Category Archives: Social comment

Recent re-read: George Orwell’s 1984

He loved Big Brother.

Those are the final four words of 1984. When I first absorbed them, they hit me rather hard. It’s been thirty years, but it may as well have been yesterday.

I first read it in a very superficial manner in high school. It didn’t really hit me until the actual year 1984. In fact, on the first date referenced specifically by the main character (April 4, 1984), I may well have been reading it. It was a text for my modern European history survey in college, so a superficial reading would not do–especially for a course in my major.

This time, I was engrossed in Winston Smith’s long, lonely, forlorn struggle against a world of contradictory statements designed to systematically break down the faintest trace of humanity and individuality. Winston, a faceless bureaucrat, declares war against a society whose raison d’être is to possess his mind. The system intrudes constantly; it functions the same whether Winston consents, just passively lies there, or fights back. He twists viciously, flings off the grunting weight of indifferent, impersonal oppression, and decides that he has not really lived until he began to fight.

I’ve been there. In fact, that describes my upbringing.

Winston discovers allies, but hope as one might to the contrary, he confronts a system that handles rebels with an inexorable spirit-grinding mechanism. It is not enough that he die. It is not enough that he submit under duress. It is not enough that he confess to various low crimes. Nothing will suffice but utter submission of the essential self.

Been there too. That describes how the world feels to me in adulthood.

The pressure of conformity insinuates from every direction… not just against me, but against all. My fourth rereading of 1984 left me with the belief that its message grows more relevant every day. I wonder how it can be that our school systems do not ban it, as it is a threat to the conformity that society employs schools to inculcate.

  • “You have no privacy. Get over it.”
  • “It’s just a business decision; don’t take it personally.”
  • “If you don’t vote, you can’t complain.”
  • “Wear a Tommy Humdinger shirt. Be individual. Be unique.”
  • “Surely you don’t believe those fairy tales about a god and a cross.”
  • “Don’t be rude to telemarketers; they are just doing their jobs.”

“My self-confidence has soared since I got my breast implants.”
“If you want to get hired, you’ll wear a real suit.”
“You don’t understand; this drug replaces a chemical your brain doesn’t produce.”
“A computer on every desktop, running Microsoft software.”
“The nail that sticks up is hammered down.”
“Only ‘liberals’ truly understand the human condition.”

  • “It’s too wordy. If you can’t get the message across in ten words, forget it.”
  • “What do you mean, she’s black (/white/Jewish/Thai)? How could you do this to me?”
  • “Just ignore the bully. Names can never hurt you. Never throw the first punch.”
  • “I still need to lose ten more pounds.”
  • “You don’t want to have children? You’re sick!”
  • “Oh, sure, you’re bisexual. We all were too, before we really confronted our sexuality.”

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
“It’s dirty down there.”
“If you don’t like this country, why don’t you just leave?”
“If you value your Temple Recommend, you’ll do as Elder Sanctimoni and I tell you.”
“You know what the neighbors would say.”
“Nice girls don’t use those words.”

  • “So, John…your mother tells me you haven’t taken communion for two years.”
  • “Ever have those days when you just don’t feel ‘fresh and feminine’?”
  • “Drive the sporty new Acura Spatula LX!”
  • “All my friends listen to Rage Against the Machine, so I will too.”
  • “If you don’t stand up during the national anthem, you’re a Commie.”
  • “Everyone has a car. You have to have a car.”

“How could anyone possibly survive without cable TV?”
“So just throw the junk mail away if you don’t like it.”
“Everyone else is cooperating with us.”
“You, young lady, look like some kind of whore.”
“I watched the Super Bowl just for the commercials.”
“The two-party system may be flawed but it’s still the best ever designed.”

This sort of conformist rhetoric pummels us daily, and it is what comes to my mind when I read the propaganda presented by the authorities of Winston’s IngSoc overlords. I do not believe that a page of the book goes by without a statement that will come as a body blow to anyone who believes in freedom of writing, speech and thought. It does not matter what form those freedoms take for you. Orwell depicts a world in which they are gone.

When Winston loves Big Brother, the light of liberty and determination in him fades to darkness. In the contradictory spirit of 1984, this is portrayed as a moment of dawning light and joy. Ironic. I have read that some women, to their magnified mortification, find that they become aroused and even orgasm during rape, and that this renders it still more traumatic; like having not merely one’s body taken but one’s soul. Maybe that’s what happens to Winston in the end–though in his case, the ecstasy is the closing act, his last thought and feeling. He does not get to grieve.

Contradictions are the mechanism by which the Ingsoc (English Socialism) of Winston’s Airstrip One (formerly England) of Oceania (formerly the English-speaking countries plus Central and South America) breaks down the independence of the psyche. Freedom is Slavery. War is Peace. Ignorance is Strength. When constantly bombarded with contradictory statements, in time they may pound one’s unique grip on perceived objective reality down into a numb receptiveness, the mind a blank canvas on which the propagandist can paint today’s version of history–or edit yesterday’s version when its message becomes inconvenient.

It is as though the mind were a collection of odd-shaped stones and Ingsoc the rock crusher; when it is done, the gravel all looks the same. You can use it in cement, or pave a road, or crush it further to make sand, or do as you otherwise wish.

What makes 1984 an important work of literature is the fact that a single page of it can supply the thinking reader with enough questions to last a week. I offer a sampling from page 66 of my copy, said page chosen by confidently closing my eyes and opening the book:

“Rutherford had once been a famous caricaturist, whose brutal cartoons had helped to inflame popular opinion before and during the Revolution. Even now, at long intervals, his cartoons were appearing in the Times. They were simply an imitation of his earlier manner, and curiously lifeless and unconvincing.” (What does this say about the basic value of creativity? Of art? What do we lose when a Bill Watterson quits writing Calvin & Hobbes because he’s simply not willing to conform?)

“And then a voice from the telescreen was singing: ‘Under the spreading chestnut tree; I sold you and you sold me. There lie they, and here lie we; Under the spreading chestnut tree.’ The three men never stirred. But when Winston glanced again at Rutherford’s ruinous face, he saw that his eyes were full of tears.” (How many times has each of us looked into the face of living human ruin? Have we fled from it? Can we confront it? Am I a living ruin?)

“A little later all three were rearrested. It appeared that they had engaged in fresh conspiracies from the very moment of their release. At their second trial they confessed to all their old crimes over again, with a whole string of new ones.” (Why is there so much pressure to make public confession? Do we believe in any sort of rehabilitation? If so, is our ‘rehabilitation’ simply a means of promoting conformity? For whose benefit is it… that of the rehabilitated individual, or so that we may congratulate ourselves on our humanity?)

1984 is not about the repression of individuality, but its systematic destruction. All that makes us unique individuals: love, family ties, our own perceptions of history, an enterprising spirit, egotism, modesty, courage, trust, greed, lust. At one point Winston observes that, contrary to his historic perception, the proletarian masses are still human, and the Party members largely no longer are.

The designation of the Party’s main enemy, Emmanuel Goldstein, as stereotypically Jewish would be easy enough to interpret only at a shallow level. Orwell wrote in 1949, and it is tempting to consider his writing merely a polemic against totalitarianism, as best understood by the world in 1949–either recently-shattered Nazism or triumphant Stalinism, neither of which meant world Jewry any goodwill. That’s only part of what I take away.

Orwell’s message is timeless: any authority that rules by strength of power is shaken by the notion of someone it cannot bribe, intimidate, ingratiate or hoodwink. Short of just stomping with the jackboot, those are authority’s primary tools. Anyone whose values will not be compromised disturbs those who just went along, and those who pressured them to do so.

So it isn’t enough for IngSoc to obliterate Winston, the man. They must steal his newly-discovered soul, and those of all who oppose them. Winston’s thoughtcrime is the disease, to be attacked with antibodies until driven out. What’s left of him can then go ahead and die.

