Not Again
Yep, that’s right, do-gooders are again pulling books from shelves and telling inquiring minds and the rest of us what is safe to read and what will harm us if we reject their advice and think inappropriate thoughts inflamed by verboten books. It happens every generation, priggish, well-meaning zealots dictating the standard of morality that we must ratify.
You may have read a few of the banned books commonly found on the decency assessors’ lists. Captain Underpants, the Bible, Two Boys Kissing, and, of course, The Catcher in the Rye, the usual suspects. These titles as well as hundreds more were found lacking and subsequently removed from bookshelves. The customary objections surfaced in several categories: offensive language, sexually explicit content, blasphemous subject matter, and graphic violence. Most of all, however, books were banned because people need to be protected from impure and unpleasant thinking. In the dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451, books were banned to save people from thinking too much, which would certainly lead to conflict and degrade the general happiness of society. Don’t worry. Be happy.
For years, I taught English at a local college. Each year our librarians sponsored a banned book reading in conjunction with other libraries all over the country. A dozen students and a few faculty would take turns reading passages from books banned by one or another holier-than-thou school board or public functionary. Entities prohibiting certain books were either in the state of Washington or in adjacent states. Readers stood on a make-shift stage near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Waughop, each volunteer taking a turn at the microphone reading passages from banned books. Usually, a few dozen students on their way to class or heading for a study carrel would stop to listen as we read selections from Satanic Verses, Catch 22, American Psycho, In Cold Blood, The Adventures Huckleberry Finn, Of Mice and Men, To Kill a Mockingbird, among others. In this way, we thumbed our noses at the craps who engineered chastity belts for our brains. We read excerpts from poems and children’s books, and sacred texts—all on one list or another, material banned from schools or libraries. “Sorry, lads and lassies, you may not read forbidden literature. What were you thinking?”
Practically applied, of course, banned books are easily acquired, aren’t they? Sure, many school boards have policies that remove certain titles from the classroom and from reading rooms, but one can always go to a bookstore somewhere nearby, or online, and procure a vile book. Insist that Johnny not read the Harry Potter series probably works as an incentive for Johnny to read every disturbing word of all seven volumes. Seek and you shall find, eh. But still the attack on freedom of expression rankles. It should, anyway.
And before we conclude that these prohibitions are concocted only by right-wing politicians and family-values Republican absolutists, think again. We find those who want the rest of us to adhere to their wisdom on both sides of the political divide, the insufferable self-righteous right as well as the sanctimonious and censorious left.
The progressive left, as you may know, has a thing about groupthink, insisting that offensive statues, flags, and portraits be removed from public places. Too, they demand that all racial epithets in The Adventures Huckleberry Finn and every inferred belittlement of all minority groups be stricken from the record. Point taken, certainly, but the interdictions can, as the cliché accurately describes, “throw the baby out with the bathwater.” Of course, if one uses a word or two found on the politically incorrect list (ugly, blackballed, forefathers, Merry Christmas, actress, manhole, fat, skinny, Oriental, poor, and too many more dealing with race, gender, religion, appearance, and so on), then one will be immediately censored or at least corrected. To sharpen an already pointed injustice, the highfalutin left insists it is time to repair the errata of the past. Correct thinking only, please. As if that were possible. Many WOKE folks demand that certain voices from the right be banned from presenting lectures on campuses for fear of violence, not to mention the dread of radical right ideas being voiced in public. Let’s keep all awkwardness off campus, please. The proper way is my way or the highway.
Shut up! No, you shut up! Shut up! You shut up first!
Recently, many voices from populist rightwing groups have been gagged by left-leaning social media platforms on grounds that the righties disseminate dangerous and inaccurate information. No doubt they do. But to shut them up is another way of claiming that the dumb-sheep public can’t handle lies and outrageous theories. And because Twitter, Instagram, Facebook (Meta), and other platforms are owned privately, the defense of censoring the righties falls on tech companies that avow they can do whatever the heck they want to do. So there. Take it or leave it!
While there are legitimate reasons to suppress communication that is solely meant to harm or slander, in the main the greater damage, though, comes from herding the populace into submissive behavior, incapable of critical thinking or contrary views. Why do you suppose dictators make it a crime to criticize them?
Our country has suffered from a political schism for some time. Each side of the divide has taken measures to assure that those on the other side of the gap be censored. Republicans want to censor Democrats who want to talk about Critical Race Theory. Lefties want to stifle Righties who encourage citizens to protest government authority over vaccine and mask mandates. Righties want to harness a woman’s right to choose an abortion. Left-wingers want to curb right-wingers’ unrestrained populism. Republicans want to place constraints on who and where one may vote. Democrats want to legislate political correctness in everything from choosing the proper pronouns to defending human decency as they see it. Christian Nationalists want mainstream church and state integration, excluding non-Christian religions. Those in opposition to the Christian Nationalists want to keep all religion out of the public square.
You’re totally evil. No, you’re evil. Oh, yeah! Yeah!
Shut up! No, you shut up! Shut up! You shut up first!
Zombies
Is it depraved, while playing a video game, to kill reanimated corpses? How about pretending to kill virtual, realistic figures (not zombies)? It’s fun—BLAM, POW, BLAST!—to kill a zombie, or better yet, to slaughter a whole mob of those shambling, stupid buggers who stagger toward you with outstretched arms and with the intention to feed on human flesh. They totter across the screen coming straight for you, so what choice do you have but to re-kill the post-apocalyptic horde? It is a blood fest to enjoy, isn’t it? It is like kicking a dead horse, which might seem reprehensible, but, after all, no further harm can be done to the horse. They (zombies) are already dead, and to quote John Donne, “Death, thou shalt die.” But sadly, the metaphysical poet and cleric never had the pleasure of confronting a zombie via an Xbox video game. If he had, ethical concerns would have surely kept him—my guess—from pulling the trigger. Brilliant fellow, Donne would have understood the sticky semantics difference between killing and death. And we should, too.
What is the amusement in shooting things, slaughtering things, obliterating moving targets or stationary ones for that matter? We Americans like to shoot stuff. We’ll take target practice for entertainment—BLAM, POW, BLAST—and after plugging a row of beer cans, we’ll reload and holster our roscoe just in case we need to shoot someone who gets all up in our face. You never know, do you? Go ahead, crackpot, make my day.
Okay, now let’s get real. It’s not proper to kill things, even those already dead, even if merely in the fictitious world of video gaming. It is, however, proper to subscribe to a moral standard that does not look to science or psychological studies for evidence of violent behavior arising from prolonged first-person shooter video games. One does not need to prove something is harmful to claim something is morally off-putting. Shall we agree that we are a thuggish and psychoneurotic society? Admittedly, the whole zombie slaughter trope is about self-defense, I guess, but we are the ones turning on the machine so we can claim we had to stand our ground while madly pulling the trigger. “Die, suckers!” Is there a link between violence in gaming and real violence on real streets? The science on that question provides murky conclusions, but one conclusion is certain: overt violence in video games causes more aggression and fighting among youngsters who frequently spend time playing first-person shooter games according to a 2014 study in the Journal of the American Medical Association.
It cannot be lost on a thoughtful audience that infamous school mass murderers (Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold at Columbine High School, Adam Lanza at Sandy Hook Elementary, and Nikolas Cruz at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School) all were avid first-person shooter devotees. Let’s just say that violence, real or imagined, begets violence, shall we?
Speaking of psychological studies, an article in Molecular Psychiatry (August 2017) posited evidence that heavy users of first-person shooter games such as Call to Dutyand Medal of Honor may suffer from shrinkage in the brain region called the hippocampus, the part of the brain that is associated with stress regulation and memory.
