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.

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.