The final line of 1984 affected the path of my life. I would, over the course of life, face many pressures to conform. I learned, with effort, to put on the necessary fronts that may get one by. I did not take that so far as to validate what I despised, and concede that it was really okay. No matter how many people do a stupid thing, or a wrong thing, it will still be stupid or wrong. It reached a point where I learned to begin with distrusting the wisdom or value of an act or attitude in proportion to the number of people doing, touting and flaunting it. This was alienating, but the more things I learned that many people believed were in fact ridiculous, the better that felt. It came to a point where I had to remind myself that now and then, the masses get it right. I still keep reminding myself that mindless nonconformity isn’t much better than mindless conformity, and can easily be worse. Difference for the sake of principle, yes. For its own sake, nah.

When I read the final line of 1984, and grasped its import, something broke inside my own brain. I saw my future in terms of choices, either to go along and say it’s all okay, or to stick to my guns and have a harder life. It meant that a lot of people would make fun of me, ridiculing my choices as irrational–especially when I failed to let law, government and corporations force me to rationalize their actions as acceptable.  There was nothing noble in my decision to hate Big Brother; it was the simple survival choice. It was a choice of humanity. It might shorten my life, but at least  for a time I would be truly alive. My soul might be damaged, but it would be mine. I would look about me and see mostly persons whose souls had been sold–not because they cooperated with oppression, but because they had been unable to combine cooperating with hating, so they redefined oppression as not-oppression, then proceeded to make fun of those of us who hadn’t sold out. Our refusal remained an irritant, a reminder of sordid collaboration, and it must be demeaned by the collaborators at every turn.

The Vichy régime of France during World War II, representative of a France that chose to abandon its liberty and principles rather than fight and defend its beautiful capital to that capital’s destruction, treated its own French countrypeople more cruelly than the Nazi occupiers in many ways. I scorn and despise AT&T, for example–but not half as much as I scorn and despise the mentality that can look at the way they do business, and rationalize blessing that way while cursing the consumer who speaks out against it. The collaborator, who chose the evil side, is more to be despised than the evil side itself, which lacked ability to be good in the first place.

Here’s to Emmanuel Goldstein.

===

This review was originally published in different form on Epinions, a site now deceased. I have reclaimed my work.

Book review: The David Kopay Story

(This review was originally submitted to Epinions. I am reclaiming my work in edited and updated form.)

So Michael Sam, a linebacker from Missouri with legitimate hopes of being taken in the NFL draft, has come out as gay. He did so knowing that this might impact his opportunity to play at the sport’s highest level. Evidently he had already come out to his college teammates, who respected his confidence and continued to treat him as a teammate.

This takes guts. You know how, when a windshield cracks, it can be repaired provided the crack doesn’t reach the edge? This may be the blow that cracks the glass barrier of discrimination to its edge. While those of us who advocate an end to homophobic discrimination are cheering on Michael Sam, I’d like to remind the world of the man who first struck at the barrier. I have more in common with him than some might realize.

David Kopay was a tough college running back who made it to the professional football ranks through sheer determination and obstinacy, staying there for a decade as a backup and special teams hand. A craggily handsome fellow who ‘came out’ in the mid-1970s while writing The David Kopay Story with Perry Deane Young. And a University of Washington Husky.

David and I, therefore, have walked the same collegiate paths. I’m proud of my alma mater; while no university is perfect, UW (we usually say ‘U-Dub,’ often without the definite article) combines a square mile of carefully landscaped lakeside campus with some of the finest educational tools that exist. As far as I know, it is still the very finest nursing school in the land, and maybe the world. For those with the self-discipline to till them, UW can offer impressively fertile grounds for learning in a rich variety of studies.

We also have good sports teams. But when I think of famous fellow Dawgs who inspire me, the first one that comes to mind is not Football Hall of Famer Hugh McIlhenny. Nor is it legendary quarterback Warren Moon. It is not statesman Warren Magnuson, flying ace and Medal of Honor winner ‘Pappy’ Boyington, activist and decorated veteran Col. Margarethe Cammermeyer, former Speaker of the House Tom Foley, newsman Chet Huntley, actors Richard Karn, Dawn Wells, Joel McHale or Patrick Duffy, or civil rights activist Gordon Hirabayashi–though I’d be honored to meet any of them.

No, when I think of fellow alumni whose hands I would like to shake, David Kopay is the first-stringer.

We must remember that this book was first published in 1977. Jimmy Carter was President. The nation was mired in a post-Vietnam funk. The economy was a hot mess. We had begun to make meaningful the civil rights gains of the 1960s. The Cold War was a reality. We were expecting the next war in Europe, possibly soon, and our military was the next thing to a broken force.

The ex-hippies were just starting to be promoted to lower management, but going home and listening to the Beatles and the Stones on vinyl at home, and clinging to their VW microbuses as tokens of a bygone time when ‘all you needed was love.’ We had partied the hearty party of post-WWII prosperity, we were about done throwing up the morning after, and we were mopping up the puke with a throbbing headache and drinking cranberry juice. And telling everyone to turn that damn music down.

The popular perception of male homosexuality in the 1970s was that it was a personal choice, like becoming a Jehovah’s Witness or a disk jockey. Many also saw it as a dangerous perversion, felonious in many states. Family and friends tended to treat it as a major disgrace. Society treated male homosexuality as a rare, contagious, emasculating disease.

In this timeframe, at the finish of a ten-year NFL career, David Kopay let it be public knowledge that he was homosexual. No one else had done this, especially not someone who had spent nearly a generation in men’s locker rooms where he might–omigawd–see other men naked. It sounds stupid now, but remember the times, and you’ll be able to imagine the reaction.

With Young’s able assistance, Kopay tells us the story of his path to ultimately living as an out gay man. The conflicting desires. The intoxicated sexual incidents with friends and fraternity brothers. How hard he tried to be heterosexual, and the ways in which that hurt women who truly cared for him. The cracks and comments from teammates who had no idea how correct they were, and the way Kopay enjoyed hitting them extra hard in practice. The format alternates between Kopay’s narrative and Young’s commenary, and flows well, with no sense of reading a tennis match. (Not that it’s really germane, but the two were never lovers. Of course, if you co-author a book with someone, you might as well be.)

Kopay’s book impacted popular perceptions of athletes similarly to Jim Bouton’s Ball Four. For many years, the public had practiced voluntary ignorance concerning professional athletes’ humanity. Bouton, another of my great heroes (although it should not be glossed over that Ball Four contains some crude homophobic references that I suspect Bouton regrets today), had made athletes look more human. By coming out, Kopay humanized them in yet another. If part of the population is gay, part of the athlete population will be gay. Kopay’s work destroyed that comfy ability to pretend that wasn’t so.

I find Kopay’s description of his upbringing to ring with truth, which is why I’d recommend it for anyone who wishes to better understand the experience of being gay. Of course he found his early desires and thoughts confusing; he was raised in a very religious home, and there was no manual available in any case to explain that some people happened to prefer same-sex partners. His only clue was that he knew, deep down, that he was more interested in males than females, try as he might to live otherwise. The candor of this self-discovery story, and his coming to terms with it, makes Kopay’s book relevant nearly two generations after its first publication.

By modern standards, his family’s reaction to his coming out would be considered very disappointing. For the 1970s, their reaction was commonplace and mainstream. Kopay lets us see the pain that caused him, the ‘we cannot truly accept you as you are’ hurt that continues to bleed long after. His African American teammates who knew or suspected he was gay were also the most understanding. While the book is explicit, it’s not pornographic. it is more about football than sex, and again, Kopay is straightforward. He was not a big star. He hung on in the pros by sheer force of will. He just wanted to play the game.

That explains another part of the kinship I feel with David Kopay. Armed with moderate athletic talent, he lowered his helmet and charged, pounding his way to a respectable ten-year professional football career. Unlike Kopay, I lacked athletic talent, yet I battled my way to two high school varsity baseball letters, a varsity football letter, and the slightly fear-tinged regard earned by someone lacking a commonsensical regard for his own safety. The only thing that got me any respect was the reckless use of the hardshell helmet against joints, soft parts, and so on. (I once hit a kid hard enough to break one of the steel bolts holding my face mask in place.)

