Posted by Sappho on March 31st, 2015 filed in Bible study
Nothing quite says “God stands against injustice” like a story in which God rescues actual slaves.
Sometimes it’s as interesting to find out where an odd difference probably isn’t strongly influenced by genetics as to know when it does. A month ago, when the Dress swept the Internet, 23andMe customers asked whether their friends’ perverse inability to see the fact that the Dress was
blue and black/ white and gold/blue and gold (I’m #TeamBlueAndGold, but I’m in the minority) might have something to do with genetics. 23andMe obliged with a survey of selected customers who had agreed to participate in research, and reported on the results here and here (including a white paper on the survey). Because 23andMe has already collected a bunch of survey information from customers who have agreed to participate in research, they were able to correlate responses to a few simple questions about the Dress (what colors do you see in this picture, what colors did you see when you first saw the Dress, do you see the colors as constant or do they shift) not only with the customers’ genes (or at least the subset that 23andMe samples), but also with other survey responses. Here is what they found.
Posted by Sappho on March 27th, 2015 filed in News and Commentary
First, if you read French, the French papers tend to be fuller on details here (or full on details with less delay); here, for instance, is yesterday’s article in Le Monde about the prosecutor’s assertion that the co-pilot probably deliberately downed the plane. A friend of a friend also passes on this article and this article in Liberation.
Second, you can check out the Guardian live blog for lots of updates (as I write this, the last update appears to be 20 hours ago, perhaps there’s a newer one for today’s updates or perhaps not). I note that the number of airlines requiring two people in the cockpit at all times has just dramatically increased.
Third, though having two people in the cockpit at all times does sound like a good idea (even if the flight attendant who becomes the second person when the pilot steps out can’t fly the plane, he or she can let the pilot back in), it’s worth remembering that there’s a reason why cockpit doors are reinforced to begin with, and that, infrequent though terrorist attacks on planes may be, terrorists are still more common than suicidal/homicidal pilots. Bruce Schneier has said, “Only two things have made flying safer: the reinforcement of cockpit doors, and the fact that passengers know now to resist hijackers.” (I’m not sure that the measures that Schneier says only deter stupid terrorists are entirely useless, because many people are, in fact, stupid. But I’m sure he’s right that these two things protect us way more than any of the other measures.)
Posted by Sappho on March 27th, 2015 filed in News and Commentary, Race
I found out a week after the fact that Razib Khan, one a science blogger at Discover Magazine and now a blogger at Ron Unz’s site, got hired and fired by the New York Times in a single day. If he had still been blogging at Discover I’d have found out right away, because I read him regularly for a while, back then, but as it is I was spending my news reading time paying attention to Ebola, and whether Tsipras can settle his disagreements with Merkel, and just what happened to that Germanwings airplane, and so almost missed altogether how the New York Times hired 20 new people at once, and then quickly fired one of them.
Anyway, if someone was going to be hired and fired by the NYT in one day, Khan is about the least surprising person this could happen to. He is, in fact, both exactly the sort of person I’d expect the NYT to hire, and exactly the sort of person I’d expect them to fire. Nothing about this incident really surprises me (including Khan’s post shrugging the incident off and saying he’s off to relax with a good book – while Khan can be as touchy and ready to take offense as the next blogger if he thinks someone has insulted him, he’s always struck me as someone allergic to seeing himself as any kind of victim – railing about losing a job isn’t the kind of thing he’d want to do).
The issue, of course, was race. “Of course,” I say, because if you’d followed Khan for any length of time, that’s just what you’d expect the sticking point to be. But putting it that way makes it sound unsurprising that Khan would be fired without explaining why it would be unsurprising that he would be hired. By “of course” I don’t mean “anyone who spent five minutes Googling Razib Khan or checking his work ought to know that he’s a flaming racist.” Let me explain.
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Posted by Sappho on March 21st, 2015 filed in Daily Life
Today, Joel arranged an outing for our support groups: we attended the Swallow Day parade at San Juan Capistrano.
Every year at this time, the story goes, the swallows return to the old mission church at San Juan Capistrano. When we moved down here and visited the mission, someone told us that these days, the swallows actually return to the Mission Viejo mall. But, either way, every year in San Juan Capistrano, there is a parade to welcome them back.
Among those included in the parade:
- People in old Wild West outfits firing guns (I presume not real, but with noise and smoke that were real enough and that moved the little dogs near us to bark).
