

       How easy it has always been to react thoughtlessly when someone says, “Hi” and extends an open palm for a handshake.  For a while, anyway, that gesture may be met with a gentle refusal, perhaps an elbow bump or a high-five that never quite brings skin to skin.

       In many ways, we are all standing on one leg at the moment.  In this pandemic we seek balance, not because of someone’s capricious whim.  Soon, however, we will regain equilibrium and carry on.

Who's Your Uncle?

       You’ve seen the guy in the pickup who has an oversized American flag waving from the bed of the truck.  He likely has a “Support Our Troops” sticker pasted on the back bumper.  He might be wearing a red MAGA baseball cap.  Maybe a gun rack in the window.  This seemingly ultra-patriotic guy, I’m guessing, is some variety of an extremist, xenophobic, probably nationalistic, and maybe one who believes that most news programs are “fake.”  Sorry for all these assumptions but, well, most of us come to about the same conclusions, don’t we.  When this guy drives by, I usually feel mild loathing at the notion that his use of all those symbols (cap, flag, bumper stickers, gun rack) equates to patriotism.  I am sure he would consider my scowl as evidence that I object to patriotic displays, not at all as proud an American as he is.

       Well, Mister Poseur, I embrace this country too and rebuke your grandstand brand of showing it.  Mark Twain knew all about exhibitionists like you.  He said, “Patriot: the person who can holler the loudest without knowing what he is hollowing about.”  With that in mind, I attest that I will not be in the audience at the Olympic Games screaming, “USA, USA, USA!”  I will not listen to the bloviating blather coming from the right-wing propaganda sources; nor will I countenance the propaganda from any extremist political source, either lefty or righty.  I will not kiss the flag for the audience to admire and appreciate me.  Nor will I burn the flag for the audience to reproach and loathe me.  I will not fall victim to those who go for show; rather I will align myself with those who deport themselves with dignity and quiet dedication to honor the principles of our compatriots as framed in the Bill of Rights.  Those include both service to and protest against the prevailing authority of the moment.

       Forgive this off-the-cuff analysis, but lately a few of these ersatz patriots have made themselves known at statehouse rallies.  Apparently they equate protesting against COVID-19 stay-at-home quarantines as a good reason to show their AK-47s and combat gear.  It is not clear why the assault rifles and military impedimenta are needed to protest sheltering-in-place guidelines, but my guess is that they are signaling that they just may have to start shooting if we keep the caution tape wrapped around the Jungle Gym in the local park.  Ultimately, I suppose, they must believe that their power is being hijacked by decisions tyrannical governors and science-minded officials make, and what better expression of taking back power than by brandishing a sidearm or rifle to those gathered in attendance?  Showing a weapon in public generates an instant intimidation factor.  Do these flag-wavers resent authority telling them to stay home, stay safe?  Do they resent governmental authority entirely, a government, by the way, embodied in the flag they are waving?  What are they thinking?  Are they denying the danger of viral sickness as an expression of liberty?  Okay, probably not, who knows?  But they are acting out in a manner that does not benefit the common good.

       Speaking of that, the expression we hear daily from news shows and commentators: “We are all in this together.”  But are we?  Really?  Preliminary studies done by the CDC suggest that US death rates for COVID-19 virus are much higher per 100,000 people among African American and Hispanic/Latino populations as compared to Asian or white persons.  Reasons for these disparities are various and complicated, but once again wide gaps exist among socio-ethnic-economic populations.  That shouldn’t be news, but the ones who will suffer most if society opens for business too soon are the very people who have already sacrificed the most (those people who must work low-paying jobs because they are on the margins of society, people crowded into substandard living conditions in metropolitan areas, and those who do not have adequate medical and nutritional resources).

       Protesters toting military grade weapons on state capitol grounds do not help our nation get through this crisis.  They are infantile hooligans playing Army during a crisis when patriotism calls for winning the war against the coronavirus.  In effect, they say, “you go your way and we’ll go ours.”  So much for all of us being in this mess together.

Pause That Refreshes

My father had two religions, Lutheranism and Workism.  He had a difficult time relaxing after his service to the church (interim pastor whenever and wherever a local church had a vacancy) and after all the other spadework he executed, which included five days a week at Boeing and endless gardening and building tasks around the house.  Even when he sat in a comfy chair, which was rare, he would be reading the Bible to prepare for Bible Study class.  He was fond of saying, “If anyone will not work, neither shall he eat.”  He nabbed that quotation from the Bible, from which he freely quoted and from which he was ever ready to offer a timely verse to suit any occasion.  So Dad worked.  Hard.  On those days that he didn’t drive to Renton and the aerospace plant, he would stand at the kitchen sink during lunchtime to eat a slapped-together cheese sandwich before returning to the garden to hoe or weed or plant.  He always had a task underway: an additional room to attach to our smallish house, a new fireplace after knocking down a wall, or the supervision of a work party at church.  Taking a day off for R & R was not on his schedule.  The closest he came to aimless recreation was after church when he would chauffeur the family for a drive through the tony neighborhoods by Lake Washington in Seattle, a drive-by tour, I guess, to show us where the well-to-do half lived. 