After college, I took up amateur hockey and played it for six years, leaving memories of myself with many; I also played ten years of amateur baseball, making solid contributions to competitive teams (and, I daresay, leaving a few physical calling cards along the basepaths). I refused to accept lack of talent as a disqualifier. I wanted to win, and to do well, and I wanted it bad enough to give all of what little ability I did have. I’ve learned that it’s about 80% what you do with what you have and about 20% what you have to work with. The same ratio held true in college academics, as I learned by underachieving my way through my first two years of school, while others of comparable natural talent made me look rather dumb by comparison.

Kopay set forth to be a collegiate and professional athlete, not an activist. His career was not spectacular, but certainly successful (he was particularly tough on special teams). After that career ended, a challenge far greater than the Rose Bowl came his way. Kopay faced and met that challenge. His account doesn’t dwell on the courage that took; nor should it, because it speaks for itself. Sure, he was afraid; I also would have been. He felt the fear, and did it anyway.

I wish I’d had David Kopay on any or all of my teams. Skills, talents, sexual preference; all secondary considerations. Give me someone who’s honest; give me a comrade; give me someone who wants to win with all his or her heart; give me guts under fire; give me someone who never quits; give me someone who’ll angrily tell me I’m full of it; give me someone who will lead me if I falter, follow me if I lead, and avenge me if I fall.

Let me draft a team loaded with that mentality, and we will make a way.

In the first round of that draft, my team selects David Kopay.

Michael Sam’s step is of similar magnitude. I am glad that today, unlike Kopay’s day, he may look behind him and see not merely a few confidential well-wishers, but a great multitude in which straight allies outnumber those who are gay. This is one of those rare crowds where I feel comfortable. Good luck, Michael.

Fun with collection agencies

This is a new one for me, because I’ve never had anyone need to sick the collection dogs on me in all my life. Either I’m not paying and someone can go to hell because I don’t rightly owe the money, or (99.9%) I’m paying promptly in full–or if I slip up, accepting responsibility and apologizing. (Well, why not, if it was my screwup?) So I do not know much about how it feels to have bill collectors call.

I do know that most of the people they’re after have probably defaulted on multiple debts. Sometimes it’s not their fault; our medical system is like a random fiscal meteorite shower, where a little bad luck can wreck your finances for life. But those who are said to owe, probably do owe, and I am sure that in a majority of cases they would just prefer not to pay that which they fairly owe. If the collecting were done by the party to whom the money was originally owed, I’d have more sympathy for the collecting side, but it’s their duty to get their facts right. Including the correct phone number.

As it is, a couple times a week, I get a robocall from a bill collection agency. Now, the first time, I could see that perhaps it was the former owner of the phone number. However, I don’t recognize the right to robocall anyone on such matters. Want to have a conversation? Call, introduce yourself by full name and organization, and tell me your business in a forthright manner. All civil. Mistaken identity? Glad to clarify. If they robocall me, they get nothing. Robocall me several times, and no matter what they do thereafter, they get nothing. I’m now collecting my own bill from them, and I feel free to determine that new debt is accrued each time they disturb me for any reason. I no longer wish to make nice. After all, I don’t have a problem. I don’t owe any past due bills. I don’t need to take ownership of their problem.

Got one today; saw the caller ID and got my game face on. These days, most companies have someone who speaks Spanish.

“Bonjour ?”

“Hello, may I speak to Mary Dublois?” (pronouncing it dew-BLOYZ)?

“Quoi ?”

“Do you speak English?

“Je ne comprends pas.” (I don’t understand.)

“What language is that?”

“Qui est a l’appareil ?” (Who’s calling?)

“Is that Spanish?”

“Je ne vous comprends pas.” (I don’t understand you.)

“We’ll have someone call back who speaks Spanish.”

“Merde alors.” (Break a leg–my sarcastic way of saying ‘knock yourself out.’ Though the literal meaning, ‘shit, then’ would also work.)

When they call back, I will answer. But not in Spanish or French:

“?שלום. מי שמטלפן” (Hello. Who’s calling?)

They really should not robocall me. And if the excuse were that this was the most practical model for their business, my response is that this is the most practical model for my own business, and that their problem is not my problem, and that I decline to own or accommodate their problems, especially in view of the lack of consideration they show for mine.

I wish more people would stop letting institutions make the rules. That is part of what we have come to as a society. Companies made rules, acted on them to our detriment, and we accepted ‘that’s just our policy’ as a valid excuse. Me, I think I have as much right to make policy for myself as they do for themselves.

And mine is rigorously enforced.

Headlies

It’s time to lay the lumber to a trend that is spreading misinformation and slant through too many uncritical minds: the headlie. As far as I’m aware, I might be the first to use the term.

A headlie is a headline that lies. Someone creates a link to an article, or titles the article, and it’s untrue or grossly misleading. I read one today about a political figure, indicating an article that would say he’d said very ignorant things about women’s bodies. While there is no shortage of ignorance on that topic, that doesn’t mean it’s honest or fair to tar anyone with that brush when it isn’t merited. Well, I read the article, and sure enough: the person was accusing his political opponents of attempting to prey on reactions they supposedly perceived. The guy might be wrong, even an ass, but let’s be real: he wasn’t asserting those to be his views. He was attributing them to his opposition.

Later today, I read an article about a fraternity chapter that, to go by the headline, got axed from official recognition by its university for a virulently racist party off campus. Nah, turns out that’s not the reason the school gave. Its reason was that the party was conducive to underage drinking. See the headlie? Sure, we all know that the racist thing is what got their attention, but the real story here is that the university used a pretext for which probably every frat house at a public university could be faulted. The headlie deceives.

All that we can do is to read the actual article, and not react to the headlie. I am convinced that a good percentage of political hatred in this country is generated by headlies taken at face value rather than investigated, the puppeteers trusting that most people simply won’t take time to catch the lie.

Our minds are being manipulated, and we must take them back. And we should remember the people who publish headlies, because they are warping perceptions on a massive scale.

The watchdog of democracy is not only tipping over the garbage can and trashing the place, it’s blaming the deed on the cat.

America for foreigners: cutting through the fiction

Every nationality has its perceptions of the United States, some of which have bases in fact. Some are overblown or false. Let us do away with the false ones, and explain the true ones.

Please do bear in mind that this guidance is based primarily upon visiting the U.S. It may not apply to Facebook conversations at a distance, for example.

Americans smile constantly. Not true. This is more a regional thing, even in the service industry. Wyoming, for example, is rather taciturn, same for Wisconsin or New York City. Here’s what you should take away: whether an American is smiling at you or not doesn’t mean much either way. In LA, it means she has a pulse (or she just had them bleached, capped, etc).

Americans are insincere. Partly true. It is partly true because Americans have a lot of pat questions and phrases into which we often don’t put a lot of thought. Some Americans, when they wish you a nice day, honestly mean that. Some won’t even remember having said it, and thought nothing of it at the time.

However, faulting us for these is wide of the mark. These are our social customs. Every culture has its social customs, and ours are no stupider than any other culture’s obligatory niceties (or abruptnesses, in some cases). To omit these here is as rude as patting a Thai on the head in Bangkok, or ignoring the shopkeeper in Rouen, or wearing your shoes into a Japanese home. If it’s okay to avoid waving with your left hand in the Middle East (even though waving hardly involves one’s behind), and not okay to make fun of that, then it is okay to wish some stranger a nice day, and not okay to ridicule that, either. That said, at times when we hint at a lasting connection, we don’t really mean it. You have a right not to take such hints at face value.

Americans are mostly very ignorant of the world. Mostly but not universally true. You might be surprised. One can get very far off course by making assumptions. What is more, life has taught me that the world is nearly as ignorant of us as we are of it. Most of what we–as in all people–learn of other places comes from the extreme and entertaining examples presented by media. Our media are fairly trashy, but other media can be even trashier. It helps to put their input aside.

