To Senator Ó Riordáin in thanks for his remarks on November 10, 2016

Monday, November 28, 2016




Dear Senator Ó Riordáin,

I wanted to take a moment to commend you for your remarks delivered on November 10th in the wake of the election of Donald Trump. In a bleak moment for those of us who believe not only in the practicality of democratic governance but in its underlying values and ideals, your words were invigorating. I suspect I speak for a great number of my countrymen (two million more of whom voted against Trump than for him) when I say “thank you.”

My hope is that you (and those of us with similar values) will continue to shine a light on the atrociousness of Mr. Trump’s words and actions and bring pressure on governmental institutions to not normalize (via passive acceptance) values antithetical to democracy.

Of course, it is not the job of Ireland, its government, or its people to save the United States from itself. However, as I think your recent remarks suggest, the time has come for those of us who share democratic values to take note of ties of political and moral kinship beyond our borders. The election of Mr. Trump is but the most recent and egregious incident in what I fear is a movement to roll back progress on matters of equality, justice, and inclusiveness. This movement is not unique to the United States, and therefore the resistance to it must not be confined by borders.

I feel it’s important to note, however, the special role Ireland might play in this vis-à-vis the incoming administration in the U.D. Among the most odious of Mr. Trump’s statements and promises are those involving anti-immigrant sentiment and hatefulness based on religious beliefs. Such rhetoric is not new; indeed, its roots in America predate the establishment of the United States as an independent nation. And Irish immigrants to America were particularly targeted by such hatefulness during the influx of migration from Ireland in the 19th century.

Given this, public voices in Ireland are in a position to be of particular influence given that such a large percentage of us in America are here thanks to our Irish forebears. Ireland can speak to America about the repugnance of such sentiments in way no other nation on Earth can, reminding us that although Saint Patrick’s Day is practically a national holiday in the U.S., this is the case today despite the best efforts of those like Mr.Trump, who, were he living 150 years ago, would likely have advocated for closing harbors to Irish ships and advocating for “extreme vetting” of the impoverished and starving immigrants who sought refuge on our shores.

As someone descended in part from immigrants from Cork and Galway, it was particularly moving to hear such a fierce voice for decency speaking with an Irish accent. And I both hope and expect that many other Americans, including those perhaps not predisposed to be open to such a message, would be similarly responsive to these sentiments from our Irish cousins in way they would not if they came from almost any other quarter.

Indeed, it would be a monumentally meaningful gesture if the leading public figures of Ireland said they would not engage in “business as usual” with the incoming administration given its repellent views toward immigrants and religious minorities.

Although I suspect persuading the highest government officials in Ireland would be difficult (self-interest being what it is), the effort to do so is worth it. Above all, our shared goal ought to be to avoid normalizing what should be—what must be—stigmatized as antithetical to the projects of democratic government and building a more humane world.

Your remarks were a formidable and welcome contribution in this effort, and I sincerely hope you continue to fight this battle. And please know that as you do, you have countless allies here in America with whom you will find common cause.

Go raibh maith agat,

Ted Remington

Blogging as letter writing

I've been remiss about keeping up my blogging, at least in part because it often feels like screaming into a hurricane, and other writing projects seem like they would be a more fruitful way to spend my time.  However, after having sworn off dealing with Facebook beyond the basics of having a point of contact for friend/relatives I don't interact with often in other forums, some of the energy that had been channeled there might be profitably put to use here.

But, to be honest, it still seems rather pathetic to cast random thoughts out into the blogosphere. So, I thought I might bundle blogging with another project I'm going to try to get going on, which is to be a more active writer of letters to public figures.  Particularly given the insanity revealed by our most recent election (or perhaps I should say "election"--the scare quotes seem appropriate), I've been thinking I ought to be a more engaged citizen. Specifically, I decided I ought to write more letters (including, when possible, good ol' fashioned paper/envelope/stamp letters) to people in positions to do something about various issues.

To that end, my hope is to write at least one letter, even a brief one, every week or so and to copy the text here, for whatever it might be worth.

Why?

Why?

Is that the only question that matters?  When something as senseless and shocking as what happened in Coralville over the weekend happens, is that the only meaningful question?