- People in military uniforms, some mounted and some not, until I began to wonder whether this would be mostly a military themed parade. (Sometimes I think that we are, after all, the Klingons: a proud warrior people.)
- Closing out the military themed groups, a celebrated war horse (evidently the most famous war horse alive today?).
- Friars (whether actual or reenacted I am not sure).
- More men and women in Wild West garb.
- Mixed with them, men and women and children in Mexican garb.
- People from the Juaneño Band of Mission Indians, Acjachemen Nation;
- An Italian language group, including people singing “O Sole Mio”.
- Children from the Boys and Girls Club.
- Girl Scouts.
- Children from many local schools. Mostly Anglo schools, mostly Latino schools, and thoroughly mixed schools (with Asian-American and black kids intermingled in all groups). A school that boasted a 71% college admission rate for students who, when admitted to college, were, 95% of the time, the first in their family to attend college. A charter school from Mission Viejo, whose name included “Oxford.” Boys playing instruments and girls swinging flags and batons.
- Little girls being pulled in wheeled canoes, who shrieked when the men pulling the canoes spun them.
- People walking alongside the parade, but not officially in it. I noted a T-shirt proclaiming its wearer “pi-lingual” (but with the letter pi, not the word), a T-shirt saying “I can’t breathe,” and a sign protesting the closing of a local community center.
- Women from the Daughters of the American Revolution, in colonial garb.
- Reenactors of the Mormon Battalion.
- Mexican-Americans in Aztec garb.
- Police and fire brigades from various local towns.
- Horses, horses, and more horses. Joel and the others estimated that there were 500 to 1000 horses.
- Many more groups. Enough to fill two hours, from the first who passed us to the last.
Afterwards, we went for lunch at a local Mexican restaurant.
Posted by Sappho on March 21st, 2015 filed in Daily Life
When I posted about the Mental Health First Aid workshop that Joel and I attended (and that three other members of our DBSA chapter have now attended, one with us and two at an earlier workshop), I left out one of the most impressive things about that workshop: who showed up. There was one church that sent 19 people, to that Mental Health First Aid workshop. That church is the Community of Christ. When we gave our introductions, the people from Community of Christ (like the rest of us) spoke about their reasons for attending. They came from different congregations. They spoke of different congregational needs. One had an open air church that met in a local park, and attracted many homeless people. Others wanted both to care better for people in their congregations who lived with mental illness, and to work in ministries with people living with mental illness. It was inspiring to see how much commitment this church showed to helping their members fill these needs.
Posted by Sappho on March 19th, 2015 filed in Bipolar Disorder, Classes, Lectures, and Conferences
On Tuesday, I took a vacation day from work, so that I could attend a workshop on Mental Health First Aid. I’m copying to my blog an email that I sent to the leader of our DBSA chapter’s caregiver group, about the workshop (with personal names obscured, other than my husband’s name):
Here’s what I can tell you about the workshop. We heard of it from one of our board members, C, who had already gone through the training, and Joel and S and I signed up and attended. We each got a booklet with the course. I will give you mine, after I finish reading it, since Joel and I don’t need two copies. The booklet covers depression and other mood disorders, anxiety disorders, psychosis, substance abuse, and eating disorders. The workshop, which is eight hours long, leaves out eating disorders, but covers the others.
The acronym that they use to describe what the teach is ALGEE:
- Assess the risk of suicide or harm.
- Listen non-judgmentally.
- Give reassurance and information.
- Encourage appropriate professional help.
- Encourage self-help and other support strategies.
They discuss the prevalence and symptoms of the various disorders, helpful resources, and how to deal with crises and encourage people to get appropriate help. The format is a combination of lecture, short videos, role play, and quizzes.
Sheets of resources were also available. I took some extra copies for you, which you can copy for people in the caregiver’s group.
Hat tip to Jennifer Raff and her Violent Metaphors Facebook feed for the next couple of genomics links.
Survival of the richest? mathbionerd announces her paper A recent bottleneck of Y chromosome diversity coincides with a global change in culture, which shows an extreme reduction in the number of males who reproduced, without an accompanying reduction in the number of females, at about the time of the rise of agriculture. (Here’s Dienekes Pontikos blogging on the same study.)
Genetics: No evidence of role in racial mortality gap. A new study from McGill University fails to find a genetic basis for differences between blacks and whites in cardiovascular disease.