It may be a stretch to claim that every time one pulls the trigger in a first-person shooter video game a moral choice, or an ethical one, is made, but that view is not unreasonable, is it? Is it ethical to kill Zombies? What is the existential and moral status of a zombie? Is it in our nature to kill, virtually or otherwise, creatures that are not human and that pose a pending threat to us? What in our nature exults in killing? Is it simply human nature
Speaking of human nature, I am reminded of a scene in the film, The African Queen, in which Charlie Allnut, skipper of the boat, asks Rose Sayer, his passenger, why she is being so mean in scolding him over his drinking problem. Sheepishly, Charlie says, “A man takes a drop too much once in a while, it's only human nature.” Rose replies, “Nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put in this world to rise above.”
I Want Your Money
Imagine someone stalks you, someone whispering in your ear all day long, someone whom you cannot get away from no matter how hard you try. Such brazen pestering and hectoring, as a matter of fact, is real. You suffer from it every day. You are shadowed even now as you read this. And there is nothing you can do about it.
A leading marketing firm has estimated that an average person is exposed to somewhere between 3000 to 10000 ads per day, which include. but not limited to, ads online, on television, on billboards, over the radio, in newspapers and flyers, in direct mail, through annoying voice mail messages, on vans, on banners towed by light aircraft, on tee shirts, on buildings, on shopping carts—solicitations found everywhere one turns. Promotions, sales pitches, lies, lies, and more lies. No escape. Some marketing people are even working on ways to project messages onto the canvas of the night sky. Imagine, a warm summer night and you want to lie on the lawn and see the Big Dipper only to find a projected advert for Copenhagen snuff, “the dip that makes you see stars” crowding out the heavens. To marketers, nothing is sacred except, of course, the bait and switch. We are awash in commercialization, a societal system that litters everything everywhere with appeals to buy, buy, give, give, donate, donate, ad infinitum. Hey, Buddy, have I got a deal for you! What do I have to do to get you into this car? Tonight is our pledge drive deadline, and your generous gift will be matched by folks just like you. Surely you can spare mere pennies each week to fight childhood cancer. Take our survey (which is a transparent deception to sell you something) and join the thousands who support the future of America. Just try to stay clear of all marketing or sales appeals for one day. Try it. Perhaps if you took a trek deep into the rain forest and left digital devices in your car at the trailhead you would have a chance to be free of the rubbish that clutters your life. For a day or two. But who does that? And then you must go back to what we call civilization, all that discourteous, rude flapdoodle that implores us to buy, or give, or sign up for a free trial, or come on by for a test drive. Run don’t walk or you’ll miss out. Do it now. You can’t afford to delay. How can you pass up this deal?
The market is inescapable, the non-profit and big-profit bazar, the I-Want-Your-Money barkers giving you that insistent come-hither look. They are everywhere. Consumerism is an enormous part of our sociopolitical American way of life. The mall is America. Everywhere you look the hustle is on. Even in our places of worship, especially those that espouse the prosperity gospel, the crass belief that God wants his followers to have plenty of money and to give lots of it to the clergy who deliver those tithing pitches in their preaching. Come on. God wants your money, too.
Our entertainment venues have become platforms for selling stuff. After paying fifteen bucks’ admission for a movie you have been waiting to see, you are subjected to twenty minutes of pre-movie commercials, many of which are designed to make mouths water and give all movie-goers good reason to head to the refreshment stand to buy a twelve-dollar popcorn tub. And a six-dollar soda. Stadia are named after products and services. Race cars are billboards on the move. A typical football game provides about 50 minutes of television commercials, not to mention all the virtual ad placements inserted onto playing fields and backdrops by the conjuring of digital technology. While listening to a baseball game, you may hear the announcer say, “The next pitch is brought to you by the good people at Bad Boy Bail and Bonds,” or, “Now coming in as a pinch hitter is Ichiro Suzuki who trusts the integrity of Japan’s leading financial services team with all his portfolio needs.” Our favorite soccer team around here is the Seattle Sounders FC, but on the players’ jerseys all you see displayed is “Zulily,” whatever the hell that is. I’m pretty sure the day is coming when parents will sell naming rights of their children. “This is my granddaughter, Bank of America. We call her BOA for short.” “How do you do? Have you met my wife, Chevrolet, Chevy for short?” Ah, the possibilities! Were I to live long enough, I’d like to sell my naming rights to “I’m a Sucker,” a Tootsie Pop reference.
I have always liked the idea of commercial-free radio and television. No such thing. PBS and NPR feature a cavalcade of fund drives begging for your money. Not only that, but they slip in paid-for announcements called sponsorships, not commercials. Big difference, eh? PBS and NPR even have the audacity to suggest that you include them in your last will and testament. Not only do they want your tax-deductible gift and a donation of that car you rarely drive, but they also want you to make it an automatic monthly payment, preferably withdrawn directly from of your bank account. Don’t you support good programming? Come on, man. What’s your credit card number?
Just now as I was writing the above paragraph, I received two phone calls, one from an imposter pretending to be an Amazon fraud official (do I need to point out the irony here?), and another from a man who started the conversation by saying, “Hello, Grandpa.” The call came from a correction facility, and the inmate on the other end of the line was about to ask me to wire money for bail, or some other implausible reason. Some senior folks might fall for these cons, especially those who may have a grandson prone to committing felonies. Or, more likely, an elderly person touched with a mild case of dementia, one who cannot quite recall the names of his grandchildren, or even if he has any grandchildren.
How did all this scamming and spamming and begging and hounding become so entrenched into our way of life? Can we combat all the money-grabbing? Can we somehow keep those circling hyenas from pouncing? You bet we can. Just send me $75.00, and I’ll reveal the secret to avoid scams forever.
But wait, there’s more….
Ban K-12 Tackle Football
No, I am not a contrarian, but I am leaning into a hurricane strength wind with my suggestion that tackle football be banned in K-12 school systems, yes even in Texas. You should see the tight-lipped, wide-eyed looks I get when I blurt out that proposition. My standing among, well, nearly everyone, plummets to persona non grata. Might as well be a Buddhist at a Baptist tent revival. So be it. I don’t care. Banning America’s favorite blood sport would raise eyebrows, as well as people’s distain for the troublemakers who urged the foolish game be shuttered. But that’s my proposition: ban the game for America’s youth because it is a pernicious sport. Its chief attraction is violence—"rock’em, sock’em, go team go”—which popcorn-munching, soda-sipping spectators love. The game is a territorial struggle, an internecine war, and a metaphor for how to succeed. On a college and professional level, it has one purpose and only one purpose: to make money. Lots of money. Billions of dollars. That’s why the game is irreplaceable to the team owners and television executives, not to mention the thousands of businesses that feed off college and NFL football frenzy. On a K-12 level, tackle football offers recognition and a threshold to the competitive adult world, a chance to be a winner.
Sadly, football culture often teaches Vince Lombardi’s bunkum manifesto: “Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.” Really, Vince? And, if that is not bad enough, “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.” Boy, Vince, that sort of talk might find a welcome audience at a salespersons’ convention, but it is specious advice in other contexts, especially given to young people facing choices that will determine their futures. In my view, what’s important is not so much treating everything in life as a win-lose contest, a binary outcome. Of the nearly 33,000 participants in this year’s New York City Marathon only a couple of runners were winners. Are we to believe that the remainder are losers and should be ashamed of themselves? Should we admire a poor loser? You know the guy who whines and claims the fix was on, the loser who refuses to accept losing. Remember Woody Hayes striking a Clemson player on the sidelines, a foolish moment of anger that cost the legendary coach his job and reputation? All because he was feeling a huge surge of being a loser. Nothing to admire there, is there? I don’t admire poor loser Trump for buying a lifetime subscription to Lombardi’s junk philosophy via Norman Vincent Peale’s cult distortion of Christianity. Beyond teaching the art of being a bad sport, too many football coaches espouse that don’t-be-a-sissy locker room talk, be-a-man-and-shake-it-off entreaty, which finally adds nothing to a young person’s character but long-term aches and pains, chronic even lethal health issues.