If so, why do I find myself asking so many others?

Is it logical for me to find this shooting, one like so many others that happen on a daily basis, more shocking because it happened in location I’ve been so many times myself?  If not logical, is it at least understandable?

Is it true that what set the murderer off that he was fired from his job because of a complaint that he was continually sexually harassing the victim?

Does it give me a sense of grim satisfaction that the guy seems to have been a rabid gun lover with a Facebook page filled with pro-military, pro-gun, anti-immigrant rhetoric? Does this help me wrap my brain around the event because it somehow “makes sense” in my own world view for the person who did these acts to fit that profile?  Do I dare answer that question?

Was the murderer someone in the thrall of a patriarchal culture? If this indeed is the case, what are we to make of the fact that he recently got married and apparently took his wife’s last name?  Is there anything we can make of this in terms of the intertwining of patriarchy, misogyny, and cultural constructs of masculinity?

Was the murderer mentally ill?  Does a definition of “mentally ill” that does not cover the need to mindfully drive home, get a semiautomatic handgun, drive back, and murder an innocent young woman really qualify as an adequate definition?  But if we chalk this action up to mental illness or emotional disturbance, do we undercut the importance of personal autonomy and responsibility?  And how do we define *those* qualities, anyway?

Is my gut-level reaction to this affected by the fact that the victim was a young, pretty woman?  Would I feel the same way if the victim was older? Ugly? Male? If the genders of the people involved were flipped, would it strike me on a visceral level as less tragic? Are my reactions shaped by cultural attitudes?  And, if so, is my own emotional reaction just as much a product of patriarchy as the misogyny of the perpetrator? Am I forced to see the event through the lens of gender constructs?  Is it simply a choice of which parts of those constructs I choose to see it through?  Or is the word “choice” here even appropriate?

Why do people feel the need to own semi-automatic guns?  Is there any purpose to these besides the quick and efficient killing of human beings?  Did the murderer buy the gun because he reflected carefully and sincerely felt it provided necessary protection?  Or was owning the gun a symbolic act that satisfied some emotional lack or need?  Given the objective evidence that owning a gun, no matter how it’s stored, significantly increases the likelihood of someone dying violently in the household, is there such a thing as a truly careful and reflective decision to bring a gun into one’s home?

What did the murderer think when he was driving down I-80?  Did he feel regret? Remorse? Satisfaction? Or was he simply numb? 

What did the sky look like as he drove toward Davenport?

What does it feel like to know that, for all practical purposes, your life is over, even though you may live for 50-60 years?

Did the victim ever know what was happening to her?  Was there time?  Was she scared? 

Is it true that she was particularly fond of the turtle exhibit at the Children’s Museum where she worked?  Do turtles have any sense of who works with them?  Will they on some level sense her absence?  Did the turtles hear the gunshots?  Can turtles hear at all?  And why do I find such trivial questions going through my head?

What would she have done with her life?  How will other people’s lives be different because she’s not in it?  Is it even possible, outside the world of Hollywood schmaltz, to answer such a counterfactual question? How can the flapping of a butterfly’s wings end up creating a hurricane on the other side of the world?

Are any of these questions even worth asking?  Or is there only a single question that all of these can be reduced to . . . one unanswerable question?

Why?

An Open Letter to My State Senator Vis-à-Vis L'Affair de Ritz

My illustrious state senator (and local Pizza Hut franchise lawyer): David Long

Sometimes my interest in peaceful communication gets steamrolled by snark.  This is one of those times.  I'm posting the text of a letter I sent to my State Senator, David Long, about his role in the attempt by some political operatives in Indiana to circumvent the authority of the Superintendent of Schools, Glenda Ritz.  

(You can read about it here.)

I had contacted him before the senate vote to let him know I thought he should vote "no." Given that he's been in the forefront of the attack on the superintendent, this was quixotic on my part.  I did, however, get a form email from his office after the vote in which he attempted to "explain" why he voted the way he did.  My response is as follows:

Dear State Senator Long:

I appreciate the response to my email sharing my thoughts on the bill regarding Superintendent Ritz.  