Americans are mostly monolingual. Less true than it used to be, especially in larger cities or near universities. It’s not that we don’t study foreign languages; probably half of us took them in school. We may fairly be blamed for making no further effort after leaving school, but at least there is an effort made in the right direction. Most university students or graduates speak (or used to speak) at least one foreign language. A very few U.S. residents speak no English at all, but most of those aren’t here legally.

Americans are unreceptive to criticism of their country. True, at least while you are visiting us. We consider that as rude as if, say, you invited us over to dinner and our way of showing appreciation was to tell you that your food was lousy. We reason that anyone who doesn’t like us was not forced to come here, and is free to leave if it’s that bad. Our achilles heel here is that many of our own people don’t follow this ethic when they are the travelers. This may give other peoples the idea that insulting the local culture and customs is acceptable to Americans, so we have to take some responsibility for authoring this problem.

It is also true that some Americans think their country should never, ever be criticized by any foreigner at any time, because it is always right–because its actions define rightness. That is a smaller minority, but the viewpoint does exist. There’s nothing you or I can do about that. I’m in a position to break that hornets’ nest, but a visitor should probably avoid the subject.

Americans all walk around armed to the teeth. Untrue. Probably a majority of American homes own at least one firearm, but a very small percentage actually carry weapons on a regular basis. A rather smaller portion have fired at least one weapon in the past year, and I’d guess that 99% of the rounds fired were target practice, hunting or competitive shooting. Most of the parts of the country where people tend to carry weapons openly are very low in crime, so if this idea intimidates you, you’re thinking emotionally rather than logically.

Those individuals who carry firearms very rarely draw those weapons, partly because most are sane. While a carried weapon might attract no notice in some places, a drawn weapon would bring instant reactions, so that is very rare. Also, remember that in areas where a lot of people walk around armed, if someone draws a gun and does something stupid, there are a lot of people who could take corrective action. Ask yourself why no nation has launched a nuclear attack since 1945, and in macrocosm you will grasp the microcosm of why Wyoming and Alaska should not frighten you just because a lot of people go around strapped.

Americans have a terrible gang violence problem. Situational. There are parts of some cities that can be very dangerous, and if locals recommend that you avoid an area, I would take their advice. However, in a majority of the country, you will not encounter gang violence. Petty crime is another story, and is as endemic to our cities as it is to most of yours. By and large, the bigger the city, the smarter and more professional the criminals. Lock up your bike with a cheap cable in Boise? It’ll probably still be there when you return. Seattle? You didn’t really want that bike anyway, to go by how you secured it.

Americans are highly religious. Somewhat true, in that we are more religious than most peoples in the developed world. However, a lot of us are very independent in our application and practice of religion. Quite a few of us are casually religious, or not at all. The role of religion in our society is one of our hottest national debates. It wrecks friendships, divides families, and makes us hate random fellow American strangers. It might be our most divisive and crippling social problem–not religion itself, but the way it affects our behavior.

Americans are unhelpful to visitors. Occasionally true, but mostly not. This really depends a great deal upon the visitor and American in question. Some people are simply assholes (it has nothing to do with nationality and everything to do with personality), and won’t help anyone, ever, including their neighbors. Some people are impatient, ignorant or xenophobic, and won’t help people because of a heavy accent. Most of us are better than that, and respect your efforts to communicate. Quite a few of us will go well out of our way to help.

Let’s examine the part about foreign accents, because I can think of reasons for it. They are not excuses, but maybe they can help explain it. At least a small minority of Americans will not extend themselves to make life easier for someone with a heavy foreign accent. It’s unfair, of course, because someone’s just trying his or her best to communicate in the dominant national language. Wouldn’t good manners and common sense suggest that we value this, and meet them halfway as good hosts? Yeah, they would, and yeah, we should.

Problem #1: nearly every American has had this experience. One calls a company–a US-based company–with some issue. She needs technical support, or has a billing question, or needs to change her service. Bear in mind that she’s often frustrated when she calls. She struggles her way through the automated options, which are sometimes confusing and incomplete. When she finally gets through to a human being, she receives an overly long greeting read aloud to her in a very heavy foreign accent. It is hard for her to understand. All the responses are script-read answers, all of them prefaced with the time-wasting “I’ll be very happy to provide  you with excellent service on that matter…” or somesuch, over and over. This employee isn’t empowered to solve much of anything. Our caller knows damn well that the employee is in the Philippines, or India, or somewhere else she can’t drive to. She doesn’t hate the employee, but a part of her does resent that the job was farmed out overseas. That’s not unnatural, even if she should properly take out her frustrations on the company rather than the hapless employee just trying to make a living in Hyderabad or Quezon.

All she wants is someone to solve her problem in a helpful manner without being obtuse or repeating the same stupid scripts over and over. Most of the time, our caller hits a brick wall and hangs up even more frustrated than she was when she phoned. And after a few dozen such experiences, she starts to lose some of her patience and good manners when confronted with heavy foreign accents in any American context. It’s not right, but perhaps it’s understandable.

Problem #2: right or wrong, a great many Americans see and resent the evident movement toward a bilingual nation. They don’t like to see businesses pandering to non-Anglophone markets with bilingual signage, and they resent having to press a button to interact in English. They consider this divisive on several levels, one of the chiefest being that it affects the ability to make a living. If one has to be bilingual in order to get a job–and this is the reality in some places–the advantage goes to the bilingual. Myself, I love being multilingual, but in my opinion a bilingual requirement is the wrong approach to the problem. A fairer approach is to expect new residents (legal or not) to take it upon themselves to learn the predominant language of business and government. That’s more reasonable than demanding that those who were born here should now learn another language, all to accommodate people who in some cases didn’t even follow the legal procedure, and in some cases now feel entitled to demand amnesty and access to benefits.

The same rejoinder is in play: then all the more reason to be helpful to those who are here legally, who took the time to learn English before arriving, and are now valiantly making their best efforts! I agree 100%, and that’s why I delight in surprising visitors by speaking to them in their own language–and helping them, if I can. But our national language controversy has had its impact, and it has caused some Americans to dig in. And while you and I might agree that this is misplaced and lamentable, we can see that it had a genesis other than “people being xenophobic douchebags.” As before: it’s not right–in fact, let’s not mince words, it’s foolish and counterproductive–but it’s somewhat understandable.

I don’t like situations where the innocent suffer for the faults of the guilty, and this is one. But at least now you are equipped to understand why it might be. And if you were inclined to dismiss this as simple xenophobia or bigotry, perhaps now you will see that it is not so simple, nor did it start from a position of fundamental hostility. Because I can tell you this with confidence: if service representatives on the phone spoke clearer English, and had more power to resolve problems, and if new residents of the country stopped wanting services in languages other than English, and if they were more willing to learn it on their own initiative, this situation would change for the better. For all of us.

Americans tip everybody. An exaggeration. Skycaps (people who carry your bags on an airport cart), bellmen, restaurant waitresses, taxi drivers, most barbers and massage therapists expect tips. The people most deserving of tips are waitresses, since in most cases they are paid well below minimum.

There are surely good books on tipping in America, but were I a visitor unfamiliar with the terrain, I would tip a cab driver 15% if he refrained from padding the bill by taking a roundabout route. I would tip your typical waitress 15% unless she (not the kitchen) did a lousy job, but more if she did a very good job–they work hard. I’d give your bellman $3-5 per bag–if you don’t, they will take revenge you won’t like. If you stay more than one night, might leave $2-5 for the maid per night, unless she does a bad job. (Her job is miserable to begin with, but no point rewarding her for doing it lousy.)