       Of course, I did not share then nor now his unbridled enthusiasm for work-work-work, at least not to the degree he valued the work doctrine—regardless, I had a fierce love for him.  Perhaps as an act of rebellion against parental authority, I have long cherished regular and mandatory timeouts when working, even though I am not cocksure what the definition of work actually is.  If my father passed down the work ethic to his children (and he sure tried), this child cultivated a pause ethic as well, a gratitude for teatime, for a spur-of-the-moment nap, for an unscheduled walk around the lake.  Pausing refreshes and allows me to be still and silent for a few moments.  It provides space for reflection, for rest, and for considering what needs consideration.

        COVID-19 has affected everyone except for hermits and a few far-flung herding Bedouin communities.  For the remainder of us, daily routines have become unsettling and a cause to look at time in a novel way.  In the end, prudent isolation and stepping back from the load we usually lift may be just the therapy to adjust our lives for the better.  This crisis, this dread, this pandemic is no practice drill, not a public announcement that interrupts the Hip-Hop music on the radio.  This time the virus will change behavior for a long time, if not forever.  My mother was fond of saying that the common cold was meant to slow us down, to make us rest and get well in the long run.  I did not see the logic in that claim then.  I do now.  Springtime 2020 presents the world with a pandemic that is destructive to lives and livelihood and is, bizarrely, an opportunity to change things for the better.

       Have you noticed that the crime is down throughout America?  Also, the stinkers who advocate for war have called time-out to regroup while hunkering down in their war rooms.  And, holy smoke, air quality has dramatically improved around the world because the gears that run industry and all those millions of combustion engines have temporarily shut down.

       All around my Steilacoom, Washington neighborhood people are walking their dogs, getting plenty of exercise, and cooking at home—all good for wellbeing.  Strangers walk by and wave as if we were old friends.  Able-bodied folks make grocery deliveries for the people next door who have physical limitations.  Out of necessity, family and friends connect via Zoom or FaceTime, nurturing closer bonds in spite of the coronavirus and all the physical distancing proscriptions.

       Finally, this unforeseen pause in the way we live may, just may, revolutionize our attitudes toward work and toward the important elements of our lives: family, faith, and enlightened reflection.  When we get to the other side of this crisis, there is a good chance that we will have learned an important lesson.

Schools Without Walls

As the novel coronavirus lays siege to our colleges, universities, and K-12 schools, the last day of the school year may have already passed, denying students the celebratory chant: “No more pencils, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks.”  Ah, yes, so school administrators now must regroup and offer stopgap measures, mostly online services and formats.  Across our state, educators scramble to mount coursework on appropriate platforms.  Practicing physical distancing, teachers, professors, and administrators must adjust to the challenge: to entice students to learn while everyone stays home.  How does one build a new multi-layered education system in a few weeks?  How does one right the world once it has been tipped upside down?

       Having conducted college distance learning courses when curricula were delivered by public television, tape recordings, and workbooks, I realized long ago that formal education need not involve brick and mortar classrooms.  Back then, students snail-mailed their completed modules or delivered them in person.  Eventually, distance learning became indispensable and has been growing ever since.  As computers became ubiquitous, online classes provided attractive substitutions for real classrooms.  With fewer in-person obligations, a student could “attend” class in a park, a coffee shop, a library, a ferry, a comfy sofa at home, anywhere a laptop could connect to the internet.  The notion of going to school changed because school could go wherever a student chose to go.  Recent closures, however, have caused knotty problems.

       Preparing material for an online course takes an uncommon portion of time and effort.  Software and hardware issues present themselves when creating an effective course.  Even though programs such as Zoom and Skype offer video conferencing and communications, not all students have the tech savvy and appropriate devices to fully participate.  Nor do all faculty.  Again, big disadvantages fall on marginal students, especially those who cannot afford suitable hardware.  Left behind entirely are those unmotivated and the less proficient students who need added attention.  Special needs students and English as a second language students will likely find themselves detached from educational resources altogether.

       Despite research that demonstrates virtual classrooms do not prepare students as well as brick and mortar classrooms do, what little education schools now offer is mostly online.  What other choices are possible?  A few remarkable teachers will reach out to students in other ways (FaceTime, group chats, phone calls, worksheet packets, and so on), but for learners in low income groups and for the millions of otherwise disadvantaged students, closing our schools effectively means school is dark for this academic year.

       For those fortunate enough to have online classes available, chatting with your teacher and peers via an iPad or tablet is unlike engaging people in a real classroom.  Lack of social interaction and distractions incumbent with taking a class online can easily defeat an indifferent learner.  And let’s face it, if a student is on his or her own, obediently attending a virtual classroom takes extraordinary initiative.

       K-12 schools especially are left to mount an infrastructure required for comprehensive remote learning?  Too much to ask?  Sure, the horribleness will eventually end, and a boost for everyone will come when students can walk the corridors of real schools with real smiling teachers in real classrooms, when all of us can breathe deeply and touch one another.