Unfortunately, the attempt to explain your position only further served to muddy the waters.  In particular, the letter engages in a tell-tale sign of political doublespeak: the circular argument.

The rationale for the legislation given in the letter was that Superintendent Ritz took actions you felt were detrimental to the relationship between her and the board.  The salient fact left out, of course, is that these actions were themselves responses to actions taken by the governor.

In essence, the reasoning of your argument is as follows: the governor didn’t like Ritz’s positions so he made unprecedented moves to circumvent her authority—authority given to her by the people of Indiana. 

 Superintendent Ritz resisted such moves and, because she wouldn’t play ball, legislation was needed to force her.

It’s a bit like the schoolyard bully defending himself by saying, “Don’t blame me for hitting her!  She kept putting her face in front of my fist!”

I recognize that you are counting on the average Indianan to not fully understand the dynamics of the narrative.  Perhaps that hope is well-founded.  That has yet to be seen.

It’s also clear you hope that part of these forgotten dynamics are other statements you’ve made about Superintendent Ritz.  In your letter, you plead innocence about this being in any way about Superintendent Ritz personally.  But that doesn’t square with the following public statement made last month:

“In all fairness, Superintendent Ritz was a librarian, OK? . . . She has never run a school system, and that is a bit of a problem for her — she’s on a learning curve there.”

Now, in all fairness, you’re a local pol and pizza joint lawyer, OK?  You’ve never run a school system, or had any professional experience in education for that matter.  And that’s a bit of a problem for you—you’re on a learning curve there.  

See, education isn’t a political game. It’s actually important.  The effects of decisions made now will have consequences when your own political career is reduced to nothing more than a footnote in a dusty, untouched reference tome in some government office in Indianapolis.  

Those of us who have devoted our lives to education know this; neither you nor the governor seem to.

(In all fairness, Governor Pence is a former radio talk show host, OK?  He also has never run a school system, and that’s a bit of a problem for him—he’s on a learning curve there.)

Indeed, not only do you not seem to understand education, but your ignorance encompasses the basic aspects of democracy as well.

Untrolling Tuesday

So, I'm trying to be more dedicated to blogging, which means not waiting until I have something well thought out to say and shooting from the hip (if you'll pardon the firearms metaphor in this context).

One half-baked idea I had recently was something minor that could be done to help make Twitter a bit more friendly.  I'm not sure where/when it occurred to me, and it's not exactly original, but a couple of weeks ago, I tried an experiment in "untrolling."

Of course, "trolling" is the art/habit/addiction of saying snarky, mean-spirited, critical things to people on social media in an attempt to get a rise out of them and/or to simply vent one's spleen. Anyone who's reading a blog post like this is no doubt familiar with this. Many of us, yours truly included, have done it ourselves.

Hamlet, Skull in Hand

I’m not entirely sure why this occupied my mind this morning, but it did, so I thought I’d type it up.

My dad’s favorite episode ever of Star Trek: the Next Generation was one in which Picard findshimself stranded on a planet with an alien he can’t communicate.  It’s not that they don’t share a common language; as is the case in most episodes of Star Trek, everyone and everything speaks the Queen’s English (or Starfleet’s English).  

No, the problem is that while the alien’s individual words might be decipherable, the underlying meaning of them is not.  The reason is that the alien speaks in nothing but literary analogies alluding to myths from his own culture.  Without having a grounding in the culture of the alien, Picard can make no sense of koan-like sayings, such as “Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra” or “Temba, his arms wide.”

Eventually, Data and the trusty Enterprise computer figure out where this alien comes from and provide Picard with a Wikipedia-esque understanding of the characters and situations the alien makes reference to, and this allows communication to take place.  Picard even creates his own version of this language, using phrases from his own culture's repository of literary allusions, such as “Gilgamesh and Enkidu at Uruk.”  Not only does this newfound common language of analogy allow Picard and his companion to defeat a monstrous beast that attacks them, but to forge a bond between themselves and their cultures. 