It’s not really tipping-related, but never, ever, ever try to bribe an American police officer. The odds of success are dismal. The odds of arrest are very high. And if you’re wealthy with a fancy rental car, don’t imagine that will give you a better chance of bribe acceptance. Some of our police are corrupt, some are brutal, and a few are purely evil, but when you offer one a bribe, you insult his or her integrity–and even more so if you seem rich, since most police do not make piles of money, nor do they hail from wealthy backgrounds. Even most of the assholes are honest assholes. The only people in a position to offer the police bribes without being arrested are those who are already too rich or famous or well-connected for the police to dare bother unless they just shot someone, or rammed a carload of nurses, or exposed themselves to the governor’s wife. Or had weed. One of our national pastimes is jailing people for years and years for possessing an herb.

New Yorkers are rude, Southerners are polite, southern Californians are phony, xxx are xxx. Mostly false. Regional stereotypes exist, have bases in fact, and if you seek examples of them, you can find both the positive and negative stereotypes confirmed. My wife has found New Yorkers very helpful. I’ve met appallingly rude Southerners. I was born in southern California: am I phony? Would I be less phony if my parents had driven to Arizona when my mom went into labor? The reality is that we differ less from region to region than we seem to, yet have the habit of highlighting those differences rather than our commonalities. Because there is a sense that…

Americans are deeply divided by region against one another. Sometimes true, depending on the individual. Those who feel most divided, though, tend to be most vocal. They get much more media focus, so the extent is well overblown. It was not always like this. I remember a time when even our firebrands still hated perceived external enemies more than they hated their fellow Americans for disagreeing with them.

Americans waste a lot. It’s true, especially plastic and paper. However, we do not waste nearly as much as we once did. We are gradually adopting the recycling concept. The degree of recycling is often connected to a region’s politics, which is just brain-crushingly stupid, since politics have zero to do with the need to reduce garbage.

American public schools are broken. True of many. You can while away whole afternoons listening to us argue about whether to fix them or destroy them, and whose fault this is, if that interests you. However, realize that your typical American high school graduate has a far poorer education than his or her counterpart in most of the developed world.

Americans are fat. True, but the world is catching up, so the elephant in our room is soon coming to yours unless you do something. Laughing at us isn’t burning that many calories.

Americans by and large lack social services. Mostly untrue. However, ours are very decentralized. Most states run their own, as do some counties and municipalities; some are better, some worse, some atrocious. Many are run by charities, and an enormous percentage of Americans regularly do volunteer work–this is one aspect of our lives of which the world knows nearly nothing. What we do not have is a monolithic national government that is responsible for everything.

This decentralization of services stems from the debate, which began even before we finished winning the Revolutionary War, over how much power the Federal government should have. Many Europeans take for granted the idea of government as a kindly uncle who protects and helps them. Well, we’ve never really had that kind of Federal government, which is why some of us are suspicious of it gaining or asserting more power. To understand Americans, you have to imagine European standards of living mixed with a government that often colludes against the public interest. Should it be that way? Of course not. Is that the reality you will experience? Yes. So if it feels like Argentina or Tanzania, where the government is best avoided when you can, that’s why. Experience has taught many of us to distrust it. Our government has a very callous streak and style that shows up in letters we get, proclamations, even in how-to manuals. It rarely speaks in a tone that invites willing cooperation, or speaks to our best interests. It speaks in authoritarian language, and many of us perceive it as authoritarian. The main ‘best interest’ it usually speaks to is: ‘it’s in your best interest to obey, so we don’t punish you.’ So we may well obey, but you can see why some of us don’t walk away feeling cared for and protected.

American police are dangerous and should be avoided. Some truth to this. I would strongly advise visitors to work hard not to come to the official attention of the police, especially in rural areas. We have no national uniformed police force out among the public, so most police departments are city, county or state-operated and will reflect the local culture. (Our primary national police agency, the FBI, is more of a counterintelligence and counterinsurgency force, and has had a political policing role since inception.)

There are parts of the Northeast where some police are little better than the criminals. There are cities where some police are very casual about obeying their own rules. There are counties where the police are only moderately literate. There are regions where the main role of police is to raise tax money by writing tickets to people who can’t contest them in court unless they want to travel back to the location, which is rarely productive. If you have to deal with American police, don’t get an attitude. Be polite, don’t answer questions they didn’t ask, and if you didn’t know the law, apologize for not knowing it. That will help in most cases.

The good news is that if you obey traffic laws, don’t park in stupid places like sidewalks and no-parking zones, and don’t bother them, most of the police won’t bother you. Use your turn signals, stay within 3 mph of the speed limit, stop at the red lights and octagonal signs, don’t weave around like a drunk, and you will be of little interest to the police. And most especially, don’t park in a disabled spot without a permit. Ever. Not even for three minutes just to dash in. Someone will see you, dial her cell phone, and you will return to find a police officer writing you a well-deserved ticket.

America is deeply racist. True, but that doesn’t mean that all Americans are, nor that we are comfortable with it, nor that it is always overt, nor that racism equals racial hatred. We have many social attitudes that are holdovers from more racist past eras, and that’s why I say ‘deeply’–I did not mean ‘very.’ I mean that many bits of racism are deep enough in our social fabric that we are still learning to understand their impact. Piece by piece, many of us are trying to work our society away from those holdovers.

In any case, in most of the country, overt displays of racism are unwelcome, as are racial slurs. In many cases, those will get you a lot of bad reactions, and not necessarily from the members of the slurred group. Most of us have friends, and often relatives, from all walks of society. We tend to stick up for them.

Never discuss politics or religion with Americans. True, with modification: I’d say never discuss them with random Americans you don’t know, unless you’re feeling adventuresome. The problem here is a combination of passion and half-baked attitudes: a lot of Americans who are passionate about their religion and politics haven’t thought either one through, so you may embarrass them. That probably will not end well, because no one likes to feel stupid. For example, something like a majority of Americans believe that ‘socialism’ equals ‘anything government does.’ If you try to define the word for them, you’ll just annoy them. Just skip it. Sometimes it’s a choice between winning arguments or having a good time.

Compared to Europe, gasoline in the US is almost free. True, considering the relative price difference. Only our large cities have respectable public transportation; bus and train service between cities is rudimentary. American travel is largely motor travel, unless you want to fly. Try not to laugh at us when we complain that $3.50 per gallon is exorbitant. Most Americans don’t know that where you come from, it costs double.

Americans truly believe theirs is the world’s greatest country. Generally true. In fact, questioning this bromide will get a person (American or otherwise) nothing but hassle. Don’t get into the argument; it’s pointless, especially since there is no objective standard for ‘great.’ It’ll just deteriorate into people saying things they can’t take back.

All of the US works on the English measurement system. No, actually not all of it. Our military is almost totally metric. Nearly every packaged food at the grocery store has measurements in English and metric. It is true, though, that your average American doesn’t know the metric system well. Millimeters are best known, since a lot of gun calibers come in mm. Kilograms (2.2 pounds) are not well known, nor are meters (about 1.1 yards) or liters (about 1.05 quarts). Most rental cars will have speed indicators in kph, but the speed limit signs will be in mph. If you stick around and become a carpenter, yeah, you’ll need to learn the English system. If that’s not part of your travel plans, you’ll be okay. Seriously: you don’t need a thermometer to tell you it’s hot or cold.

American road etiquette is less prevalent than Europe. True in some ways, but it’s fairer to say that our etiquette is different (and in some ways, a lot kinder and more tolerant). In some places on earth, it’s a mortal sin not to move right to let someone past, grounds for outrage. Americans don’t like it either, but Americans also mostly don’t regard bullying as something to tolerate. Therefore, if you roar up on an American’s bumper and expect her to move right in response to your dominance, she may just slow down to piss you off. (And before you jump out to confront her at the next stoppage, do bear in mind that she might own a pistol and know how to use it.)

In many places, Americans will adjust their driving to help you out, such as changing lanes to let you merge onto the freeway. Cities and big macho pickup trucks are normally the rudest, taken on average; rural areas and passenger cars are typically kindest. Americans also expect people to keep right unless passing, though, so you can’t go wrong doing that (most of us observe this custom). Just don’t expect to bully people into it by tailgating them, figuring that they are afraid or ashamed to make you mad. They do not care if you get mad, unless you seem dangerous. Which, if you are tailgating, you are.