Look at My Big Gun

Second Amendment advocates have been on a roll.  Recently, various factions of gun rights supporters have appeared in public to show their concerns (and weapons) over what they fear might be coming, namely, infringements on gun ownership rights from state and local governments.  In Portland (Oregon), Salt Lake City, Richmond (Virginia), Seattle, Frankfort (Kentucky), and dozens of other cities, Three Percenters, the most conspicuous contingent of gun rights activists, have gathered to support their right-of-center version of anti-big taxes and pro-gun privileges.  They resemble militia soldiers in this loosely organized advocacy group; frequently they wear camouflage and tote assault weapons in public places, often alongside other groups out for an afternoon protest of their own.  Outwardly, Three Percenters come ready for war, or they enjoy playing dress-up roles as they imitate battle-ready mercenaries, probably the latter with the threat of the former.  They often wear armor protection, holsters, ammo belts, all varieties of tactical gear, and assault weapons complete with slings—the total cost of their impedimenta must come to well over a thousand dollars per warrior, give or take.  So they march or idle around the public square, an intimidating bunch because they could mow down dozens if not hundreds of bystanders just by flipping off their safeties and pulling their triggers.  In some ways, I suppose, that is the point—spread a little fear while soaking up all that attention.  Flaunting assault weapons and attired in combat gear, these activists present a formidable in-your-face threat, saber-rattling to demonstrate their cause.  Most of these gun-toting groups fall to the right of center on the political spectrum.  That mentioned, what will happen when groups representing the far left (antifa, for instance) begin showing up armed and ready to trade insults (and much more).  It’s possible.  After all, Second Amendment rights apply to anti-fascists and anti-capitalists as well as to the rest of us.  And the antifa comrades believe in confronting the far right, not in elections so much as on the streets.  They appear to be itching for a fight.

  Consider the battle scene in “Braveheart” for reference.  Two large battle-ready combatants screaming insults and war whoops at one another.  What might be the outcome at such a scene?  You know what will happen, don’t you.  Of course you do.  Allowing armed protesters and counter-protesters to face off with lots of loaded weapons will surely end in bloodshed, and, as it stands now, the Bill of Rights permits people to gather brandishing weapons no matter how outrageous their motivations may be.

  In America, violence is a tool of political expression and always has been. From the American Revolution to the Civil War, from the labor riots to the protest movements during the Vietnam War, champions of one cause or another have been doing battle with their opposition.  Fomenting fear and the threat of violence to affect change in society remain common as well as being ethically objectionable, if not morally questionable.  But there it is, big as the Statue of Liberty wearing full battle gear.  Moreover, the divisions among the body politic have become especially alarming.  Consider:

  Earlier this year, political scientists Lilliana Mason and Nathan Kalmoe presented a paper at the American Political Science Association’s annual meeting, titled “Lethal Mass Partisanship.” With data from two different national surveys, they found that 24 percent of Republicans and 17 percent of Democrats believe that it is occasionally acceptable to send threatening messages to public officials. Fifteen percent of Republicans and 20 percent of Democrats agree that the country would be better if large numbers of opposing partisans in the public today “just died,” which the authors call a “shockingly brutal sentiment.” Nine percent of both Democrats and Republicans agree that violence would be acceptable if their opponents won the 2020 presidential election.[1]

  In light of the perilous divisions we face and considering all the assault rifles (some estimates range from five to ten million) in the hands of Americans, it is urgent now to do something more than point out the danger.  Every time there is a yet another mass shooting, the sales of assault weapons skyrocket as people fear gun restrictions will tighten.

  Eventually, because enough is enough, we will have to figure out a way to defuse America’s surplus firepower.  As it stands now, Americans own nearly half the civilian owned guns in the world, even though our population measures about 4.2 % of the total world population.  Subtract the responsible gun owners and what remains are millions of people with millions of weapons all of which pose immediate danger.

  What will it take to blunt the daily bloodshed we read about each day in newspapers?  For starters, how about prohibiting knuckleheads on both sides of the political divide from openly carrying assault weapons in public?

Biometric fingerprint gun locks may help with America’s gun problem.  But that is another matter, another subject.  Beyond that, we had better explore ways to reduce the number of weapons that litter a neurotic and violence-obsessed citizenry.

(Greater Good Magazine)1

Got A Minute?

I’ve been thinking about getting a new car.  It’s been five years since I purchased the Volvo CX90 I currently drive.  Now that is not, most folks would concur, a long time on the road for a well-kept Volvo, I know, but a new car would be nice to own, anyway.  Speaking of bringing things up-to-date, I have wondered if my big-screen television is big enough.  Oh, it seems plenty big for our household’s purposes (baseball games, news programs, and PBS offerings), but others I know have bigger televisions than ours.  Also, I think I’d like the latest iPhone even though the model I use now works fine but is a few generations older than what is available.  Not only that, my wife and I have been thinking about upgrades around the house, you know, keeping current.  Carpeting is getting a little washed out, windows have seen better days, some furniture has become weary owing to twenty years of service, and we’ve been thinking about installing a water feature in the backyard, maybe a small fountain, something bubbling from a stack of artificial rocks, nothing essential but nonetheless something worth having.  Then there is the washer and dryer to consider.  Yes, they still work just fine, but one of these days one or both will go kerflooey, and then where will we be?  I keep thinking that our appliances cannot last much longer and ought to be replaced.  Owning a home means one must always consider enhancements.  “It’s always something;” that’s the line the guy at the hardware store says every time I go in for something.