“After nearly a decade of genome-wide association studies (GWAS), no assessment had yet been made of their contribution toward an explanation of the most prominent racial health disparities observed at the population level,” says Jay Kaufman, of the Department of Epidemiology, Biostatistics & Occupational Health in the Faculty of Medicine.
Kaufman and colleagues assessed the reported associations from published genomic studies, “The fact that our results show so little stable evidence of genetic explanations for racial disparities in CVD could be attributed to a general failure of GWAS to explain observed disease phenotypes,” adds Kaufman.
(Here I’ll note, as an aside, that I really don’t have any prior commitment to expecting this sort of study to come out one way or the other. I’m suspicious, of course, of theories about genetic racial differences in which all the racial differences amount to the speaker coming from the race with all the morally superior impulses. But I could easily imagine that we might, say, live in the hypothetical world where there is real genetic variation between different geographic populations in susceptibility to diabetes, given a particular diet, because different geographical populations had different things available to eat, and in turn faced different natural selection related to how they metabolized those different things available to eat. And I could equally easily imagine that we’d live in a hypothetical world where there are no such population level genetic differences, GWAS studies show that fact, and differences in diabetes incidence in different ethnic groups instead turn out to be pinned to social and income inequalities, difference exposure to unhealthy food, etc. It’s all a matter of what studies actually show. Apparently this one points to ethnic differences in cardiovascular health being environmental rather than genetic.)
And another genetic study link, that I didn’t get from Jennifer Raff (though it’s always possible she had it in one of her feeds as well and I missed it): Dienekes points to a study of DNA of 17th century African slaves from the Caribbean.
Also, DNA nanobots destroy leukemia (which makes me think of Borg technology, but in a good way).
Posted by WiredSisters on March 16th, 2015 filed in Uncategorized
Ben Franklin said it, but we don’t pay much attention to it. “Honesty is the best policy.” Most people think it just means being honest is better than being dishonest. I suspect strongly, though I have not yet been able to document it, that he was actually using “policy” in an older sense, meaning something closer to “politics” or to “shrewd maneuvers.” In which case he was actually telling us that telling the truth could sometimes be the smartest thing to do. Anyway, these days we tend to run into the word in an entirely different context that has absolutely nothing to do with honesty.
Most of us have had the experience of dealing with some public or private bureaucracy, asking one of its functionaries for something perfectly reasonable–a receipt, for instance, or a list of phone numbers–and being told, “We never do that. We have a policy.” The person making the request is apparently expected by most bureaucrats to react to the word “policy” by collapsing into a pliable pile of pusillanimity, like a vampire in sunlight. All too many of us do. There is something icily intimidating about the word “policy,” and the power we attribute to anyone who claims to have one.
But there is no reason to afford such deference to the word. Policy means merely “a definite course or method of action selected to guide and determine present and future decisions.” The opposite of “policy” is making it up as you go along, complete adhocracy. Or, as Lily Tomlin’s “Ernestine,” the telephone dragon lady, put it when giving a customer a hard time, “Don’t take it personally; we screw everybody.” So anybody can have a policy. You can develop a policy. For instance, when confronted with bureaucratic jackassitude, you can ask to speak to the supervisor of the jackass in question, and proceed up the chain of command as high as necessary to get satisfaction. Or you can write a letter to the elected official or corporate executive ultimately responsible for the bureaucrat’s area, and name names. Whichever modus operandi you choose to adopt, it is your policy. Telling the jackass in question about your policy may cause him to cave in. It’s always worth a try.
Posted by Sappho on March 12th, 2015 filed in Daily Life
I’m planning to do my third Toastmasters speech on the European sovereign debt crisis. If you have questions about the EU debt crisis, and a speaker has only five to seven minutes to answer those questions, what questions would you want answered?
Many people wrote last week about the Justice Department’s findings on the Ferguson police department, but I found Ta-Nehisi Coates particularly interesting.
The Justice Department conducted two investigations—one looking into the shooting of Michael Brown, and another into the Ferguson Police Department. The first report made clear that there was no prosecutable case against one individual officer. The second report made clear that there was a damning case to be made against the system in which that officer operated: …
Also, I always love TNC’s posts about learning French, like this one about getting better at difficult things.
Bruce Schneier on North Korea, the Sony Pictures breach, Attack Attribution and Cyber Conflict.
Brian Krebs on phishers using default passwords to hack routers. Change your router’s password from the default!