JFK and the Stories We Tell

Every week or so, I have a dream involving the JFK assassination.  It’s never realistic.  I’m not in Dealey Plaza as it actually looks.  I often don’t even see Kennedy.  It’s much more abstract.  I’m running through some generic city streets that are sort of stand ins for Dallas (I guess), and I’m aware that the shots are about to be fired, but I don’t know where.  Or I’m watching something on television about the assassination, and suddenly I’m sucked through the screen and I’m somewhere unfamiliar and unrecognizable, and I’m scared I’m about to see something horrific, and then I hear the rifle shots.

I don’t know why this has become a recurring motif of my dreams.  I wasn’t alive when it happened, so it’s something more indirect than reliving a traumatic experience—something metaphorical.  If forced to guess, I suppose it has probably has something to do with fear of my own death, the threat of violence, dealing with loss, or just the fragility of life in general.

In the early 1990s, around the time of the 30^th anniversary of the assassination, I became interested in exploring the assassination and read a few books.  Stone’s JFK had just come out, so that was probably the catalyst for my interest.  What became more fascinating to me than issues of bullet trajectories or missing autopsy reports or the time Oswald spent in the Soviet Union was the passion with which people held their opinions on the event.  Single bullet or magic bullet.  CIA or the Cubans. Grassy knoll or sixth floor.  Whatever people thought about the assassination, they seemed to hold like a religious belief.  I became aware that whatever the actual facts were didn’t matter.  Any fact could be molded to fit a preconceived narrative.  The question was then why did people choose certain narratives over others?  What was at stake for them?  Clearly, it had to be something, given my increasing conviction that rational argumentation had little to do with people’s thoughts.

The Macrologician Strikes Back!

 

Thanks to those who passed along kind words about the whole "Golden Pen" thing.  Below, is the "director's cut" of the letter, restored from the violence done to it by those enemies of macrologia over at the Journal Gazette! :-)

In the recent congressional debate about the farm bill, Republicans proposed slashing $20 billion from the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) over ten years. Some holier-than-thou advocates for children call this “cruel.”  Luckily, Indiana’s own Representative Marlin Stutzman sees that the only problem with these cuts is that they don’t go far enough. He suggested upping the amount to $30 billion.

You can guess what the “reality-based” crowd will say to this.  They’ll point out Marlin has taken over $200,000 from the government for his own farming operations over the last 15 years.  They’ll remind us Marlin has claimed he was “forced” to take these government handouts when, in fact, he wasn’t.  They might even use the word “hypocrite” to describe Marlin.

But Marlin understands that huge operations like Stutzman Farms need such handouts (more kindly called “crop insurance”) as protection from the consequences of economic forces beyond their control.  To those who claim the kids of the working poor don’t deserve to suffer because of the disastrous fiscal policies of Wall Street either, folks like Marlin have a ready answer: how do you know those little blighters didn’t cause the subprime mortgage crisis in the first place?

All of us in Indiana’s 3^rd Congressional District should be thankful that when not being frog-marched to the bank by government thugs and forced to cash those five-digit checks he didn’t even ask for, Marlin has devoted time to sorting out the real culprits behind our economic woes: hungry kids.

The Gayest Games Ever!

Like a lot of folks, I’ve been hearing a lot recently about the human-rights-defying anti-gay laws passed in Russia, particularly in the context of the upcoming Winter Olympics.  British comedian Stephen Fry just wrote an open letter to Prime MinisterDavid Cameron suggesting a boycott or relocation of the games from Russia.  On the other side of the issue, Johnny Weir (American figure skater, openly gay man, and sequin aficionado) has spoken out against an Olympic boycott, saying it would just hurt people who had nothing to do with the laws.

What are civilized people supposed to do?  On one hand, going ahead with the games and hiding behind the shibboleth that “the majesty of sport transcends political issues” isn’t an option.  It amounts to tacit approval of gross immorality.  But would a boycott really do anything constructive? Is it even possible to change the location of the games at this late date? Is punishing the athletes (the folks the games are ultimately about) to “send a message” a just thing to do?

I’ve been trying to think of what an approach of creative, constructive nonviolence might look like as a solution to this issue, based on the reading and coursework I’ve done in this area.  And I might just have come up with a solution.