Though my wife and I entertain purchasing possibilities, it occurs to me that my urges toward consumerism might be something close to an addiction.  Similar to preparing a meatloaf and mashed potato dinner on a winter evening, buying stuff is comforting.  Briefly.  But then one usually needs more consoling, another purchase, more stuff to fuel the high of defeating ennui.  To some degree, many of us have oniomania, an obsession to buy things even if we do not need things.  Pretty sure I have a mild case of that disorder.  Oh, well, we do live in a consumeristic culture, so in some ways I am conditioned to buying stuff just by being a targeted consumer in present-day America.

And, oh boy, are we ever marinated in commercial messages each day.  By some estimates, each of us exposed to 5000 adverts daily, probably more, depending on where we live and how much time we spend online.  Television spots, radio ads, online adverts, cold call telephone pitches, billboards, feather flag signage, blimps, airplanes dragging commercial messages, guys standing on corners twirling cardboard signs, email pleas: all means of imploring us to buy, buy, buy.  Buy now.  Don’t walk; run to the nearest shopping mall and buy our stuff.  You need it.  You want it.  “Call now!  But wait.  If you call now, you will receive an additional thingamajig for an added fee.”  If one includes charitable causes, the distractions multiple and become maddening.  “Change your will.”  “Donate your car.”  “Shall we round up that purchase for a contribution to the Children’s Hospital?”  “Save the whales.”  “The fundraising deadline is just hours away, so help us reach our goals.”  Is there no end to aggressive, nauseating begging?

The engine that powers consumerism is not sustainable, of course, but the advertisements keep coming at a madcap pace, and our over-the-top consuming demands abuses our environment and climate in the process.  There is a limit to how much stuff we can buy at Costco because our homes and garages can only store so much.  Our world is finite, of course, and consumerism depends on more, bigger, better—demands that have no limits.  One can stuff only so much rubbish into a can.  One can drive only one Lexus at a time.  One can only use one burial plot.  We are not sexy enough, not influential enough, not even close to up-to-date enough, and the antidote to all these shortcomings is to buy, buy, buy, and buy some more.  Don’t be left out.  That is, increasing consumption of goods and services is socio-economically desirable and good for the economy even if it does not make a good deal of practical sense.

Nonetheless, because we have yet to be cured of our addictions, my wife and I recently attended the local home show.  As we moved through the aisles of displays we were buttonholed by more than one marketer with the familiar opener, “Got a Minute?”  These sales reps were pitching smart phones, cable television hookups, window replacements, hot tubs, high-tech gizmos, all varieties of goods and services that we did not need.  But, yes, we had a minute.  After all, we paid to attend a home show and should have expected to stroll the gauntlet, subjecting ourselves to full-force, good old American hard sell.

And that got me thinking.  The home show is a microcosm of America.  All the ingredients squeezed into the Tacoma Dome.  Buyers.  Sellers.  Hustlers.  Gulls.  Dreams.  Visa and Mastercard.  Goods.  Services.  All of us looking for a commercial fix.  The whole shebang, the lot of us leading “lives of quiet desperation.”

Whad'ya Goin' Do?

Perhaps you’ve noticed that super-aggressive, line-cutting, loud-mouthed buffoons too often get their way while, counter to a sage Biblical reference, the meek and mild get jack-shit.

       Speaking truth to power usually gets the truth-speaker shouldered out of the way.  That’s how it works if the powerful one does not like what he or she hears.  Outta my way, loser.

       Speaking of loud-mouthed buffoons, what prosthetic balls Donald Trump has.  A man of great invention but peewee imagination, Trump has redefined experience to suit his role as the monarch of all humanity, King Donald.  As he shoulders “losers” out of his way, he is often met with timidity and well-measured responses that lose the day.  Even though he claims status as a “stable genius,” he in fact isn’t, droning his waspishness daily.  Infamously, he has derogatory names for all the people whom he belittles—“Quid Pro Joe” for Biden, “Mini Mike” for Bloomberg, “Crooked Hillary” for Hillary Clinton, “Slimeball Comey” for James Comey, “Al Frankenstein” for Al Franken, “Fat Jerry” for Jerry Nadler, “Pencil Neck Schitt” for Adam Schiff, and scores more insulting tags.  A shameful bully, Trump proves daily that he is an awful person and an even worse president.  Disagree with him, criticize him, and he loads hurtful barbs that he announces with impunity.  He is not ashamed and finds it impossible to ever say, “I’m sorry.”  Because he isn’t and never will be.  His normal response to a significant challenge is to file a lawsuit.

       How did this stinker become our president?  Nearly half the voters saw fit to select a man who can’t spell well, doesn’t read anything beyond stock market quotations, grabs women by their naughty bits, cheats on business deals, is unashamedly a misogynist (even to the point of agreeing with Howard Stern when he referred to Ivanka as “a piece of ass.”), brags about damn near everything, and wastes taxpayers’ time tweeting and playing golf.  To date he has claimed that he is the world’s leading expert on drones, ISIS, law, courts, lawsuits, construction, money, higher education, borders, technology, among just about any other subject known to humanity.  He brags that he is richer, smarter, more aware, better informed than anyone anywhere.  No person in the history of world, he claims, can surpass him in anything.  In short, he’s a nutcase (to use his preferred insult of others).