And, via my old college friend Andrew on Facebook, Islamic Holdem’
Posted by Sappho on March 2nd, 2015 filed in Blogwatch
Natalia Antonova writes that Russians’ faith in Putin may not be shaken by Nemtsov’s barbaric death.
Johan Maurer: Choose curiosity
Jennifer Raff’s links for Darwin Day.
How to sabotage encryption software (and not get caught).
An interesting history of in loco parentis, by Philip Lee of Harvard University.
Greek historical records from the state archives.
Echidne of the Snakes on To Praise Saunas. Or Not?
Andrew Shields on Voltaire misattributions
Keith Gatling on Slow Down Your Email
Kitty Cooper on Triangulation: Proving a Common Ancestor.
Aled Jones sings a duet with his younger self: Dear Lord and Father of Mankind.
Belle Waring, at Crooked Timber, has a post on Male Nerds and Feminism, which inspired a long comment thread with some interesting comments. I find that I have more to say than a comment, and, since I’m a female nerd and feminist, I’m making my own topic “nerds and feminism” rather than just “male nerds and feminism,” since part of my reaction is to compare male and female nerd experiences. Anyway, in no particular order, my reactions to the discussion.
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Posted by WiredSisters on February 23rd, 2015 filed in Fiction, History, Marriage, Memory, Moral Philosophy, TV
(“The Last of Life for which The First Was Made” part I)
By now anybody with the remotest degree of interest in British soaps has read everybody’s articles, reviews, and posts about the latest episode of Downton Abbey. Most of the authors, if they are not getting paid to review such things, start out by referring to it as a guilty pleasure, usually right up there with chocolate and caffeine. I prefer to save my guilt for places where it can accomplish something, so I just view DA as a harmless and sometimes interesting frivolity. This week, it also presented an interesting philosophical wrinkle. The aristocratic curmudgeon everybody loves to hate has redeemed himself this week in several different ways all at once. We find ourselves becoming sort of fond of him. One of the minor-league villains below stairs has also engaged in a bit of skullduggery for the greater good this week. A female character who started out as the local equivalent of a Valley Girl and a flibbertigibbet has become a serious family member and a loving wife. Is this the coming of the Peaceable Kingdom?
Well, no, of course not. It’s easy enough for us to recognize that this is simply a case of writers either mellowing toward their characters, or being replaced by more mellow writers. It happens all the time in TV dramas. It certainly happened all the time in ER, where Dr. Kerry Weaver started out as a workaholic spinster-in-waiting, then became an “out” lesbian, and ended up in a couple of torrid heterosexual relationships. In her case, the writers all seemed to have been conspiring to stick her character with whatever seemed like the most interesting thing a woman might be doing at the moment, no matter how inconsistent it might be with what she had done last month.
But in real life—well, as a divorce lawyer, I am always being surprised by my former clients. It generally takes them longer to do the one-eighty, because real life moves more slowly than most TV prime-time dramas these days (as distinguished from daytime soaps, in which reprises of the previous episode and previews of the next installment can take up as much as half of the non-commercial time.) But the results, two years or so after the divorce, can be almost as startling. A woman who saw her husband as physically, emotionally, and financially abusive may now consider the same man (as her “ex”) her best friend. A woman who believed her husband was unfit to have custody of or even unsupervised visitation with their child while the custody issue was pending in court may leave the kid with him all the time, without blinking an eye, now that they are safely split. Was she exaggerating in the first place? Has he done a one-eighty in the meantime? A bit of both?
For that matter, there are the politicians. Harry Truman (speaking of the Truman Show, no relation) was the object of condescension and ridicule while in office, and two generations later came to be viewed as one of our best presidents. Richard M. Nixon, while in office, was almost universally viewed as an ultra-conservative crook. As an ex-president, he lost little time becoming an elder statesman, a prudent moderate, and a competent pianist. Jimmy Carter, viewed while in office as one of the worst presidents we have ever had, is now perilously close to canonization. If Obama has any perspective on the matter, he is probably looking forward eagerly to spending the rest of his post-2017 life as the Sage of Honolulu (or, I suppose, Hyde Park. But if I had the chance to retire in comfort to Hawaii, I certainly wouldn’t stay in Chicago.)
No, I find myself concluding. They have all gotten themselves better writers. Bloody well about time. American lives not only have second acts, the second acts are usually a lot better than the first. We, or at least our writers, really can learn from experience—we just don’t get to do it while we’re in a position to make (or avoid making) the mistakes in the first place. Consider this the first installment of a meditation on the benefits of aging.