Four words: The Gayest Games Ever!

On Online Comment Cruelty

 Was reading an article about the recent suicide of a celebrity, and the article was followed by many comments from readers, some of which were thoughtful, many of which were not.  A few of us shared some ideas on why some people seem drawn to make grotesque, hurtful, and cruel comments in an online environment.  Below was my contribution to the discussion, which I realized would probably be appropriate for this blog.  I'm still thinking through this phenomenon of online cruelty for no apparent purpose and how to respond to it.  Mostly, I just try to avoid reading comments sections in general.  When I do read comments, I try to keep the following ideas in mind (emphasis on *try*; I often fail).  If any of you have thoughts about the best way to engage/think about such things, I'd love to hear what you have to say as well.

Anyway, FWIW, here it is:

On the issue of the tone of many of the comments, it's true we don't put a collective value on empathy, intelligence, and just basic politeness (e.g., we downgrade politeness as a virtue these days because it is somehow antithetical to being "real").

That said, when I encounter these sorts of comments, I try to remind myself of a few things. One, people make these comments for reasons that are all about them, not about anyone or anything else. It's a chance to offload anxieties, frustrations, pain, etc. A second, related, point is that age-old observation that people treat others the way they treat themselves. No matter how smug and self-satisfied they might try to come across, people who are cruel and insensitive are people who treat themselves that way as well (often unconsciously).

None of this excuses the behavior, but it might explain what is otherwise utterly insipid, idiotic behavior. It speaks to an underlying degree of pain in a society in which we feel disconnected. And it also helps me move from a place where I feel a need to skewer these people or explain to them exactly how stupid they are being to simply acknowledging that these people have been damaged and hurt on a profound level themselves, and even more tragically, they don't know how to heal. Instead, they just try to offload the pain and frustration in an attempt to purge it from themselves. It never works. Let's hope they can learn that.

Anger and Newtown

I don’t know what to say about the Newtown shooting.  As someone interested in peace, nonviolence, language, and their interconnectedness, I think there’s a lot to be said. But coming up with what that might be is another thing altogether.

Most viscerally, I just find myself angry. Not so much at the predictable parade of conmen, Pharisees, and paranoids who tell us that we need more guns or God or (preferably) both in schools to make things right. They’re just wind-up toys doing what they do.  (I will say, in passing, that I think Sacha Baron Cohen has topped himself with his latest character “Representative Louie Gomert, Republican of Texas,” a masterstroke of satirical social commentary.)

Evolution of a satirist?

I’m not even mad at the shooter. Maybe I should be, but I’m not.  He’s beyond anger at this point, and clearly was disturbed to a degree we cannot fathom.

I do get frustrated with those who I think should know better.  The mom with whom I am (or was) “friends” on Facebook who approvingly reposts a screed about how none of this would happen if parents would just “beat the s*** out of weird withdrawn ungrateful f**ks” like they did back in the good ol’ days.  The parents who think they are protecting their family by bringing guns into their house when statistics show that, regardless of type of gun or storage, a gun is 43 times more likely to kill someone in the house than any intruder.  Those who in arguing for this or that approach to understanding what happened insist on using sloppy thinking, relying on false dilemmas and strawmen.  

But most of all, I get angry at myself.  Angry for being angry.  Angry for gleefully unfriending authors of idiotic posts on Facebook.  Angry at the satisfaction I get in giving the rhetorical back of my hand to nincompoops online with their half-baked theology or social policy.  Angry for allowing myself to become misanthropic.  Angry for allowing myself the grim pleasure of seeing my misanthropy confirmed by the unending parade of ignorance and hate available to us 24/7 through the magic of cable news, talk radio, and the interwebs.  Angry for not fully putting to use the skills I’ve learned from reading folks like Thich Nhat Hanh, Johan Galtung, Marshall Rosenberg, and many others who have helped me begin cobbling together way of thinking about what truly peaceful/nonviolent thinking and communication might look like and be practiced.

MA'AM Up!

 [The following is a piece I wrote for comedian Jen Kirkman's project, "MA'AM" (Men Against Assholes and Misogyny).  Check it out here.