       I ask again, how did this stinker become president?  And what does one do to counter the behavior of perhaps the most shameful political bully since Joe McCarthy?    

       In his book Trump on the Couch: Inside the Mind of the President, Dr Justin A. Frank, a  former Clinical Professor of Psychiatry at the George Washington University Medical Center, concludes that the president has an erotic attachment to his daughter and a fixation with feces and dirt.  Sounds about right, doesn’t it?  Sex and dirt.  One does not need a couch and a degree in psychiatry to see the gaping flaws of this man who defines the role of a narcissist.

       Norman Vincent Peale officiated Trump’s first marriage and likely had a strong influence in molding Donald’s beliefs in prosperity gospel and the power of positive thinking, even if that thinking is far wide of truth.  Go ahead, big guy, inflate the truth so much that it no longer relates to anything that is verifiable.  And then take it even further into the realm of lies that only you believe.  Only you.  And maybe a few other nutcases.

Free Speech Ain't Free

  Along with most Americans, I believe in the principles detailed in the First Amendment of the US Constitution, especially the wording that guarantees freedom of speech.  Certainly we are not the only country that believes in protecting the rights of citizens to freely express their views in an open society.  Not surprisingly, nearly all democracies make the boast that freedom of expression is a foundation to an open and free society.  Even some not-so-democratic countries (Russia or Turkey, for example) claim to value freedom of speech.  Moreover, some flat-out undemocratic governments insincerely offer freedom of speech and assembly to its citizens: Article 35 of the Constitution of the People's Republic of China gives these rights to its citizens.  In practice, however, what the Chinese Constitution guarantees has little to do with what the Chinese government allows, which should come as no surprise to anyone.  For the most part, leaders of each country make or bend the rules as they wield power regardless of underpinning charters and rules.  Historically, many leaders of fascist countries, for instance, have duplicitously boasted over the freedoms enjoyed within their borders.  Benito Mussolini said, “The press of Italy is free, freer than the press of any other country, so long as it supports the regime.”  Even dictators realize that virtue dwells in freedom of expression, but that freedom must not be dangerous to the “regime.”

       Of course, there are speech limitations in America too.  Libel, slander, incitement to violence, and perjury are not included in freedom of speech protection.  Freedom of speech that we enjoy forbids prior restraint but does not guarantee that controversial or hurtful speech comes without cost.  Good ahead, say what is in your heart, but you can expect criticism from others who likewise have freedom to reply.  That’s what happens in the public square.  One citizen makes a claim, and another citizen may disagree.  And off we go.  There are, of course, limitations.  Hate speech in its many varieties can get one in trouble in most nations that embrace the tenets of freedom of speech.  You have heard the platitude about screaming “Fire” in a crowded theater.  But that example is not a free speech argument, is it?  That is an example of doing harm to others by using a cruel lie (assuming there is no fire).  Accordingly, if one were to confront a sworn enemy with the pledge, “I am going to kill you,” that threat categorically has no free speech license; in fact, it may be a misdemeanor, or worse, something arrestable.  Now, if one were to say, “I wish you were dead,” that unkind wish would be protected under the First Amendment.  Even so, the one targeted with that bad-mannered verbal assault might offer a comeback (“I wish both you and your dog were dead.”) that would also be covered under the First Amendment.  One is free to level an uncivil exchange at another party, but keep in mind that one bad turn deserves another, and usually that is the way it works out.

        Consider, though, where unresolved arguments over the First Amendment has delivered us.  A significant judgement from the Supreme Court’s 2010 decision in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission concluded that money spent by corporations and unions in election campaigns cannot be restricted by governments.  Corporations and big unions, the Supreme Court ruled, were protected like individuals and were able to express themselves by spending as much money as they wish to influence elections.  And they have been doing so ever since.  Money is speech, so says the Supreme Court, but embedded in this ruling lies a danger to the integrity of our democracy because money talks.  Loudly and persuasively.  Consider: money talks.  Who, you may wonder, gets to enjoy the most freedom of speech?  No surprise that rich people have often purchased the microphone, rented the venue, hired the media consultants, secured the television ads, and so on.  (Didn’t I just read that Mayor Bloomberg has recently earmarked 100 million dollars of his own money to kickstart his campaign for the presidency?).  In other words, ultra-rich individuals are abler to employ their constitutional right to free speech.  And it is no surprise that well-to-do people hold most of the elected offices at the national level.  They can easily afford to be seen and heard.  Though the statistics are inexact from year to year, the median net worth of members of Congress ranges well above a million dollars.  That should not be a surprise since moneyed people have advantages that hoi polloi can only imagine.

       President William McKinley’s political ally, Mark Hanna, put the value of money in elections succinctly: “There are two things that are important in politics. The first is money, and I can’t remember what the second one is.”

       Two conclusions: 1) You are free to speak your mind.  Go ahead.  See how many will listen, and  2) Your free speech will stand a better chance of drawing an audience if you have lots of money.

       In other words, free speech ain’t free.  Never was.  And the way things stand right now, never will be.  If one has lots of money, several lawyers on retainer, and friends in high places, that person has more freedom of speech than the rest of us who fly in coach.  Money talks!