Posted by Sappho on February 22nd, 2015 filed in RIP
Thou only art immortal, the creator and maker of mankind;
and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and unto earth shall
we return. For so thou didst ordain when thou createdst me,
saying, “Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”
we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make
our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
My great-aunt, Muriel Gooden Badger, died on Thanksgiving of last year. But it wasn’t till yesterday that we gathered in the chapel of St. Mark’s Church, in Glendale, for her funeral. The delay had just one reason. One of Aunt Muriel’s grandsons was stationed with the army in Germany, and due soon to be switched to a post in the US, and so the funeral was held off until he would be back in the US to attend.
As I listened to the words of the Episcopal funeral service, as quoted above, I reflected that the part about how “even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia” reminded me of the last verse of the joyful ending version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
It feels fitting to me that similar sentiments come from a Jewish folk singer and the Episcopal prayerbook.
Aunt Muriel, though, was of a generation whose musical taste was formed before Leonard Cohen, and learned different poetry. The King James versions of the prayers in her memorial, nearly out of use now in favor of modern versions, suited her. So did the small size of the funeral. Her daughter was there, and her three grandsons, and several of us making up the nephew/niece contingent from her side of the family (me, my husband, Dick, and Tom), and one nephew, with his wife, from her husband’s side, and several people I didn’t know. I think it would have suited her. When my grandmother had her hundredth birthday party, she arranged to have a large room at the retirement home for a celebration, and, along with grandchildren and great-grandchildren from all over the country, gathered as many friends as she could from the retirement home. When Aunt Muriel had her hundredth birthday party, she pulled together a couple of small tables, in the regular lunch room, of family and friends.
Aunt Muriel was my grandmother’s youngest sister, and the last of her generation to die. She lived to the age of 103. Diana Egly said, the other day, that crotchety old ladies live longer than sweet ones, but, if that’s true, Aunt Muriel was the exception that tests the rule. She was the sweetest, gentlest, and most modest person in her family; if I were to assign them characters from Little Women, she would be Beth. She was also a devoted mother to her one daughter, my cousin Ann Badger Quinn (and Ann, in turn, was as devoted a daughter as any mother could wish for, as Muriel became old and frail). Her mind stayed sharp almost to the very end (and certainly well past her hundredth birthday), though her eyesight grew dim, and her voice was soft.
Posted by Sappho on February 22nd, 2015 filed in Greek News
I’ve been reading Greek and German news anxiously, and then Friday, of course, we all heard that there was a deal, for four months anyway. It was, on the one hand, a considerable climb down for Syriza, which is till stuck with austerity proposals that it had campaigned against, but, on the other time, buys time for Syriza to prepare and try to sell proposals for a changed arrangement that emphasizes growth more, and brings with it some needed breathing room, for 2015 anyway, on the demand that Greece increase its primary surplus (not so realistic for a country with 25% unemployment). Today, Greece prepared its reform proposals for approval on Monday. According to Kathimerini,
Finance Minister Yanis Varoufakis said the reform promises would be ready on Sunday and submitted to Greece’s EU and IMF partners in good time. «We are very confident that the list is going to be approved by the institutions and therefore we are embarking upon a new phase of stabilisation and growth,» he told reporters late on Saturday.
A government official said the reforms would include a crackdown on tax evasion and corruption.
The Brussels deal opens the possibility of lowering a target for the Greek primary budget surplus, which excludes debt repayments, freeing up some funds to help ease the effects of 25 percent unemployment and pension cuts. It also avoids some language which has inflamed many Greeks, angered by four years of austerity demanded by foreign creditors.
Nevertheless, Kathimerini is reporting that the deal rankled some in the left portion of Syriza.
Rather than write a separate blog post on the deal, I’m going to pass on a concatenated version of some of the Facebook posts (and associated links) that I wrote on Friday.
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Posted by Sappho on February 12th, 2015 filed in RIP
Carl Djerassi, Stanford professor and father of the birth control pill, has died at the age of 91.
“Carl Djerassi is probably the greatest chemist our department ever had,” said Richard N. Zare, the Marguerite Blake Wilbur Professor in Natural Science at Stanford. “I know of no person in the world who combined the mastery of science with literary talent as Carl Djerassi. He also is the only person, to my knowledge, to receive from President Nixon the National Medal of Science and to be named on Nixon’s blacklist in the same year.”