Americans dress like slobs with no fashion sense. Often true. Why should we let other people’s views (foreign or domestic) decide for us what we think of ourselves? Outside fashionable cities and the work environment, many of us have grasped the truth that the clothes you can afford are a lousy measure of what kind of person you are. We still have fashionistas and fashion-conscious regions, and a lot of people would be fashionistas if they could afford it, but many of us look at clothes as superficial–something to look past, and see the real person.

Americans are prudish. More so than some peoples, less so than others, and it varies by region and the age of the individual. Today’s twentysomething hellraiser may well be a stuffy prude by his sixties. However, it’s a bad idea to swear in front of old people, women or children, and most Americans wouldn’t approve of their kids watching porn. (Not that it’s easy to prevent that, and not that the parents usually succeed.)

Differences in law between states can trip you up. Only minimally true. Those matter more for residency than visiting. Maximum speed limits and alcohol sales restrictions will affect some visitors, but the major differences are in taxation methods, land use laws, and other stuff that hardly matters to you.

America is just a scary place. False. It is a friendly, if undereducated and sometimes backward place, and most of it is very safe. You can explore it at your own pace, and that is the best way to know it. It is also a vast place with many regional climates and cultures. Most Americans have not seen it all.

America has awe-inspiring scenery. Very true. This is a land of extremes. It is a large country of diverse climates and terrain. It has cities that mesmerize at night, enormous canyons, great rivers, vast swamps, beautiful beaches, wheat farms the size of Liechtenstein, cattle ranches bigger than Luxembourg, snowy peaks, wild forests, mighty winds, mighty storms, lethal heat, brutal cold, baseball-sized hail (and larger), monsoon downpours, blizzards, floods, volcanoes.

We have animals. The road signs warning you not to hit a deer are not there just to make you nervous. Moose come into Anchorage in winter. Alligators turn up on Florida golf courses. In Yellowstone, the way it works is that Mr. and Mrs. Bison decide where they want to be, and everyone else arranges to get out of the way. Our national symbol has been known to dive on, capture and eat people’s chihuahuas.

Our scenery and climate have majesty. They kick our butts. If they kick yours, therefore, don’t feel bad. The butt-kicking just makes you fit in better, especially if you do as we do: get up, try to laugh, and move on.

Just like your country, the best way is to come see it for yourself.

(Comments are closed because it’s almost inevitable that this will set off political squirreliness, which doesn’t interest me. What people might say about my article doesn’t concern me; it is the nanny-nanny-naa-naa of commenter to commenter that I don’t want to have to police. My apologies to all civilized readers for this measure’s necessity.)

Philosophy for the day

I’ve said this for many years. Let’s go public.

At about forty, we make a decision. Whether or not that decision is conscious is immaterial: our actions represent the decision. It’s a simple one: once somewhat established and having obtained some security, will we:

a) Share?

b) Bitch at the kids to stay off our lawn?

If we share–if we use our resources to help others, and don’t hog the cake–they have to rent an auditorium for our memorial services. In the case of one dear family friend of ours, Mrs. Sally Halvorson, they had to have two memorials. Basically, the entire Haskell Indian Nations University turned out to honor this white woman who had done so much to build up their school. They mourned her as one of their own. Sally shared.

If we scream at the kids–if we turn turtle and treat the world as our enemy–it’s easier to find room for our memorial services. The guys’ can at SunMart out on 27th and US 395 in Kennewick, WA, which is not that roomy, will accomodate all one or two mourners. If there are even that many. And we get obituaries like this.

It’s up to you, but I find life is better leaving behind me a trail of people who could say, “He helped me.” Deb and I were reflecting on this while driving over the Blue Mountains this past weekend. Our real legacy, our legacy of value, is in the number and quality of people who can say that of us.

The best and worst of state symbols

Today I had occasion to look up Idaho’s state motto. I think it’s Latin for ‘Nothing changes.’ This got me interested in rummaging through all the state symbols, in order to decide which (in my subjective opinion) were best or worst.

I listened to about forty-seven state songs to bring you this, I’ll have you know. If zombies invade my house to consume my brains, they will find that they are lunching on oatmeal.

With that:

State horses (where it’s specifically the state horse):

  • Best: Idaho, the Appaloosa. Symbol of the free life.
  • Worst: Florida, the Florida cracker horse. Cracker horse? Seriously?

State land animals (includes land mammals only, no dogs or cats or reptiles):

  • Best: Wisconsin, the American badger (Taxidea taxus). Spit, snarl, slash.
  • Worst: North Carolina and Kentucky, the gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis). That’s it? A squirrel? And in Kentuck, it’s the state game animal? I thought that was an overblown stereotype.

State marine mammals (and anything else that mainly swims):

  • Best: Connecticut, the sperm whale (Physeter macrocephalus). Too bad they killed most of ’em.
  • Worst: Florida, the dolphin or porpoise. You can’t even decide which kind you like? Delphinus indecisivus?

State cat (domestic type):

  • Best: Maine, the Maine coon cat (Felis ayuhicus). If it can really whip a raccoon, I’m down.
  • Worst: Massachusetts, the tabby (Felis garfieldius). Give it some lasagna on the way out.

State dog (domestic type):

  • Best: Alaska, the Alaskan malamute (Canis bowdownicus). It’s my alma mater’s mascot, automatic choice.
  • Worst: New Hampshire, the New Hampshire chinook (Canis knockofficus). If you wanted a sled dog, Alaska was there first.

State bird:

  • Best: New Mexico, the roadrunner (Geococcyx californianus). Unique, and pure class.
  • Worst: Iowa, New Jersey, Washington, the American goldfinch (Avis aureohumdrumius). In the first place, hardly anyone recognizes it. In the second, even fewer care.

State fish:

  • Best: Alabama, the fighting tarpon (Tarpon atlanticus). It’s bigger than some adult women.
  • Worst: Delaware, the weakfish (Cynoscion genus). They said it themselves.

State reptile/amphibian:

  • Best: Florida, Louisiana, the American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis). I like turtles but that’s just hard to beat. If Arizona anointed the sidewinder, it would automatically win.
  • Worst: none. They are all cool.

State shell (no, I’m serious):

  • Best: Alabama, Johnstone’s Junonia (Scaphella junonia johnstoneae). That thing is just gorgeous.
  • Worst: Mississippi, Virginia: oyster shell (from Crassostrea virginica). Ho hum. If they included the actual creature, that’d help.

State fossil:

  • Best: Minnesota, giant beaver (Castoroides ohioensis). Stood eight feet tall. Just imagine. In fairness, there are a lot of great candidates, like New York’s sea scorpion.
  • Worst: Virginia, Pliocene scallop (Chesapecten jeffersonius). A scallop? Faaaaa. Ever feel inspired by a scallop, unless it was with alfredo and Cajun spices?

State grass (look it up if you don’t believe me):

  • Best: Kansas, Nebraska, little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium). I yield to that which nourishes the nation’s finest beef. Respect to Illinois for big bluestem.
  • Worst: I can’t summon any because of the states that have an official grass, none of them picked anything stupid.

State flower:

  • Best: Kansas, sunflower (Helianthus annuus debriae). Now, I admit that there were many good options. I like almost all your flowers, everyone, they’re great. But the sunflower has both low/bushy/wild and tall farmed variants, so you get them by the road as you drive and in immense numbers on farms. It can grow huge. It produces great eating; to compete one needs one of the tree flowers, which could be argued should not get to compete both as trees and as flowers. And settling the debate, for this writer at least, is that the sunflower symbolizes my wife to me, and that I’m from Kansas.
  • Worst: Kentucky, Nebraska, goldenrod (Solidago putridiae). Even if you’re not allergic to it, the pollination process has the same appeal as socks not changed for a week. This is your flower? What’s the state fruit, durian? It was between that and the sagebrush, Nevada’s state flower, and I went back and forth.