Strange Affinities

         Will it be The Rolling Stones, The Hot Chili Peppers, Madonna, Bruce Springsteen, Lady Gaga, Up With People, or some other pop or rock act for the Super Bowl halftime presentation?  Regardless, (I see Jennifer Lopez has been selected as the headliner for 2020) one can count on a halftime spectacular that will have a high production value, lots of dazzling special effects, and hordes of young fans swarming onto the field and gyrating to suggest they (and we) are having spontaneous fun attending a concert.  We aren’t.  With few exceptions (Prince and Michael Jackson), the grand scale of the venue overwhelms the immediacy and effectiveness of such a show, not to mention all the technical difficulties in channeling sound and spectacle to millions of television viewers.  Music, dancing, and special effects never fully connect with a television audience, most of whom are in the kitchen fixing a snack or in the bathroom off-loading the beer consumed during the first half of football.

         And yet.  Why music?  Why not a chariot race or a dancing bear act?  How about a pie eating contest?  Or a falconry demonstration?  If left to choose, I would prefer seeing and hearing a pig calling contest.  Why not have a halftime celebration without wham-bam music?  Why the alliance of pop/rock music to professional football?  My guess: NFL football is violent.  Rock/pop music is often sexually suggestive and/or violent.  There.  I said it.  (Frankly, I don’t know what to do with Up With People because they are mostly white rice and vanilla ice cream).  The marriage of NFL football and big-time pop/rock music is consummated because during a bruising fight nothing goes better than the idea of a good bruising sexual encounter, or perhaps the pounding beat that suggests even more violence.  Throw in piles of advertisement money (generated by football and headliners in the music business) and there you have the American dream: violence, sex, and money.  Let’s all stand and salute the flag.

         Hip-Hip-Hooray for the American way.

            The NFL presents a gladiatorial spectacle each weekend and on several other days each week during the fall and winter.  What goes well with broken bones and head-to-head concussions?  Music that vibrates the fillings in your teeth and knocks you out, sends you for a loop, that’s what.  And on Super Bowl day, brainwashed, slack-jawed Americans lean forward on their couches to absorb the advertisements, one shill after another selling cars, beer, medicine, insurance, and pure huckstering that contributes to a neurotic and sick society.

Okay, Boomer

Chlöe Swartbrick, a 25-year-old New Zealand lawmaker, recently gave a speech in which she proposed that her government take urgent action to reduce the damaging effects of climate change.  While she spoke, an older colleague heckled her mercilessly.  Undaunted, without even looking at her tormentor, she raised a hand indicating a stop sign and interjected, “Okay, Boomer,” and kept on talking.

       Her response has become an internet meme and a mild clapback against my generation, the Baby Boomers.  Her reaction speaks directly to a generational divide that should surprise no one.  

       I remember well my headband and tie-dye shirt days, and I also remember my cohort’s rallying cry back then: “Don’t trust anyone over 30.”*  When I was in my early twenties, I believed the truth of that platitude.  That was then.  Now Chlöe and her generation are saying approximately the same thing, “Okay, Boomer.”  And while blameworthy for some of the mess my generation has shuffled off to Generation X, the Millennials, and Gen Z, we must accept that each subsequent generation edits and revises the work of the generation that precedes it.  That is the way it has always been.  So I am not insulted, not crying ageism, and not requesting a rebuttal for my fellow Boomers. 

       Even considering all the accomplishments and highwater marks* credited to my generation, we Boomers have, let’s face it, left a mess for the young ones to clean up.  And I believe the pleasant rejoinder, “Okay, Boomer,” is a kindhearted rebuke more than an insult because Generation X, the Millennials and Gen Z could easily point to damaging climate change, an increase of kill power for our war machines, growing scarcity of water and food for the 7.75 billion people in the world, and the rise of tyrannical governments across the globe as the true legacies they have inherited from us.  There you go.  You drive for a while.

       Sorry, kids.  May you make the world a much better place than what we leave you.

**Including the literal highwater marks that come from melting glaciers and global warming.

Screen Addiction

Dang, another traffic jam on a Seattle freeway.  As my car judders (stop and go, stop and go) forward at an agonizingly sluggish pace, I become aware that every other the driver in adjoining lanes is eyeing a smart phone or similar device.  Though distracted driving is illegal in Washington state, as it is nearly everywhere, scofflaws continue to pay more attention to their little screens than they do to traffic.  Judging by my cursory observations of other drivers caught in backed-up traffic on I-5, I wonder how many of us have Screen Addiction Disorder?  How can we sit and do nothing when we have the diversion of fingering our little devices that allow thoughts to be absorbed by a brain-numbing digital elixir?  The illuminated screen is so much better than twiddling one’s thumbs, I suppose, but, really, what is so alluring about those small rectangles of brightness?  Is the craving to fix our eyes upon our smart phone screens the equivalent of heroin, digital heroin?  Are the text messages, emails, memes, streaming films, and video games so important that we eagerly risk our lives and regularly demonstrate appalling behavior as well?  Sure, you bet they are!