A student at the school I teach at once said of a colleague of mine, “Everyone says Ms. Smith is a feminist, but I think she’s actually really nice.”

Fortunately, I grew up in an atmosphere where feminism wasn’t a dirty word, synonymous with “raging bitch on wheels.”  However, in college, I do remember feeling a bit intimidated by feminism.  I mistakenly thought that feminist thinking said that as a male, I was a bad person.  I thought it meant that my feelings were not important because I was male.  I thought it meant that if I thought of a woman as sexy or desirable, I was doing something wrong.  I thought it meant that it was perfectly fine for me to be seen as an act of misogynistic violence waiting to happen—to be presumed guilty or at least under suspicion.

Obviously, for someone who just wanted to be liked, these feelings hurt me and made me wary of identifying as a feminist.  But as I got older, I recognized that my feelings were based on misperceptions.  The sort of cartoonish, man-hating feminism was a vulgar distortion of what feminism was actually about.  

In the spirit of sharing what I’ve gleaned, here are a few common misconceptions about feminism, and the actual reality, as I now understand it. 

Enemies are often allies beneath the skin.

In the wake of the recent murder of Americans in Libya, the demonstrations in Cairo, and the growing unrest in other Islamic countries, the truth of this is becoming clear.

As I write, there doubts have emerged about links betweenthe killings in Libya and the “film” that has made the rounds on the web thatinsults Islam.  The events in Cairo seem a direct response to it, as do the spreading demonstrations.

More revolting: the makers of the film may have intended to invoke this reaction. 

Why? One can only speculate, but speculation isn’t hard in this case: the image of mobs of Muslims attacking U.S. citizens and property plays into the image of Islam as a religion of intolerance and hate.  Rather than the film saying anything directly, it invokes a response that is far more effective in making the case than the film itself.

So, radical Christians vs. radical Islamicists, right?

 

The more I think about it, the less I think that’s the way we should see it.

Contrarian (or at Least Contradictory) Thoughts on Christopher Hitchens

Since discovering the writings of Christopher Hitchens in the pages of The Nation (before he had a post 9/11 hissyfit and stomped off its pages) many years ago, I’ve had an odd relationship with him as a reader, mixed with admiration and disappointment.  

Given his passing, I’ve found myself revisiting these feelings, and offer the following thoughts for whatever they might be worth . . .

First, cancer can suck it.  

Second, seriously, cancer can suck it.  Hard.  

Third, my ambivalent feelings about Hitchens come in part from the mixed bag of his political positions.  Yes, Kissinger did criminal things.  But the man who made the case against Kissinger turns around and supports an illegal and immoral war in Iraq?  Yes, waterboarding is obviously torture.  But Bush deserved reelection? 

That, however, is garden-variety differences in opinion on specific issues.  I feel a bit more conflicted about Hitchens because (I think) of a deeper disconnect.  On one hand, I admire his rhetorical skill greatly, as well as his willingness to take on conventional wisdom.  But on the other, I found myself turned off by what I felt was too often a boorish and bullying style when he turned his sites on targets that, while perhaps in need of criticism, also called for a more nuanced approach than Hitchens was willing or able to deliver.

Take, for example, his infamous skewering of Mother Teresa.  On one hand, it’s probably good to cast a skeptical eye on figures in society who seem beyond reproach and ask if our unqualified praise is merited.  Is it possible that, in celebrating the alleged virtues of poverty and championing policies of the Catholic Church (e.g. no contraception), Mother Theresa at times did and said things that might have run counter to her professed mission to help the poor?  I don’t know, but it’s a question worth asking.  On the other hand, to lambaste the woman as a “fanatic, fundamentalist, and a fraud” is like lighting a candle with a flamethrower: obscene overkill lacking any careful use of that quality Hitchens professed be committed to—reason.

It was that needlessly bombastic, pugilistic rhetorical style that made me feel a bit uncomfortable even when I found myself in general agreement with him.  It’s also what made his career, so I can’t say that he would have been better off taking a more nuanced approach to his topics, but I felt he sometimes gave “reason” and “intellect” a bad name by wielding them like a Bowie knife rather than a scalpel.