When our local high school hosts a Friday night football game, the event draws the Steilacoom community together: parents, neighbors, pep band, cheer squad, teachers, school board members, local police, business owners, Rotary folks, and a few casual supporters who have nothing better to do before the weekend sets in. Over the years, I have served as a spotter and assistant for the stadium P.A. announcer, an old friend, so he could get an accurate account of the names and numbers of the players as they crashed into each other. Whether the home team wins or loses, the evening usually proves diverting, a welcome break from the weekday grind.
Well, not always. There is that ambulance parked at the end of the field. Too often, play will stop so an injured player can receive medical care, and then we hold our collective breath as the trainers and EMTs huddle around the fallen youngster. After years of watching young people suffer injuries, some life-changing, my taste for football has soured. Face it. Tackle football is injurious. It can be lethal. A common scene: a player is down and being attended by a huddle of trainers and medical people. Then forming a wide circle around the injured player, all the other players taking a knee, some praying, others looking blankly off into space. Even though tackle football is the reigning king of the American sports world, it should not be part of K-12 sports programs. Moreover, college and NFL game rules should be altered in a way to save players’ from devasting brain injuries. Dr. Ann McKee, a neuropathologist at the Boston University School of Medicine, studied the brains of 202 American football players. Through autopsies, she and her colleagues found that, of the 111 brains belonging to players in the National Football League, 110 of them showed CTE — more than 99 percent.[1]
Yes, I know, if encouraged by parents, kids will play football and learn valuable lessons in teamwork, friendship, and discipline. But let’s face it, those lessons can be a part of many other sports. Given good coaching, tackle football for young people may offer valuable lessons, but more and more, parents are opting out of youth tackle football programs for their children because known risks eclipse presumed benefits.
Jon Gruden’s recent departure as a football coach encapsulates the malaise of NFL football. He knew his Xs and Os all right but brought an ugly old school brand of racist tropes, anti-gay affronts, and hyperbolic smash-mouth football blather into his role as head coach. I’m sure he is not half as bad a person as the media have portrayed him (who hasn’t written regretful, off-the-cuff emails?), but his way of doing things is not the tonic professional football needs.
On a K-12 level, football needs to become close to a non-injurious sport. Flag football comes to mind. On a college level, tackle football needs to be greatly altered to protect players, and perhaps advances in safety gear may curb serious injuries. On a professional level, tackle football will continue to ruin lives until the day the captains of the industry realize that it must change radically or just fade away.
As is, the game dings players’ brains. Heads are not battering rams. During youth and adolescence when brains are developing, repeated knocks to the head mean trouble. On that conclusion, the experts agree.
[1] (Chan)
Power of Poetry
"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
--Merchant of Venice. Lorenzo
Claiming that secular music and beard-trimming are forbidden according to precepts of Islam, the Taliban’s virtue and vice squads recently renewed their tendentious order banning public music in the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan. They also put barbers on notice that it is forbidden to snip facial hairs on all male citizens (women’s facial hair may be groomed according to custom). In the past, musicians were beaten or imprisoned for making music, and thousands of musical instruments were destroyed by the moral guardians of Taliban’s law. To beat back the corrosive influences from American and other invasive cultures, the Public Order Police now make ready to uphold the harshly ascetic, ultra-conservative tenets of social and public behavior.
By banning music, an artistic fraternal twin of poetry, a consequential measure of well-being is denied to the human spirit. Like burning books, censoring poetry and music is a destructive and supercilious act, diminishing every living soul. Part of the human experience has always been the making of music and poetry, and, in so doing, we pass the threshold of the ordinary and enter the extraordinary. Even so, creative expressions are as natural as breathing. Though the men in town may have long, unruly, and magnificent beards, without music or poetry, we fall far short of our capacities. Music and poetry are conjoined, as much a part of humanity as is a beating heart.
Leaving Afghan barbers and musicians for another time, another quibble, my focus here is poetry. Poetry in its musical form originated as a song or a chant or an oral history or a performance reenacting a successful hunt. Written expressions were engraved on cave walls, on rock faces, or on runestones. These expressions were and still are palpable efforts to record the libretto in us, our story, our necessary artistry, our poetry.
Inherent in us is poetic thought. Remember the songs and stories we shared during our preschool days? Children’s poetry brings a child to the threshold of education by using phonemic awareness and cognitive contexts. The whimsical images and rhymes in Mother Goose introduced many children, including me, to Humpty Dumpty, Little Bo-Peep, Old Mother Hubbard, Jack and Jill, among other fanciful characters. From these ditties, a child begins to explore the provinces of creativity and the power of language, which engender love for reading and learning. And so foundational building blocks of education are laid.
The value of poetry is seldom spotlighted, especially in America. Now more than ever, however, considering sectarian turmoil, political discords, and climate changes that forecast a melting world, poetry can be a force that brings an understanding of our roles and an appreciation of the complex emotions across the spectrum of humanity. Not to overstate the value of poetry, but I believe that its merits bring human expression to an apex, the voice of humanity rising above the din. That voice exposes the inner beauty and the unprepossessing landscape of human beings, the stewards of all we know of this world. Rumi, the 13th century Persian poet, encapsulated this thought when he insisted: “Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”
Poetry is not an abstract puzzle that has some meaning only a few brilliant critics can unwrap. No, it is a celebration of who we are, a description of our world, an expression that is difficult to express, and an affirmation of who we are and what we may become. Rather than distorting our understanding, poetry renders clarity, sometimes in life-changing ways.
Dylan Thomas weighed the contribution poetry makes, summing follows: “A good poem is a contribution to reality. The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it. A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe, helps to extend everyone’s knowledge of himself and the world around him.”
Hear, hear!
Homelessness
Recently I had a wisdom tooth extracted, a procedure that should have been done thirty years ago, but rather than follow my dentist’s treatment advice, I postponed the uprooting because…I don’t know why. I guess it is easier not to do something than to do something. That molar’s nerve died a decade ago, but the tooth didn’t cause discomfort, so it was easier to procrastinate than to do what was advised. The dentist warned: “It will eventually cause an abscess if it doesn’t come out.” With that context in mind, the adage, “Delay is the deadliest form of denial”[1] is germane. What, me worry? The doctor ordered that the decayed tooth come out before it caused serious infection and pain, but I kept brushing that unpleasantness aside.
Now think about homelessness as a festering condition. Rather than address the problem with an enduring solution, civic leaders have hemmed and hawed over how to supervise the unhoused and placate those who whine about the unpleasantness fouling their neighborhoods, remedies that resemble a Whack-A-Mole arcade game. Homeless folks pop up in one park or open space and are summarily removed and sent to another spot. All the while, social workers contact the dispossessed and make temporary arrangements to adjust broken lives. A day or two later, nothing has changed. Problems remain, sure, because underlying conditions remain unaddressed. Stands to reason, then, that the more we delay in healing this public disorder, the more suffering and harm will take place. In my community, at least, homelessness has increased noticeably, demonstrated by a growing number of people sleeping on sidewalks and living in dilapidated cars, conspicuously more broken-down RVs housing people who have nowhere to go, and an increased number of folks pushing shopping carts piled high with all they own. Standing at the entrances and exits to every other shopping center is a down-and-out person holding a cardboard sign that appeals, in one way or another, for aid: “Hungry, Anything Will Help,” or “Veteran, No Home, No Job, God Bless.”
As is, too many people live in pop-up tents on vacant lots, in doorways, or under overpasses. Community organizers try to patch the problems: often by sending the displaced to a shelter as an interim solution, usually a one-and-done accommodation. But, finally, with no lasting solution at hand, the plight associated with homeless people becomes more of an unceasing muddle. Civic leaders call meetings and propose stopgap fixes, which equates to something like the anachronistic medical treatment of bloodletting. Town and county governments form study groups and solicit information and grants. Press releases posted, commissions formed, and solutions sought, but what arrives is blah, blah, blah, and then more blah. Lives languish among the homeless population; crime and hopelessness flourish where large numbers of homeless people congregate. Long term, homeless people suffer, but the greater community also experiences hardships as businesses and collective society stagnate. Mental health issues spread, as well as domestic abuse and addiction in dwellings for the homeless similar to Hooverville shantytowns during the Great Depression.