       The evidence is all around us.  A surgeon takes a cell phone call during an open heart operation; the best man checks his smart phone while standing with the groom as they wait for the wedding march to begin; each member of a family of six each looks at his or her phone while they wait for the server to bring their orders—these occurrences no longer shock us, though we may raise an eyebrow, because we see or hear about them every day.  Criminy, I recently attended a funeral, and the fellow sitting in front of me, I could not help but notice, kept checking his phone for baseball scores.  And who hasn’t been in a public place and been subjected to a loud voice yapping into a cell phone, imposing one half of a conversation to all those nearby?  To many of us little screens induce bad manners and discourteous behavior, and we, unaccountably, have agreed to accept the results.  Well, no, perhaps not all of us.

       Many observers suggest that digital craving is just another obsession like drug, alcohol, gambling, and sexual addiction.  I mean, an addiction is an addiction, isn’t it.  The standard line: an addiction is an impairment in behavioral control.  In other words: an addicted person has got to have it (whatever it may be).  The craving trumps an ability to abstain.  The craving enslaves its victim.  In the end, interpersonal relationships are impacted, and significant emotional problems inevitably arise.  No surprise there, I suppose.  But, addiction is too strong a word for someone who thoughtlessly pulls out his or her cell phone whenever the outside world does not offer enough stimulation.  To that person, myself included, the attention paid to the little screen is a bad habit, not a pathologic condition.  Not to make light of bad habits, but many people have a real addiction to screens.  In South Korea, in fact, the government sponsors detox centers for teens whose lives have become overdependent on their phones and other screens.

       Such a remedy might be a good idea here in America.  My computer at work was acting up, so I called our IT guy to come have a look.  While he was updating my software, or some such remedy, I asked him about a certain video game that my son had mentioned.  The IT guy froze, turned his head and stared at me as if I were a demon sent to poke him with a red-hot pitchfork.  “What?” I asked.  Shamefaced, he explained that the game I had mentioned had cost him his marriage.  “How?” I asked.  Turns out that he had become so addicted to that game that he grossly neglected everything: his wife, his children, his job, and, well, everything including his health and hygiene.  He skipped meals, forgot to bathe or change clothes, and remained in the basement playing his game as if nothing else mattered, which, he confessed, was self-assigned madness.  When his wife announced that she was leaving, divorcing him, he barely looked up from the monitor to dissuade her.  At the time, he thought she was being melodramatic and would be upstairs making him a sandwich when he finally took a brief break from his game.  Months later, he received counselling, professional withdrawal help, and recognized that while his video gaming gave him a distraction from the important components in his life, it had become his life in sum.  All those important elements that comprised his life had wasted away.  In his case, a video game had kept him from dealing with the people, responsibilities, and duties, all foundations of his life pushed aside for (ding, ding, ding) playing a video game.

     For most of us screen time is an annoying habit rather than an addiction, but if you must have your smart phone with you (even when you go to bed), if you are having trouble with dry eyes because staring at a screen means you do not blink as much as you should, and if you refuse to take that wilderness retreat trip because there will be no Wi-Fi, no internet connection, then you may be crossing the line from a bad habit to a real screen addiction.

     Beware, in 2018 the World Health Organization recognized “gaming addiction” as a mental disorder.  They could easily have conflated that conclusion to include all compulsive screen gawking.  To revise and update Marx’s maxim, “Religion is the opium of the people,” one might substitute: Smartphones are the opioids of the people.

       In my case, stress or anxiety trigger an instant response for my digital pain-killer.  If I am at the dentist’s office waiting for that root canal that I have been putting off, I instinctively reach for my phone so I can anesthetize worries if only for a few minutes.

       Finally, most concerning, screens have become blinds to keep many of us from seeing the outside world, as well as hindering our view to look inward.  We are missing the grand landscapes around us and the meditative galaxies within us.

Nugatory News

Every news story has an angle, a spin, a political value encased in diction and syntax.  Words denote substance, of course, but they also come with nuances. They cannot be sanitized, scrubbed of associations, as if they were blood stains at a crime scene.  Words have color.  Like a chameleon, they change shades depending upon their surroundings.  They have (wink-wink) conflated meanings.  Did the victim die at the hands of the police from a “scuffle” or from a “beating”?  Is the person of interest an “extremist” an “agitator,” or a “devotee” of the opposition?  In this picture of a man wearing camouflage and carrying an AR-15, shall we label him a “terrorist” or a “freedom fighter”?  As we know, Fox News has a motto, “Fair and Balanced,” that depicts network productions that rarely are either fair or balanced.  Is the panhandler whom a reporter interviewed an “idler” or “a person down on luck”?  Pick a word, any word, and you make a choice that carries not only a denotation but also a connotation.  To add to the confusion, words are shape-shifters, they change their personalities from one generation to the next.  Take a studied look at the word ‘Nice’ in the OED and you will find contradictory meanings and treatments from one century to the next.  One of my students once identified me as “a real bad dude,” and he meant that tag, I think, as a compliment.  Syntax, too, adds nuances to any report; word order will add emphasis to meaning.  Moreover, modifiers come prepackaged with bias, lending nouns prejudicial meanings: “shady politician,” “dizzy blonde,” “ham-fisted wide receiver,” “cheap suit,” and so on.  Unless one uses numbers to communicate, objectivity is unmanageable.  And, I suppose, even if we used numbers exclusively to correspond, after a while some of those digits would carry connotations. After all, car license plates and phone numbers sell at auction in China for obscene prices (a recent phone number sold for over 50,000 US dollars) simply because 5s and 8s are considered lucky.  The most spiritual number is 10, don’t you think? Don’t you believe that 3 has some special alchemy?  The Greeks thought so.  We have already wrongly associated 666 with abundant satanic associations.  10-4 good buddy.  Gaa!