Posted by Sappho on February 12th, 2015 filed in News and Commentary
I first heard the word “political correctness” back when I was in college, in the late 70s or early 80s. At the time, the word had a particular meaning, that has long since been lost. It was a word that campus activists on the left applied to themselves, humorously, as a reminder not to take political orthodoxy too seriously.
It was a handy word, for we can all use reminders not to take ourselves too seriously. Some years after I graduated, though, I think in the late 80s, that old meaning of “politically correct” got lost, never to be recovered. In its place was a word applied by the right (and occasionally by the center-left) to the left, and specifically to left wing identity politics, as a way of signifying that the Left is intolerant in a way that makes it very different from the Right. These things are politically correct: Brendan Eich’s resignation from Mozilla as a consequence of his support for Proposition 8, uninviting Ayaan Hirsi Ali as commencement speaker, protesting Bill Maher’s appearance as commencement speaker. These things are not politically correct: cries of indignation about Obama’s remarks at the prayer breakfast about the Crusades, boycotting the Dixie Chicks for their lack of patriotism, complaints that a store’s “Happy Holidays” greeting is part of a “War on Christmas,” and denunciations of Bill de Blasio, as having put a target on police officers in NYC by expressing sympathy with people protesting the death of Eric Garner.
It might be worthwhile having a word, as short and succinct as “PC,” for all of the politics of indignation, whether from the right or from the left, and perhaps whether justified or not, a word that means “responding to something by marking the boundary of your outrage, rather than by counting it as worth reasoned rebuttal.” But I don’t see it as particularly worthwhile to have such a word that applies only to identity politics of the Left.
But I’d take back the old, humorous word, with its caution about self-importance, if I could.
Posted by WiredSisters on February 9th, 2015 filed in Democracy, History, Moral Philosophy, Race, TV
When I was growing up in the 1950s in South Florida, I felt as if I was living in the vestibule of the universe. The books I read, the movies and occasional TV shows I watched, were all set in a place that had bright reddish leaves in autumn and snow in winter and deep dark forests most of the year. The people all ran around outdoors and tanned and their hair curled (while I was so pale that I could sunburn in an hour under the unshaded Florida sun, and my hair was completely straight. I squinted in the sunshine, and avoided it as much as I could, which wasn’t much because there was no shade anywhere outdoors.) Their parents told their secrets in very low-volume English. The girls wore white organdy dresses and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Their world didn’t look like my world and they didn’t look like me.
I couldn’t even figure out why that was, because I was officially Caucasian, and pale enough and blonde enough for nobody to doubt that. I wasn’t exactly any exotic religion, although many of the Southern locals thought being Catholic was still kind of odd, and we Catholic kids were the ones who, when our public-school teacher led us in the Lord’s Prayer at the beginning of the day (remember, this was the 1950s) stopped before “For Thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory forever and ever,” and went straight to “Amen,” which we pronounced “Aye-men” rather than “Ah-men” like the other kids. We were the ones who spent the ten-minute mandatory Bible reading that followed it worrying that we were maybe committing some kind of sin because the Bible in question was the King James [Protestant] version, rather than the Douai version that was okay for Catholics. We were the ones who had to skip school on the “Holy Days of Obligation,” weird festivals like the Immaculate Conception and the Ascension that none of our classmates celebrated and that most of them couldn’t even spell.
My family, on both sides, was an odd mix of New England and Hispanic. Floridians, back then, were either Southerners or transplanted New Yorkers, impeccably Anglophone either way. The Hispanic influx didn’t start until Castro took over Cuba in 1960. In the meantime, our parish churches and parochial schools were mostly run by first-generation Irish immigrants who viewed Florida as mission territory, since (so far as they knew) we were part of the American South and mostly dominated by Baptists.
Was my family poor? Was that the reason I never had a white organdy dress and black patent-leather Mary Janes? I never really knew. All I knew was that my mind lived in a world far away from the south Florida of the ‘50s where the flora were mostly palm trees that cast almost no shade, and the fauna were alligators and land crabs. Nobody shot films or TV shows in Florida back then. So I never expected to be taught, or entertained, or ministered to, by people who looked or talked or thought like me. I never expected to see my world in books or on the screen. Even after I moved north and went to college and graduate school and got married and became Jewish, it took me a while even to imagine that being surrounded and acculturated by people who looked like me was a worthy thing to wish for, much less to have. I was several different kinds of outsider, and wanting not to be was just the coward’s way out.