While our country is not alone in having an enormous homelessness problem, we have few excuses for inaction. Why, one wonders, does the wealthiest country in the world allow the ongoing hardships of homelessness to continue? How can we stomach giving huge tax breaks to the propertied-rich while turning away from those impoverished souls sleeping in doorways and under bridges? You may receive a 100 percent tax deduction when buying that private jet plane you’ve had your eye on, but you get abject poverty if you hit a patch of bad luck and lose your job, your house, your health. Over a half-million people are unhoused in our country, and that count rises daily. Without interventions, people on the streets will die from exposure to harsh weather, to crime, and to untreated disease. If Charles Dickens were alive and writing novels, oh what sad stories he would tell.
The recent legislation aimed at restoring our nation’s infrastructure promises to kickstart our economy and provide refreshed highways and foundational improvements across the country. What’s missing is a component that will address our social structure, something that will repair the circumstances damaging our down-and-out citizens. The remedy to end the cycle of misery suffered by the homeless population is not complicated. It costs money and a sizeable investment in empathy. It can be done if we choose to provide a safe space for each person. And a job for those willing to pay their own way.
The fix is expensive, yes, but the solution is simple: start by housing each homeless person. Provide a platform for those people to address those problems that left them with no place to go. Sadly, those underlining problems are complex and not solved by placing them in an apartment or small living quarters. But the foundation to fix the problem begins with a place to live, not a night shelter or a charity bed.
Experiments in Finland (Housing First) have proven successful. Finland is the only European country to reduce the homeless population dramatically. In offering people a home with no strings attached, of course, homelessness disappears. Duh! But, of course, there is a cost. What would it take to fix the problem? Twenty billion dollars? More?
Whatever the cost, let’s pay it. We must invest in human capital. “People before profit” is a line from a local credit union. Sure, let’s fix the roads, the bridges, and power supplies, but in the remodeling of America, let’s provide a solution to our people problem.
It can be done quickly and effectively. In February of 2020, China built a 640,00 square foot hospital with 1000 beds, 30 intensive care rooms—all done in under ten days from the first spadefuls of turned dirt to doors open for business. This feat, in Wuhan, China at the onset of the COVID pandemic, happened because China faced a crisis, a need to house thousands of patients. Using prefab construction, the crisis was met with immediate action. Ten days!
Something like that can be done here in America. Why not? Innovations in prefab building can cut construction time from months to weeks. Even the promising field of 3D printing might facilitate raising structures quickly to house the homeless.
The catchall phrase of President Biden’s latest initiative is “Build Back Better.” Shall we build a better place for all of our citizens?
"Northcote Parkinson Quotes." BrainyQuote.com. BrainyMedia Inc, 2021. 19 August 2021. https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/c_northcote_parkinson_159773
[1]
I’m Not a Liar, You’re a Liar
Trump Republicans have labelled Democrats as socialists, or worse yet, communists, when in fact the Trump Republicans are the communist-socialist-neofascists. As Trump would say, “Many people are saying…,” which precedes the lie that comes from the proven liar’s mouth. He’s big on lying. At least that’s what many people are saying.
Why, you may ask, are Trump Republicans socialist-communist-neofascists? Because they believe in a Bolshevik dictatorship that provides remarkable needs and services to the elite class, especially those with radical right-wing views. They shamelessly ignore the poor and disenfranchised because Trump’s brand of Bolshevik rule regards the underclass as inconsequential and dispensable. More, they, the Trump troops, believe that no matter who votes for whom, what finally counts is not who gets the most votes but, rather, who gets to count the votes. And, of course, the champions of a nationalistic right-wing system of authority will be the ones counting the votes. I know that does not sound very democratic, but many people are saying that I’m right about that.
Take the Big Lie, for instance. Trump claims “everybody knows” that he (Trump) won the 2020 presidential election. Everybody? I didn’t know. So, I asked around about that claim. Hey, many people are saying that Biden won the election. In fact, nearly everyone who is not a communist-socialist-neofascist is saying that Biden won. No lie.
Whether or not a would-be Republican accepts the Big Lie is now the deciding factor in identifying a loyal Republican. Either you are loyal to Trump, a known pathological liar, or you truly believe that Obama was not born in Africa, or you doubt the correctness of the 30,573 lies Trump bloviated during his four years in office.[1] “Sorry, losers. My I.Q. is the highest and you all know it," Trump tweeted in 2013. That’s what Trump shamelessly proclaimed. By the way, would anyone with a high I.Q. say such a thing? Not once have I heard an intelligent person talk about his or her I.Q.
What a piece of work is Trump! Many people say that he is a rapist, a womanizer, a draft dodger, a tax cheat, a megalomaniac, a narcissist, a white supremist, a racist, a fraudster, a traitor, and a barefaced offender of all seven deadly sins, though I’m uncertain about that gluttony category, but I’ve heard that he supersizes his burger orders. Even so, millions of people adore him. Go figure! More importantly, and to the point, many more people, a clear majority, are saying that of the nearly eight billion people in the world Trump ranks near the tail end of the quality of character line, only surpassed in horribleness by three cannibals and two mass-murdering terrorists. No lie.
He reminds me of Il Duce, Benito Mussolini, the fascist dictator who was both a bully and a charmer, a browbeater who organized the Blackshirt squads, thugs who find their current American expression in today’s Proud Boys. Although I must admit that Benito was far smarted than Trump, the two share similar weaknesses of character: over-the-top pride, ruthlessness, vengefulness, and strongman fascist leadership.
Frankly, the media are disgusting, Trump claims, the way they point out his admiration for tyrants such as Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, Mohammed bin Salman, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Many people are saying that those autocrats are good guys and know how to control losers who start witch hunts, and so on. But, once again, most people consider those tyrants to be oppressors and, even worse, killers.
No lie.
[1] The Washington Post, January 24th 2021.
"I'll Tell You What"
This rhetorical bumper phrase precedes every third utterance coming from a local television analyst’s yap during the baseball game. “I’ll tell you what, that ball was hammered.” And moments later, “I’ll tell you what, we could sure use an insurance score.” “I’ll tell you what” is a stock phrase that conveys nothing. It is typical bloviation for radio and television broadcasters. “Needless to say,” as well, enters the barren field of wordiness, yet another needless phrase as common as scum on swamp water. I’ll tell you what, it is needless to say either of these tautological word wasters. But I confess that in daily conversation I frequently say, “I’ll tell you,” interspersed among bits of small talk. At least I am aware of my empty-winded jabbering.
“At the end of the day,” hollow expressions are not used to emphasize a point or introduce an idea. They are used as word noise to move the speaker from one thought to another, an interlude for fuzzy thinkers, and who among us is not, occasionally, an unfocused thinker? It is surprising how many people say, “I’ll tell you” before they tell you. Needless to say, at the end of the day, they will tell you what even if they have nothing to say. Eh?
Honestly, why do so many people say or write “honestly” before saying or writing what they say? Are these candid folks normally dishonest? In which case, to emphasize the change of behavior for this one time, anyway, they say, “Honestly, I’d rather not tell the truth.” What? Are they entering a not guilty plea? How about beginning a phrase with “dishonestly,” as in: Dishonestly, I’d rather not tell the truth.” Huh?
Well, I suppose you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do because it is what it is. That’s what I’m talking about. Eh?
So, the other day a robot-caller asked if I wanted a free gift. Foolishly, I commented that all gifts are free, to which the automated voice said that an added bonus would be included at the end of the day. What?
At what point in time did it become blatantly obvious that new innovations would be in fact a passing fad? No advanced warning, no unexpected surprises would bring us to an end result. Huh?
Ah, for the purpose of this message and for the process of writing concise expressions, allow me to quote Gertrude Stein (she who made almost no sense whatsoever), “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.”