State tree:

  • Best: California, California redwood (Sequoia sempervirens). I like almost all the trees, but when your tree is up to thirty feet across and about a football field high…any questions?
  • Worst: Arkansas, pine tree. Not because I do not like pine trees, but because you bacon hounds can’t even pick out a particular pine tree and own it. You need to hire a forester and make up your mind. This is even worse than Washington’s western hemlock, a tree most Washingtonians have never seen and couldn’t identify.

State insect (no joke):

  • Best: about twenty states, the honeybee (Apis etcetera). I can’t really argue with this. It may not be very original, but without it, a lot of agriculture would not occur, and honeybees rarely sting aggressively.
  • Worst: Delaware, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, Ohio, Tennessee, the ladybug (Coccinellidae aphidlunchicae). Where’s the originality? Now, if New York had chosen the cockroach, that would be owning it with pure class. I’m told that in some parts of NYC, the gangs fight cavalry battles mounted on hardy giant fighting cockroaches.

State butterfly:

  • Best: Florida, zebra longwing (Heliconius charithonia). There are not many ugly butterflies, of course, but this one is very Floridian (not enough so to wake up in its own soiled underwear at the Walpurgismart women’s bathroom, but you get what I mean), and quite appealing.
  • Worst: California, dogface butterfly (Delicus canis). This is for screwing up the category by picking a lackluster butterfly and making it your state bug. Do not do this again, okay?

State gem:

  • Best: Kentucky, Tennessee, Tennessee river pearl. They get pearls from freshwater mussels. Honest.
  • Worst: New Hampshire, smoky quartz. I’m not feeling it.

State mineral:

  • Best: Alabama, hematite. I can’t tell you how it can sometimes look like gunmetal and others like blood, but it fascinates me.
  • Worst: Vermont, talc. Anything mainly sprinkled on baby butts can’t be a state symbol.

State rock/stone:

  • Best: Colorado, Yule marble. Pale, pretty and sculptable.
  • Worst: Massachusetts, Plymouth Rock (the state historical rock). How? Why? Because they basically neglected it for generations, even letting it break in half, and some guy hauling it to use in front of his barn, that’s why. Massachusetts is heavily into state rocks and has several categories, including the Roxbury puddingstone, which as far as I’m concerned is just digging themselves deeper. Know when to fold ’em, Mass.

State soil:

  • Best: none.  Everyone can claim ‘our dirt is special,’ and it’s all useful, but at the end of the day, it’s still a dirt.
  • Worst: Florida, Myakka fine sand. Because that’s not dirt, that’s sand, you clowns.

State fruit:

  • Best: Idaho, huckleberry. There are so few things huckleberries cannot make better.
  • Worst: New Hampshire, pumpkin. Pick one, take a bite out of it, and let me know.

State beverage:

  • Best: New Hampshire, apple cider.
  • Worst: about twenty states, milk. I like milk, but this is so, so, so obviously at the behest of the same dairy lobby grouches who tried to say you couldn’t call soy milk ‘milk’ because it didn’t come from a cow. If your wife feeds your baby, that doesn’t come from a cow either; does that mean it isn’t milk? Love dairy products, want to slap the dairy lobby repeatedly with a Brie wheel. Imported from France, of course.

State dessert/pie/whatever:

  • Best: South Dakota, kuchen. A sort of cake pie rooted directly in heritage. Honorable mention to Texas for strudel, which honors the rich German traditions of the hill country and other parts.
  • Worst: Missouri, ice cream cone. This is why you guys lost both the pre-Civil War and the Civil War. You produce so much great agriculture, almost as good as Kansas when you make an effort and wear your shoes, and the best thing you can come up with for a state dessert is this. Missouri probably has more Germans than Berlin. Nothing? Nada? Nicht? Ach.

State vegetable:

  • Best: New Mexico, chiles and frijoles (pinto beans). As dearly as I would like to pick Washington’s Walla Walla sweet onions, that combination is insurmountable.
  • Worst: Idaho, potatoes. Potatoes are delicious, and Idaho takes justifiable pride in this state symbol (take a look at our license plates), but Idaho sends all its best potatoes out of state and sticks the locals with the culls. This is downworthy. This calls for a ten-minute misconduct penalty.

State cultural symbols (from amidst a wide variety of categories):

  • Best three:
  1. Alaska sport, dog mushing. It really is; they love that stuff, and the rules and mushers firmly protect the dogs, who love to mush.
  2. Oregon mother, Tabitha Moffatt Brown. A woman who survived many hardships to champion education for children totally deserves this.
  3. Arizona firearm, the Colt single-action revolver. History and symbolism.
  • Worst three:
  1. Alaska, Arkansas, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky, Mississippi, Montana, New Hampshire, North Carolina, North Dakota, South Carolina, Virginia, Wyoming language, English. Did you/we really need to do that? And this is coming from a die-hard opponent of bilingual public education and governmental function, someone who insists that newcomers take it upon themselves to learn English. Plus, I work with it. English is a nightmare to learn to speak and write eloquently, and most of y/our states are in the bottom tier of education in it, so this choice is disrespected by y/our actions.
  2. Alabama bible, an ancient book used to swear in Jefferson Davis. You all need to be reconstructed, and this is coming from someone who loves historical artifacts.
  3. Florida opera, ‘opera programs.’ Well, that makes so much more sense than making your state opera ‘non-opera programs,’ now, doesn’t it?

State colors:

  • Best: New Mexico, old Spain’s red and gold. Pure culture. A close second is Delaware’s colonial blue and buff.
  • Worst: North Carolina, red and blue. I’ll go take a nap now.

State flags:

  • Best: New Mexico. Weaves Spanish red and gold with a Zia sun symbol, a simple, distinctive and elegant synthesis of the state’s deep heritages.
  • Worst: Mississippi. For keeping the Rebel battle flag, which basically washes the faces of a third of Mississippians in an emblem that represented their ancestors’ continued slavery.

State seals:

  • Best: Virginia, simple and true to its history by molding Classical imagery into the Revolutionary motif. Honorable mention: Texas, really crisp and symbolic without a lot of pics of people plowing, cows, and such.
  • Worst: Washington. While it is simple, and does memorialize the state’s namesake, the problem there is that said namesake barely had any idea of future Washington, or future Oregon Territory. It symbolizes nothing about the actual qualities of the state. Most state seals are entirely too busy, to the point where they say little, but it’s also possible to botch simplicity.

State songs:

  • Best three:
  1. Arkansas: “Arkansas.” Sounded and felt exciting, descriptive, passionate.
  2. Connecticut: “Yankee Doodle.” Someone find me an older state song so purely rooted in history and pride. You can’t, not both as old and as proud.
  3. Michigan: “Michigan, My Michigan.” A bit wistful, but moving. It struck me so much like what Michigander friends have said they feel about their homeland. I guess it is an official song, not the official song, but one has to establish a cutoff somewhere. Utah or Rhode Island should have held this spot.
  • Worst three:
  1. New Jersey: for not having one. Doesn’t have one. I came with an open mind. Where’s your pride? The unofficial songs are lousy.
  2. Virginia: for also not having one, because they evidently can’t agree on how to replace the old deeply racist lyrics. You have “O Shenandoah” right in front of you: what more could you want?
  3. Delaware (“Our Delaware”), Idaho (“Here We Have Idaho”) and Ohio (“Beautiful Ohio”) are such a fail in melody that the lyrics become moot. Don’t do this again.