So now, perhaps as some sort of karmic justice, I live on the South Side of Chicago, in the only seriously integrated neighborhood within 15 miles in any direction. We not only get bright leaves in autumn, and amazingly thick green flora in spring and summer, but snow (oy gott do we have snow!) in winter.
And, when staying out of the cold and listening to Public Radio, I keep hearing from people who want to be entertained, and taught, and politically represented by people who look like them. Of course, I’ve never had a president who looked like me, although both Clinton and Warren kind of do, and they’re both possibilities. I’ve never been represented in Congress by anybody who looked like me, although it could certainly happen sometime during my life.
Is that what I really want? After all, Phyllis Schlafly not only looks like me (I’m using this phrase as short-hand for female, post-middle-aged, and blonde) but graduated from my alma mater, but I have never longed to have her represent me. I don’t even expect to be represented by somebody who thinks like me (though it would be nice to have a representative who thinks, period.) Or somebody whose “identity” closely resembles mine (“identity” is a dreadful concept, but for want of something more precise, I’ll go with it)—female, Jewish, over 60, socialist-pacifist-anarchist, overeducated, underpaid, musical, crafty, widowed, bisexual, whatever. That’s just too much to ask of any political candidate. What I really want is somebody who can be trusted to represent my political and economic interests. Who cares what (or who) they look like? When are we going to start caring about what’s behind the face?
Of course, it’s at least as easy for a politician to fake a personality, and a set of political positions and convictions, as to fake a face. The only thing people in my political corner have going for us is that, these days, liberals have acquired such a bad reputation that nobody is likely to fake being one, any more than a woman would dye her hair barf-green or puce. At most, they will fake being whatever qualifies as “moderate” these days, as Newt Gingrich did during his first 24 hours as Speaker of the House. One can hope that the Tea-Partiers are faking being radcons for some odd reason and are really liberals behind the mask, but it seems unlikely.
So anyway, many of us probably live in worlds different from what we see or hear on the media, and spend much of our time in worlds shaped by people who don’t look like us. We need to stop pining for resemblances that are not only rare but useless, and start looking for the real likenesses, of mind and soul, preferably the ones least likely to be faked.
Posted by Sappho on February 1st, 2015 filed in Greek News
Since last week, when the rise in the polls that Syriza began years ago finally led to an actual Syriza government in Greece, I’ve been thinking about how I could pull my thoughts together for a blog post with my thoughts on a Syriza government. Finally I decided, hey, this is a blog, so posts don’t have to be polished. Rather that trying to think of the perfect post, I’ll simply pass on some replies I already made, one to a niece who had shared a link to someone thrilled about the triumph of anti-capitalist forces in Greece, and asked my opinion, and the others to a cousin who shared with me a column expressing alarm at the victory of a party whose name translates to “Coalition of the Radical Left,” and asking my opinion. And after that I’ll share some links to articles that I found interesting, speculating on whether a deal between Tsipras and the EU is possible, and, if so, what such a deal might look like. I’ll put all of this below the fold. (The messages from my niece and my cousin are left out, since I didn’t ask to share their thoughts, but I don’t need them to share my own thoughts.) The niece and cousin are both American; the Greek side of my family may have their own opinions, and maybe even corrections to any mistaken impressions I’ve formed from afar.
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Posted by WiredSisters on January 28th, 2015 filed in Bipolar Disorder, Law, Race, Uncategorized
This morning as I got dressed, I chanced to hear a public radio panel on our current mayor’s performance on the crime and public safety front, particularly on how the police were doing during his administration. This is something I pay careful attention to, given that I handle occasional criminal cases, and that even some of my civil cases have something to do with the police. And of course, I live here and have plenty of opportunity to observe police behavior in the ordinary course of being a citizen of Chicago.
This is the Ferguson era, of course. We’re all paying more attention than we formerly did to police behavior in its various contexts. But I’ve seen a few things that didn’t make it into the news and need some attention.