I suppose that’s the bottom line, to be honest with you, and with all due respect, it is what it is if you really think about it. Now I may be picking low-hanging fruit, but blah blah blah. Blah!
You know what I’m saying?
Pursuit of Happiness
The other day I was appalled to have fallen victim to cruel heckling when I lit up an expense and mouthwatering Arturo Fuente Opus X BBMF stogie in a packed elevator. Apparently, others standing close to me cared not at all for my pursuit of happiness. A flavorsome cigar is one of my shameful pleasures. Imagine my dismay when later that same day I was pulled over by a traffic cop who issued me a ticket for driving 65 mph in a 25-mph zone. In my defense, I was in a mad rush to get to the donut shop before all the maple bars, my favorite yummies, were sold. Not only that, but he or she (I can’t distinguish genders among the constabulary anymore because they wear those unisex uniforms and are for the most part nutzoid annoyances and complainers) had the temerity to cite me for not wearing a seatbelt in addition to the speeding citation. To that point, I loathe feeling the constraint of being tethered to all that horsepower. And speaking of power, I do enjoy cranking my tunes up full blast because it makes me feel fully animated. Recently, though, I was bluntly told, in language I dare not repeat, to turn down my car stereo while I waxed my roadster in the parking lot near a pastoral lake. Why the uncivil complaints? Because my 18-inch woofer hit 165.6 dB and was irritating picnickers, a bunch of anal-retentive party poopers. Do I need to tell how much I love to share the power of my excellent stereo system? It will make your cheeks jiggle and get your spare change to bounce right out of the cupholder—wild vibes. Come on, folks, go with the flow. Anyway, I’m just trying to live my life the way I want to live it, right? These are my privileges; I mean, really, is there no end to the cheek of others butting into my life and telling me what to do and when and where and how to do it?
Now I hear that restaurants, schools, and businesses may require masks and proof of COVID vaccinations to allow us to pass through their doors. Look, masks stifle my airways, and I don’t want anyone jabbing me and putting scientific cocktails in my bloodstream. Wow, what gives complete strangers the right to coerce me into giving up my preferences? Dang, is there no end to this paternal coercion heaped upon us by folks who care little about individual rights? Seems that every way I turn someone is blocking me, lecturing me, and trying to restrict my liberties. Is it too much to ask: meddlers, will you leave me the hell alone so I can pursue my happiness?
Since I am on the subject, why must I adhere to the arbitrary rules aimed at drunk drivers? I know that is a prickly subject because of those MADD folks. Sure, I take a sip of wine on weekends. Who doesn’t, right? But I am reasonably certain that two or three glasses of plonk is no danger to me or anyone else if I take the car for a spin after enjoying my refreshments. I can hold my liquor and know my limits, so don’t try to infringe on my pleasure of wheeling around the neighborhood while feeling whimsically giddy.
Another encroachment on my happiness comes in the form of the neighborhood historical/improvement society, a congregation snoops and bleating sheep. They got all over my case simply because I cut down the trees that were blocking my view. I will admit that a few of those cedars were over a hundred years old and not exactly on my property, but what of that? People around here sure spend a lot of effort being petty. They even get worked up when I use my flame-thrower to torch trash. They go on and on about burn bans and toxic smoke. Moan, bitch, grumble—the chorus that comes from my buttinsky neighbors.
Okay? Listen, I am not picking up my dog’s shit. I am not turning down my kick-ass stereo. I am going to smoke stogies in public places. And I am not going to allow a red light to stop me. What I mean to say is this: I want to be happy, and my happiness trumps restricting laws. Remember those lessons about rights and responsibilities? My allegiance falls squarely on the side of my rights. The responsibility piece is for losers and deep thinkers, people who tell us to turn down the music, to keep a tidy desk, and to floss after every meal.
No mandates, please. Government and other capricious authorities are purely malevolent influences on my liberty. The only consent I need is my own. My enduring motto: live and let live. That mentioned, I find it difficult to get through the day without some nitpicker getting into my face. And the tone used to confront me. My, oh, my, goodness gracious.
My Fellow Americans
As a child attending Vacation Bible School, I envisioned disturbing images when we, just a few dozen kids, belted out “Onward Christian Soldiers” before afternoon snacks, which usually meant Kool-Aid and Snickerdoodle cookies. Truth is, singing that song made me uncomfortable because “marching as to war” struck me, even then, as demonstrably anti-Christian, almost barbaric, even if we were doing battle against Satan’s henchmen. I wondered what our enemies looked like, and exactly what would happen once we made it to the battlefield; I mean, would we be injuring folks, or what? Of course, the generals of our army would be Missouri Synod Lutherans, so it followed that some of those whom we had to conquer would be Roman Catholics. Another song I remember from those formative days went something like this: “Good old Marty Luther really made the reformation grand because he tore the Pope to pieces with his five and ninety theses, and that’s why I’m a Lutheran.” No turning the other cheek for us, mind you. I always thought that war was something to avoid, so I wasn’t eager to enlist as a Christian soldier. I concluded then, as now, that Christians were peacemakers, not warriors, and especially not warmongers.
Lately, though, the sharp rise of evangelicals entering the policy-making discussion, commandeering whatever governmental controls they can oversee, has profoundly changed the political climate. A groundswell of Christian conservatives lifted Trump to the highest office in the land, and, as a result, he reconfigured the Supreme Court and other key administrative offices to conform to the requests of the evangelical community that had catapulted Trump to office. Those rightists are even now “marching as to war” as I write these words. They believe our country is defined primarily by its Christian heritage and authority, which, of course, runs contrary to America’s promise of separation of church and state. Isn’t our nation inclusive, the big tent? Isn’t the fabric of our nation spun from different threads, like Joseph’s coat pf many colors, many varying textiles? Lately, though, loud and persistent voices have been heard coming from the right wing of our political theater, especially from the latter-day Christian soldiers.
One of these voices comes from a banner carrier for the Christian nationalists, pastor Greg Locke of the Global Vision Bible Church in Mount Juliet, Tennessee, who recently declared that Oprah Winfrey and Tom Hanks are involved in sex trafficking, Joe Biden is possessed by the devil, and the Pope is "…the biggest pedophile on the planet…." Wow, I guess I haven’t been keeping up. I heard these revelations online directly from the reverend’s mouth, and I ventured to look deeper into Locke’s ministry. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered that he burns books he does not like and claims the insurrection on January 6th (which he attended) was instigated by non-Trump supporters. Is preacher Greg a contemporary Nostradamus, or what? How does he know this stuff? He goes on. For instance, he believes that the COVID pandemic is a hox and that he is a true prophet, not to mention that Trump is still president and God will soon “bring the whole house down,” meaning, I suppose, the destruction of socialists and progressives infesting Washington D.C. His views may sound fanatical and unhinged, assigned to a collection of conspiracy theorists, but they represent, at least in part, the beliefs of a considerable segment of conservative citizens, many of whom I categorize as Christian nationalists, a name they rarely use to identify themselves.
That brings me to the point: Christian nationalists are neither Christian nor patriotic. Sure, they claim to be both, but Christians are routinely taught to love others, not to spew hatred and discord, and patriots would never assault the chambers of democracy and then blame the attack on other radicals. Christian nationalists are largely conservative white (middle or working class) folks who want to see our nation establish a Christian hegemony, lines no longer muddled between church and state. They may or may not be white supremacists, but their agenda includes an America mirroring a fast-disappearing American white culture. They want a Norman Rockwell America. They want a hypothetical America that truly never existed except in John Wayne’s movies and Miss America contests. They visualize Ward and June Cleaver’s prototypical hometown life—she pours the milk at dinner, and he gives moral instruction to one or both naughty boys after dessert. It’s Mayfield or Mayberry in Middle America, circa 1950’s now and forever. It’s a small-town-and-old-values place with a Main Street and a VFW. It’s a decent place but largely monochromatic. It takes a long while before outsiders are accepted as part of the community. People of color live on the other side of the tracks and are rarely, if ever, mentioned.