  News in its many formulae is not only devoid of objectivity but also increasingly devoid of stories with consequential value beyond over-the-fence gossip.  Why should anyone care about the daily activities of the Kardashians?  Really? Does the latest take on the Game of Thrones warrant lead story status across most websites?  Why should we focus attention on the “stunning” dress some starlet wears as she arrives at the Cannes Film Festival?  Sheesh! Should we all turn our attention to Kate Upton modeling a swimsuit just a few months after giving birth?  And how about that fender bender that Justin Bieber suffered on his way to church?  Is there no end to celebrity devotion and the attention we pay to the trivialities they encounter?  How about showing us a picture of the wart on Prince Phillip’s ass?  Did you know that a bride recently had a poop stain on her wedding dress?  Such no-count news items, “Ellen DeGeneres Defends Meghan Markle, Prince Harry Amid Vacation Controversy” crowd out reports of substance (bombings, typhons, political exposés, and factual accounts of significant events) that shape our lives.  When did news become silly chinwag for simple-minded people?  Maybe a better question is: what is worthy of being included in the news?  Are conspiracy theories really worth our time? If the first lady makes a face, the whole connected world gets both the picture and the explication because we care so much.  Did you know that I am a genius if I can answer eight of these next ten questions? Wow.  I had no idea.  Wait, where was I?  I must have a larger IQ than I had previously concluded.  Does Kim Kardashian really have six toes?  Amazing!  Another screaming click-bait feature informs me that so-and-so was caught bare-naked in the self-service aisle at Walmart.  That is a must-see.  Shame on me. Bare-naked, I confess, always captures my interest.

  Beyond the nugatory news items, if, in fact, news items they are, readers face difficulties sorting through the jumble to find what is of value.  The journalism department at Stony Brook University published the following challenges to us as we strive to find objective reporting and evidence-based information.

       The Digital Age poses four information literacy challenges for civil society:

1.     The overwhelming amount of information that floods over us each day makes it difficult to sort out reliable from fabricated information.

2.    New technologies to create and widely share information make it possible to spread misinformation that looks like it’s from an authoritative source.

3.    The conflict between speed and accuracy has escalated. We all want information as quickly as possible, but accelerating the distribution of information in the Digital Era has also increased the chances that the information will be wrong.

4.   The Internet and Social Media make it much easier to select only the information that supports our preexisting beliefs, reinforcing rather than challenging them.  (A NEW LITERACY FOR CIVIL SOCIETY IN THE 21st CENTURY)

 The expression, “you are what you eat” comes to mind.  A corresponding notion: your thinking is shaped by what you read and hear.  Though the analogy may be oversimplied, we have been consuming too much junk food lately, and, of course, that leads to poor health.  You’ve heard about the teenager in England who ate only Pringles, French fries, and white bread?  Vitamin deficiency eventually robbed him of vision, a condition he will suffer for the remainder of his life.

  Must I make the connection for you?  Our vision of the world is seen through the optics we choose.  The clear ones have the fewest flaws.

Sticks and Stones

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me,” a saying I used as a child when verbally assaulted by other children. Looking back, I probably deserved the abuse because I was a bit of a bully myself. Nevertheless, I now renounce the slightest truth in that playground chant. Words do hurt. They are weapons that often leave life-changing wounds. Or worse.

Recently, the Washington National Cathedral issued an admonition of Trump.  The letter signed by three faith leaders came after Trump used boilerplate tropes and insults toward people of color.  “Words matter,” they wrote.  “And Mr. Trump’s words are dangerous.”  They added that “the level of insult and abuse in political discourse…violates each person’s sacred identity as a child of God.”  Their letter comes at a time of an internecine war of words among Democrats seeking the presidency, and in a larger way, during a political civil conflict that expresses little civility.  As the political divide widens, we need voices that call for repair and that will no longer stay silent.

Trump draws an identity as a white nationalist and stirs up filth as he bloviates and flips blame towards people of color and those who come from “shithole countries.”  A baleful tone comes from him with almost every daily utterance.  In this manner, he is similar to Il Duce, Benito Mussolini, the Italian fascist leader who dearly wanted to renew the Roman Empire during the twentieth century (Make Italy Great Again).  The slogan arose: “Il Duceha Sempre Ragione” (the leader is always right). And he infamously claimed:“Italian journalism is free because it serves one cause and one purpose... mine!”  Conspicuous connections, don’t you think? 

Earlier in the day, Trump retweeted a parody account that attributed a famous Mussolini quotation to Trump: "It is better to live one day as a lion than 100 years as a sheep."  Not a bad thought, I suppose, but in Trump’s case, it would be more accurate if he said, “It is better to live one day as the ‘stable genius’ ass that I am than 100 years as a decent human being.”