First of all, there is how the police deal with mentally ill people on the street (not necessarily street people.) About a year and a half ago (during the present mayor’s administration), I was riding my usual bus downtown in the morning, and I started hearing behind me an odd assortment of grunts and growls. That stopped for a little while, and then started up again. Then the grunts and growls changed into a loud monolog about a prescription having run out. By now, everybody else on the bus was looking around. Finally we saw, just beginning to stand up, a very tall young African-American man. He began thrashing around, hitting windows and empty seats. The driver (a rather young African-American woman) very sensibly stopped the bus at the next stop and told us all to get off. She (and a couple of passengers) called the police, and waited for them while the young man broke a bunch of windows and mirrors inside the bus (presumably racking up a considerable account of seven-year periods of bad luck.) The police came, a little later than I would have liked, and went onto the bus. By this time the young man was in the driver’s seat trying to start the engine. Fortunately the driver had had the presence of mind to take the keys with her.
I was surprised that the police were not yelling at the young man, just telling him firmly to get off the bus, which he finally did. Then they told him to sit on the ground and put his hands behind his head. He did that, too, and finally collapsed, crying, as if all the air had been let out of him. The police took him away, and we all got back on the bus.
Nobody had been shot, or even shot at. Nobody had been yelled at. Nobody was hurt. The police had done exactly the right thing, and it had worked. After all the news stories I had heard over the years about just such situations turning into killings, I was utterly amazed. I have a client with a son about the same age, coloration, physical build, and his own mental health problems, and she has nightmares about this kind of thing ending badly, because that’s what we hear on the news, both in the Chicago area and elsewhere in the country. So that’s report #1.
On the other hand, I have a client (details slightly altered for the sake of confidentiality), who, in the course of driving his friends out of a messy and illegal situation, got chased by the cops and ultimately shot four times while being ordered out of the car. Fortunately, he not only survived, but will suffer only minimal long-term effects from the shooting. But of course, in order to justify having shot him, the police had to claim they saw him pull a gun as he got out of the car. All the evidence points to another passenger (in the back seat, no less) being the one with the gun. The case was ultimately resolved with a plea bargain, because our client didn’t want to go to trial and was offered a deal too good (from his point of view) to refuse. But it happened only a couple of months before Ferguson, and I was kind of looking forward to trying the case, under the circumstances. That’s report #2.
Then there’s another one of my clients who is trying to get an order of protection against a former romantic partner, the mother of his son, for yanking the kid out of the back of his car while the car was still in gear. The problem is that my client is African-American and male, and the lady is neither. We went through one round of procedures after another in pursuit of what should have been a pretty easy case. I mean, way back when, I helped write the Domestic Violence Act. And going through the procedures now, I felt a bit like Jesus Christ going through the Vatican. This was nothing like what I had in mind back then. We had to deal with two different police districts (because the parties lived in different neighborhoods), and got jacked around in some extremely unorthodox ways. I’ve been handling domestic violence cases for thirty-odd years and never encountered a cluster like this. This process is still going on. But I have concluded that the Chicago police simply don’t know how to handle a case which cannot be resolved by arresting the first available African-American male. That’s report #3.
I came to this conclusion partly because of a situation that Mr. Wired and I encountered I guess about five years ago now, well before the current mayor took office. We went out for dinner together and then stopped off for gas. In the gas station, we started getting harassed by two or three young white punks. Ultimately they grabbed my husband’s cane and hit him with it. I managed to get their license plate number before they drove off, and persuaded a cop friend of mine (yes, some of my best friends are cops) to run it through the system to get the owner’s name and address. Note that Mr. Wired, at that time, was both a senior citizen and visibly disabled (I mean, that’s why he had the cane.) Which, under Illinois law, makes the encounter with the young men two kinds of hate crime, two kinds of aggravated battery, and therefore two felonies. But we spent the next six months trying to get the culprits arrested and into court. It didn’t help that one of them was the son of a retired cop in a nearby suburb. One of the kids finally got supervision, which is the least onerous form of probation. Again, I think the reason the Chicago police were so clueless was that the crime could not be resolved by arresting the first available African-American male. That’s report #4, which of course has nothing to do with the current mayor, but a lot to do with the Chicago police department in general.
I don’t know if victims of non-Black criminals have the same problem getting redress from the law enforcement system elsewhere. Not being able to get one’s assailant arrested is not the sort of thing that normally gets into the news or the crime statistics (unless, now that I think of it, the assailant is not only the wrong color but happens to be related to the mayor, as happened in another Chicago case at about the same time that actually made its way into federal court.) But it is yet another side of the Ferguson story, in which crime victims are victimized yet again by the law enforcement system, for racial reasons. If you are the victim of a crime, you are most likely to get treated courteously and effectively by the police if your assailant was the right color and gender. If s/he wasn’t, nobody will ever hear about the case again, including, probably, the assailant.