If you will, picture the CN cover girl, the embodiment of a Christian nationalist: blonde (of course), a sidearm hip-holstered, wooden cross dangling from her neck, a red MAGA baseball cap atop her groomed head, and a liturgical stole dangling from her shoulders. Behind her, a sea of American flags interspersed among outsized crucifixes. All-American, all-Christian, the symbol of what America should become.
Forgive me for judging, but haven’t the holier-than-thou nationalists read the Sermon on the Mount? Haven’t they studied the Bill of Rights? Haven’t they become what they loathe?
Guess so.
Critical Race Theory and the Straw Man
Critical Race Theory (CRT) has recently become another battleline separating political adversaries. Is systematic racism embedded in our culture? Has it shaped public policy and societal norms? Yes, I suppose so. In theory, then, does CRT pit people of color against white hegemony? Yes, well, sort of, that’s one way of looking at it. Could be these questions are answered with a cautious “yes.” It is important to mention that CRT is not taught in our public schools and that for many years it has been mostly an academic dialogue in higher education, nothing more. What, then, does one conclude about corollary issues such as academic freedom, free speech, and constitutional rights?
Touchy subjects, all this mishmash, so state legislators in Idaho, Tennessee, Iowa, Arkansas, and Oklahoma, have decided to forbid disseminating critical race theory in classrooms, not that it ever was promoted in K-12 school systems. About a dozen states are currently considering similar legislation. Politicians at the state level pass the bills and pay the bills, so they get to dictate to educators what is in lesson plans. Simply put, that means that a teacher or professor would break the rules if he or she were to describe the Jim Crow laws as state-sponsored racism, which they were. A discussion of the Civil War or the Tulsa race riots (and massacre) would certainly lead to troubling issues of racial discord, so several state governments would have us limit the discussion and scope of these historical realities. Lessons on the civil rights movement likely would be muted—all such topics reduced to footnotes in curricula—if a finger were pointed at the powers that be as a cause of fueling friction. Class discussions on diversity (along with diversity training) and “wokeness” would be put to sleep. Lord help us if a free spirit teacher told students that early in Tacoma’s history the city leaders, including the mayor, Jacob Weisbach, forcibly removed Chinese railroad workers from our City of Destiny. Subsequently, a mob of 500 while citizens trashed the migrants’ living quarters, burning their possessions. Our city’s shame, known as the Tacoma Method, became an example for other towns to get rid of undesirable ethnics once the railroad tracks were laid and the usefulness of the cheap workforce was depleted.
If the anti-CRT contingent prevails, school boards and college trustees will be charged with the responsibility of keeping critical race theory suppressed. Teachers would be afraid for their jobs if a parent were to object to a lesson on, say, the Trail of Tears being a great injustice to Native Americans. No touchy subjects. Let’s not talk about and learn from the institutional racism that has been a shameful part of America’s history. Any dialogue of ingrained racism will be prohibited, and the offender censured, or worse. Even if the lesson of the day simply restates the obvious, it will be verboten.
Opponents of CRT assert America is going through a cultural battle, and they may have a moot issue in claiming that state-sponsored racism is, oddly, a reverse form of racism itself (blaming wholesale controlling authorities for divisiveness). The anti-CRT voices claim America has recently pretty much become colorblind and does not need to load guilt onto a well-meaning and meritocratic white majority that has been steering this country for hundreds of years. They also believe that pounding the drum against CRT will be an advantageous vote-gathering tactic when the next cycle of congressional elections come round.
Proponents of CRT, chiefly academics, progressives, and social scientists, want an objective look at the origins and outcomes of racism. CRT started as a scholarly theory but has subsequently become a political tug of war. Their claim is that we have a long road ahead for our country to become colorblind and to assure that we are a country delivering “liberty and justice for all.”
Lost in the discussion is academic freedom. In K-12 public school systems, teachers are mandated by school boards to teach from a preapproved curriculum, which is not written by those presenting lessons in the classrooms. And school boards are often steered by political pressure coming from state level decision makers. Ideally, classrooms should be the teachers’ domain, a place where ideas may be freely addressed without official interference, but that is clearly not the case in K-12 public schools. Neither teachers nor parents can dictate what is on a syllabus. School boards have sovereignty to define what is and is not taught in their districts.
So, if a teacher addresses his or her students about CRT, academic discussion or not, trouble is bound to arise. Sadly, political correctness will enter the lesson plans all over America. In college, sure, critical thinking is encouraged, but not in K-12 if the school board bans it. Proselytizing at any educational level (be it for creation theory, political protest, censorship, and so on) seems out of place in education, but open discussions meant to invest students with intellectual inquiry ought to be encouraged.
The arguments here result in who gets to wield the bullhorn, who controls the lesson plans, and how do lessons defend neutral and politically objective applications of discovery for students.
The struggle over teaching evolution, sexual education, and controversial literature has been with us for decades, if not longer. Now we can toss CRT onto the pile.
Automated Police
If you have been driving on the freeways lately, you must have noticed innumerable dangers coming from speed demons, aggressive and/or heedless drivers, eighteen-wheelers following your rear bumper too closely, and those erratic lane-switchers, not to mention the 100 mph crotch-rocket jockeys exhibiting felonious disregard for traffic laws. It’s scary out there. Recent motoring perils may have something to do with the pandemic changing the normally packed freeways to an accommodating traffic flow that allows miscreants to do their Mario Andretti imitations.
That said, it may appear strange coming from a card-carrying member of the ACLU, I am wholeheartedly behind installing automated traffic enforcement. Traffic cameras, speed measuring devices, and license plate cameras work effectively and will save thousands of lives lost in car crashes each year {38,000 killed each year per (Association for Safe International Road Travel, p. 2020)}. If used with discretion, these monitoring devices do not infringe upon privacy, nor do they set in motion a Big Brother interference of a citizens’ constitutional rights. Safeguards can be installed to assure that Fourth Amendment rights are protected.
Using these live-saving tools would not diminish our liberties. It is not a breach of our privacy to use technology in a guarded manner. Experts guess that each American is filmed by CCTV cameras as many as 75 times daily, while a typical Londoner’s image is recorded about 300 times daily). Without great public debate or discussion, we have agreed that sensible monitoring for the public’s safety is reasonable and necessary. When the TSA runs our luggage through X-ray machines, we know that the greater good is in play, and no entity is snooping into our lives. Likewise, we do not cause a stink at the ballgame when security folks look through our backpacks and guide us through metal detector portals. The idea for these intrusions, if that is what they are, is to provide security, to keep us safe from harm.
Even so, reasonable limits need to be in place before we turn policing over to the robot species. All those in favor of employing automated cops, raise your hand. Okay. Now, all those who see an era of dystopian mayhem coming in which we need to employ robots to maintain law and order, raise your hand. No, I suppose we do not want to endure living in a community managed by a government apparatchik who pushes remote control buttons on dozens of lethally armed robo cops employed to patrol crime ridden communities using predictive policing software. Also, while we are at it, let’s not surveil underserved communities with robots programed to spy on and gather sensitive information from folks willy-nilly. Our citizenry should have built-in safeguards to guard against the encroachment of government, automated or not, into our individual freedoms and rights of privacy. Scalable technology, however, as applied to traffic management promises increased safety without dystopic prying. After all, robots aren’t evil. The operator turning the dials just may be, so sufficient protections must be in place as we enter the robot age.
We certainly have the technology, and now we need the political will to drastically curtail traffic deaths in this country. If the speed limit on a given highway is 60 mph, any registered auto owner exceeding the limit might be cited, with special emphasis applied to vehicles traveling, say, over 70 mph. Red light cameras already have proven useful in stopping T-bone accidents at intersections. And license plate readers alone would save needless traffic stops that have proven dangerous for both police and drivers. If we choose to stop those motorists who endanger all the rest of us, we can. Just a matter of implementing technology to stop the slaughter.
Freeing police from dangerous and often biased tasks of pulling drivers over in order to issue a ticket and check license, registration, and insurance documents, would save time, money, and lives—untold time, tons of money, and countless lives. Police could turn their attention from highways that run through towns and cities to crime that besets those communities.
Because of COVID-19 many of us have been working from home. It’s time for traffic divisions of law enforcement agencies to also alter their work routines.
Sinners and Traitors
A reporter asked Mahatma Gandhi what he thought of western civilization. Gandhi replied, “I think it would be a good idea.” After chortling, one wonders if any organized society has ever reached real civilization status as defined by an honest critic of human behavior. If one discounts academic pronouncements from cultural anthropologists or the literal definitions one finds in many social science research papers, it becomes at least arguable that the human race has never been civilized enough to be considered anything more than a bestial lot of wildlife let loose from God’s zoo.
Human nature is largely reprehensible. Sure, people have fleeting moments of grace and kindness, but, on balance, all things considered, the chapters of human history are pointlessly blood-spattered, and overwhelming evidence underscores hatred and perfidy as primary and common human characteristics. Read newspapers or watch the evening news if you have doubts.
Not convinced? Check out the core beliefs of the Christian Nationalists, who are neither patriots nor Christians, as they stormed the Capitol on January 6th. Many of these insurrectionists displayed Christian imagery, along with Trump banners, war whoops, Confederate flags, nooses, “Jesus Saves” signs, Viking helmets, Bibles, and wooden crosses, not to mention a blinding sea of red MAGA caps. One infers they were sent by the Holy Ghost and subsequentially marshalled by Donald Trump (a pairing that defies imagination) to set things right by storming the defenses and lynching a lib or two, maybe more. One Trump lawyer even suggested Vice President Pence face a “firing squad.” Why is an apt question. Word spread through the mob that several moderate Republicans might deserve the noose as well, unless those milk toast RINOs chose to stoop to the idolatry of the Christian Nationalists. If given a chance to break into the rooms where congresspersons were hiding, the mob would surely have pressed their cause further and many more would have died in our inner sanctuary of democracy.
Okay, I admit that not all insurrectionists would identify as Christian Nationalists, but most would align nicely with the CN objectives, and a scattering of others would identify themselves as Evangelists or “born-again” believers, those inspired by the Holy Ghost to spread the truth of their beliefs, even if they needed a sidearm or a cudgel to get their point across to the infidels.
It is difficult to see any difference between these home bred insurrectionists and hard-right Islamists. Or hard-right Hindus, or any other flavor hard-rightists. Extremism fouls the air for all of us who desire a kinder and gentler world, a peaceful world. Those who sign up for, say, the Proud Boys, the Oath Keepers or Al Qaeda, pledge their lives to freedom fighting (though others may call them terrorists). They volunteer to wage battle against the overlords, those authorities who stand in the way of truth as they (the extremists) see it. No compromise is possible with righteousness. It is absolute.
Two groups, the Oath Keepers and the Proud Boys, among others (Patriot Prayer associates and the Three Percenters), were promoters and coconspirators of the attack on democracy. These groups are buoyed by self-appointed “warrior class” status and are sworn to uphold the Constitution, which they ironically despoil. Underpinning their beliefs come the whole pallet of “patriotic” trappings: God, country, anti-globalism, anti-government (unless Trump is in office), and pro-hate just about everything that is other than their view of what constitutes authority. They raise the cross and the flag and pretend that these untrumpable symbols give them license to do whatever they please. Onward Christian soldiers marching as to war, marching toward the palisades of power, repeating the same folly as chronicled in every paragraph, page, chapter, and book of human history.
Yes, Gandhi, western civilization is a good idea. We’re working on it. We are still too ignorant and ill-bred to fill the order. Just give us a couple more centuries and perhaps we will develop a fair system of justice and a social structure that is equitable to all people.
Gap Year
Good try everyone, but, no surprise, virtual platforms for education are hollow stand-ins for brick-and-board classroom learning. Who knew? Well, nearly every teaching professional from Walla Walla to Puyallup, that’s who. Now because target dates have been set and vaccination goals are being met, the process of getting students and teachers safely back into real classrooms is in the process of happening.
A lack of consensus over safety standards imposed a pause while all parties find a solution. The discussion among teachers, staff, parents, politicians, and epidemiologists did not produce an evenhanded verdict. Is it true that given sensible precautions and science-based guidelines (physical distancing, masking, hand washing, and increased ventilation with proper airflow) students can now take their seats and get down to face-to-face learning? Can that happen even before school employees and students receive vaccinations? If not, we have at least several more months to wait. If so, restarting in-person classrooms presents logistical problems because normal class spaces are not quite big enough for as many as 33 students, or whatever the number, to be separated by three-feet. Recommendations keep changing as the CDC improves its understanding of how the virus spreads..
Regardless, some creative shuffling needs to happen for students and teachers and staff to come together in real space and time. Asynchronous classes (in-person supplemented online)? 365-day school years? Classrooms in gyms and lunchrooms. Open air classes? Whatever the outcomes, the CDC and our governor consider educators to be essential workers and have shuffled them toward the front of the vaccine line. President Biden wants schools to go full throttle within his first one hundred days in office. That seems iffy given the complexity of the undertaking.
Patchwork schooling the past school year has taken a toll on students cognitively, physically, and psychologically. They have had a gap year. An inequity chasm widens between economic privileged students, many of whom are enrolled in private schools, and those from disadvantaged populations, especially among predominately marginalized Black, Hispanic, and Native American communities. By some estimates, three million children are not in school at all for various reasons ranging from homelessness to inconvenient internet connections to virtual learning indifference. Add more millions of students who suffer from mental, physical, or behavioral health issues and other insecurities exacerbated by being deprived of support services that education provides.
What is more crucial than the education of our children? Quality learning is borne from good teachers, not flatscreen avatars flipping through PowerPoint presentations, not virtual education, but real teachers in real classrooms.
The kiss my second grade teacher planted on my cheek after our class production of “Johnny Appleseed” changed me forever. In high school, I took classes from a teacher who laughed a lot and encouraged me to laugh with her. She said yes when other voices were fond of saying no.
Rather than “no child left behind,” coronavirus has left most children behind. It is a national emergency, so let’s invite students back to class as safely as humanly possible.
Get in Line
Like a traffic backup on I-5, the year 2020 effectively stalled our lives. Gridlocked us, our hindered progress so jammed that we had to adjust plans. A submicroscopic virus, something far smaller than a bacterium or a blood cell, absorbs the blame for halting everything we considered normal. And 2021 may bring more disappointment before remedial measures finally cap the spread of COVID-19 and lessen the devastation the virus has scattered to every habitable landmass on earth.
Family get-togethers, sit-down meals in restaurants, weekend day trips, movies, concerts, theater productions, haircuts, school activities, worship services, commencements, athletic contests, weddings, funerals, and workouts at the gym—all normal comings and goings became shadows of their original selves. Even an afternoon stroll in the neighborhood changed its course (oops, someone’s coming—better cross the street to preserve physical distance). Face to face encounters meant Zoom or Facetime meetings. Online religious observances became ubiquitous. Lines formed, safe spacing indicated by decals beneath our feet as we shuffled to enter essential businesses. Gate keepers took our temperatures and insisted that we wear prophylactic masks. Drive-throughs became a commonplace arrangement for banking, fast food pickups, and rapid testing for coronavirus. Getting used to all these prescriptions and proscriptions we regarded as the “new normal.” The old normal, one presumes, is far better than what we have experienced recently?
The pandemic as taken a toll on our collective mental health—loneliness, anxiety, food insecurity, and financial vulnerability foster nothing but trouble now and for the future. Like turtles, for safety sake, we found it necessary to retract our exposed lives into our shells where we are shielded from harm. But what about those people who cannot afford to withdraw, those who do not have the protection of a shell?
In our household we can afford to withdraw, to depend upon gig workers and minimum wage earners to provide services for us while we take cover. By circumstance and by good fortune, we have stayed clear of the hardships many people face. What about those legions of people who cannot afford to hole-up? What about folks facing empty food pantries? What about those people who face a stack of unpaid bills? Or those about to be evicted? What about those who suffer from crumbling health and have little or no meaningful shelter? What about those who simply do not have the money or the favored skin color allowing them to stand toward the front of the line?
Hard truth: we are not equal. Are we? Recent inequities prove the point. We measure people’s power by money and social standing, and just now that may mean life or death. Money and privilege are trump cards in this survival game. We are playing with a stacked deck. While I fuss over not being able to take that flight to Europe or enjoy that fishing trip to Canada, some of my neighbors agonize over holding fast to the basic needs of life.
Recently Charles Barkley, former brilliant NBA player, an African American, said that athletes should go to the head of the vaccine line because they pay more in taxes than most other folks. In his case, skin color is not an issue. Money is. His high and mighty assertion sort of makes my point. Half of it, anyway. If one can pay the price, one gets to go through the turnstile. To appreciate that thinking, reduced to its pith, Barkley asserts that proper protection from the virus depends on wealth, and he seems proud to make the claim. Essential workers get behind Barkley in line. Same goes for you elderly folks who are living on fixed income. Get behind the big guy in line all minimum wage earners. That goes for all of you suckers who don’t have a thick wallet.
Power of One
As the world population edges toward eight billion, I marvel at the power of one—one person, one idea, one transforming moment. The first domino that topples the whole column, the first flash that ignites the fuse, the first crack in orthodoxy’s ramparts—it is that first pressure that redirects what we knew to what we know. Let me explain.
You may remember Tank Man, the anonymous Chinese protester who bravely stood in front of a column of tanks in June of 1989 near Tiananmen Square. As the lead tank maneuvered to get around him, he shuffled in front of the 36-ton war machine, the resulting standoff destined to become a deep-rooted image displayed on screens and in newspapers everywhere. That one iconic act of defiance galvanized much of the world to think about the significance of liberty, if not embrace it. That one incident became embedded in the minds of people throughout the world. Though the Chinese government labeled the protest as criminally counter-revolutionary, everyone outside China knew that Tank Man and his compatriots, maybe as many as a million who gathered in the square, protested for freedom and democracy. No one knows what happened to him, but a consensus of China watchers believe that Tank Man was executed shortly after the uprising was put down, after thousands were wounded or killed during the sweep of the square. One man. One moment. One stirring incident that briefly turned the world upside down.
Tank Man brings to mind others who, because of a moment of bravery, challenged authority and suddenly dogeared a page in history. Martin Luther, Joan of Arc, Thomas Paine, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Rosa Parks, Malala Yousafzai, Greta Thunberg—all these celebrated figures stand toward the front of a long line of people who became consequential because they took a gutsy stand for an enduring belief. Each one pushed back against the authorities of the day. They prove the value in the power of one.
Underscoring those religious flagbearers who singlehandedly changed humankind (Jesus, the Buddha, Muhammad, Confucius, Krishna, Abraham, and several significant others), we later find their disciples who disseminated that newborn influence: Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela, and so on. These followers added exponentially to the immense importance of what was begun by one person, one idea, one devoted spiritual taxonomy.
But for every history-making hero, there is, sadly, an equal but opposite history-making scoundrel. One person can, of course, set in motion powerful harmful outcomes. Think of Mussolini, Robespierre, Hitler, Stalin, Generalissimo Franco, Idi Amin, Pol Pot, Mao Zedong, and many others who caused carnage and destruction simply by asserting their power over millions of innocents. Woefully, the destroyers are as common as dirt across the landscape of human history. They pop up like weeds.
Think of the recent damage one man, Trump, wrecked on America. Trump encouraged Americans to offend each other, to hate each other, all in the name of what’s good for Trump is what’s good for Trump and only Trump so help me Trump. He spread lies and insults against anyone who did not hoist his banners. That’s who he is. That’s what he will continue to do as long as he stays on the public stage. How he managed to gather all his followers to do his bidding let alone listen to his demagoguery falls into a time-honored pattern. Resentment. Figure out what people resent and play it for all it’s worth. Then keep playing it until everyone is dancing a violent frenzy of hatred. Hate the media. Hate immigrants. Hate the elite. Hate Hillary. Hate Muslims. Hate Jews. Hate liberals. Hate progressives. Hate the Chinese. Hate African Americans. Hate those who don’t hate with the proper vigor. Hate is a powerful force. And it can ruin a country and the well-meaning people within it.
It only takes one. Just one.
Scars
As a nation, we could use a big dose of forgiveness as an antidote for the injuries we have dealt one another during the recent political battles.
As much as anyone, I have resorted to vile words and thoughts aimed at far-righters in general and those stinkers in the White House specifically. I mean, really, the whole lot of them, I thought, were myopically unamerican and anti-democratic, choosing political muscle over decency, opting for lies and deceit rather than honesty. And many diehard ultra-conservatives must have come to similar conclusions about all of us who stood on this side of the divide. Name-calling and threats escalated at one point to murderous magnitudes. News of stabbings and shootings became commonplace. People on both sides of the street armed themselves and marched around with AR-15 style weapons draped across their chests screaming “fuck you” at their adversaries. Voices from the extreme ends of the political spectrum shamefully called for their enemies to be arrested, jailed, drawn and quartered, brought before a firing squad, or “taken out” one way or another. Others called for secession because, well, because how can we live together in a country so irrevocably disunited?
What we are experiencing now comes as a corollary to the aftermath of the French Revolution and the Reign of Terror when Robespierre, a lefty by today’s standards, took charge by cutting off the heads of thousands of people, those whom he didn’t much care for, those opposed to his “Republic of Virtue.” Some virtue, huh? My virtue is better than your virtue. So there! What finally was Monsieur Robespierre’s reward for cleansing society, for sorting out the ones who accepted his authority from the ones who did not accept autocratic rule? Well, as it happened, the counter-revolutionaries cut off his head, of course. Plop! Into the bucket goes Robespierre’s head. That’s how these things work. Once a body starts cutting off heads surely that selfsame body will lose his or her head as well.
I should have applied that historical lesson after the Charleston church massacre of nine people in June of 2015. From those killings emerged a meme that spread across the country like a radio signal beamed from a satellite: “Hate Won’t Win.” Those words came from the mouth of Alana Simmons, granddaughter of Rev. Daniel Simmons. He was one of the victims slain at the hands of Dylann Roof during a Bible study at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church.
At the bond hearing for the accused, Alana surprised herself when she told the alleged murderer that her grandfather dedicated his life to love. Though the victims were killed because Roof wanted to start a race war and had harbored hatred for African Americans, Alana declared, without forethought, that hate won’t win. Her conclusion might not be aligned with the news we confront each day, but it speaks to default New Testament tenets of forgiveness and expiation. The power of forgiveness is strong medicine. “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong,” asserted Mahatma Gandhi, and who could disagree with the loin-clothed man who changed the world by non-violently protesting against colonial rule?
That good news brings us to a new surge in hatred and intolerance fostered by the recent political climate in America. As we attempt to heal after the disasters that pummeled us during 2020, one wonders just how long it will take for wounds to mend. Hold on. What if no healing takes place at all? The damage does seem deep and, like a festering infection, may take extra doctoring to stop it from becoming septic.
People who should know better are continuing war whoops and underscoring recriminations as the aftermath of the 2020 elections. Hate won’t win! Or will it? Lately, hatemongers appear to have a noticeable lead over the those who tout forgiveness and healing.
But it is always close race, and over the whole course of history it always has been—back and forth. There is no finish line. What matters is that each of us may decide which response to bet on: Love or Hate.
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.