Song comments:

  • Why Montana doesn’t adopt John Denver’s “Wild Montana Skies” is a mystery. You hear it, and it has you smiling at the idea of crossing the border into Montana.
  • Hawaii gets credit for a native language version (although it unfortunately proves that uninspiring tunes are the universal language).
  • A surprising number are to the tune of “Oh Christmas Tree.”
  • Kentucky fixed theirs; the old version was about the most racist thing ever. I heard Paul Robeson sing the original; that was poignant.
  • Some states have five or more songs, which was more than was reasonable to ask of me.
  • Whoever made “Hang On, Sloopy” the Ohio state rock song needs to be prosecuted; what an atrocity. It is a major reason I root against Ohio State, this recidivist crime against music.
  • I thought “Rhode Island, It’s For Me” was inspiring.
  • “Utah, This Is The Place” had great storytelling lyrics with a taproot deep into their culture and history, but a tune that didn’t measure up to them.
  • “On, Wisconsin” is straightforward and laconic, symbolic of the state and its motto.
  • I’ve always been fond of Kansas’ “Home on the Range,” except that there aren’t many antelope in Kansas, the buffalo don’t roam much, and I hear plenty of discouraging words from it. You have to be living up to your song or it’s not working out.

Demonym:

  • Best: Indiana, Hoosier. Means nothing else in the language (when was the last time you went out hoosing? outhoosing? “Come here and help me hoose!”?), well known and embraced with pride.
  • Worst: Connecticuter or Connecticutian. The first lands on the ear with a literary clank, or sounds like an As-Seen-on-TV accessory. The second makes one think of capital punishment methods. You have a perfectly good demonym, ‘Nutmegger,’ one of the best in fact. What else do you need?

Quarter:

  • Best three:
  1. Maine 2003. The lighthouse and the fishing boat speak for themselves.
  2. Oklahoma 2008. The scissor-tailed flycatcher and sunflowers are an elegant surprise to the viewer who might have expected some covered wagon motif. I like it a lot.
  3. Tennessee 2002. Three stars plus a fiddle, guitar and trumpet, eloquent enough for first place. The only flaw is that underneath the instruments, they feel it necessary to tell you that this refers to ‘musical heritage.’ Really? I thought trumpets and violins were part of your construction heritage! Or your moonshine heritage! Who could have guessed? Among the best symbolism; among the dumbest insults to the viewer’s intelligence. New Hampshire needs the caption, because only people familiar with their rock formation have any idea why it belongs on a coin. If your caption is redundant, you must be marked down.
  • Worst three:
  1. Wisconsin 2004. A dairy cow, a cheese wheel and an ear of corn. Not a thing about any aspect of the state that is not commercially driven (and highly protectivist, historically speaking, doing things such as outlawing margarine). My first thought when I saw it: their state dairy/ag lobby simply bought this. Even the position is uninspiring.
  2. North Carolina 2001. The first flight of the Wright Brothers was important, but I look at this and gather that you have accomplished nothing more, in which you take pride, than having a couple of Yankees from the Ohio Valley briefly get their plane off the ground. Your quarter should tell us about something else.
  3. Ohio 2002. Whose idea was this? The state outline is the only good part. An astronaut, a plane that first flew in some other state. We get that John Glenn and the Wrights are from that region. Got nothing else, Ohio? Seriously?

State nickname:

  • Best three:
  1. Alaska: the Last Frontier. And it is. Three words and the picture is painted. Class.
  2. Wyoming: the Equality State. With all its scenery, cowboyness and Indian war battleground history, it chooses to celebrate something greater. Cowgirl up.
  3. Virginia: the Old Dominion State. There is something richly traditional about the feel of Virginia, and this captures that.
  • Worst three:
  1. Illinois: the Prairie State. I get that it was better than ‘the Lincoln State,’ but seriously?
  2. Washington: the Evergreen State. Nearly half of Washington is brown nearly all the time, so this dismisses that part’s residents, which in fact is exactly the attitude of the side with trees, and they do not see what’s flawed about that.
  3. North Dakota: the Peace Garden State. What? I’m all for peace gardens and friendship with the Canadians, but is that all you truly have to say?

Nickname comments:

  • While I fundamentally like all the ones that incorporate a demonym or nickname, it would have been impossible to pick one that stood out. Rank all those fourth.
  • This area has a lot of good choices even beyond those. No disrespect intended except where specifically noted.

State mottoes:

  • Best three:
  1. New Hampshire, “Live free or die.” Any questions?
  2. West Virginia, Montani semper liberi (“Mountaineers are always free,” Latin). You go, West Virginia (even though those are in fact hills).
  3. North Carolina, Esse quam videri (“To be, rather than to seem,” Latin). Please think about this. Actions, not words. Being, not doing. Reality, not cosmetics. Truth, not bullshit. What a superb sentiment to associate with your whole state. The Tarheels got this one right.
  • Worst three:
  1. Florida, “In God we trust.” You could not come up with anything better than the national motto? All religious mottos are a fail because they exclude some people, but in a sea of motto fails, Florida, you sink below.
  2. Washington, Al-ki. (“Bye and bye,” Chinook jargon). Like wow, dude. Pass the bong. This made a lot less sense before Washington legalized weed. The only thing meritorious about it is that it’s in an indigenous language rather than Latin. Nothing against Latin, but Native languages are fundamentally more American.
  3. Indiana, “The Crossroads of America.” Because that is not a motto. That’s a nickname! That says nothing about your state’s culture or philosophy, simply its geography. I was stunned to learn that this was actually the ‘motto.’

Motto comments:

  • As mentioned, all mottos invoking religion are basic failures. That wipes out about a dozen.
  • Many are far too long. Can’t you summarize?
  • Several refer to martial endeavor…a martial endeavor that involved trying to keep as many as half their residents in human bondage. That is divisive, whereas mottos should unify.
  • I had thought Idaho’s Esto perpetua (“Let it be perpetual”) was terrible until I saw the rest. Ugh. Overall, there are as many state seals, flags and nicknames I found inspirational as there are mottos I found bleak, blathery or just blah.

I have been considering this material for a long time. Feel free to throw your state’s rotten fruit at me in the comments. However, bear in mind that I am considering a sequel: true state mottoes as judged by the evidence before us, and some of them will sting. Example: Mississippi, Manete in paupertate (“Remain in poverty,” Latin). And everyone’s going to get it, most especially my home state of Kansas, because that’s just how it has to be.

Stop calling it smog!

That’s what Boiseans would tell you. They hate the word ‘smog.’ They always use the term ‘inversion,’ thus confusing the partial cause of the problem with the ugly result of the problem. It’s not bombing; it’s air support.

If there’s any phenomenon that can move me to start making fun of a sacred cow, it is the euphemism. ‘Euphemism’ is itself a euphemism: for the word ‘lie.’ Not that some lies aren’t bearable or pardonable; surely they are. If you think otherwise, substitute the word ‘fat’ for all its euphemisms, and watch the fun unfold.

Boise is the first place I have ever lived in which I cared about the AQI (Air Quality Index). Overall, it’s a very nice place, which may be why this euphemistic tendency afflicts it. However, I think we need a more realistic and descriptive scale than the Idaho Department of Letting Corporations Pollute applies to the data. Herewith I present the KBSI (Kelley Boise Smog Index):

AQ

Descriptor

Significance

0-20 City Good Still urban, but bearable. Does not actually occur.
21-40 Flatus Slightly bearable. Occurs rarely. Stifling to sensitive systems.
41-60 Los Angeles Lousy. And is the norm. Stifling even to goats.
61-90 Sarin Miserable (and common). Preppers dig out their gas masks.
91+ Beijing Certain death. Shelter in place, or wait for the Corpse Wagon.

Wearing purple around Boise today

I do realize that it’s a faux pas for a person whose work is the written word to care about college football. Well, I was always immune to peer pressure.

Today, my team and alma mater (Washington Huskies) filled their football head coaching vacancy by hiring one of the most coveted coaches in the game: Chris Petersen. Petersen was previously employed as head coach of the Boise State Broncos. He is appreciated, loved, even revered among the BSU fanbase, and with good reason: he took them as high as the stratified Division I-A conference system would allow. He recruited unheralded players and groomed them into NFL talents. There are about twice as many Bronco alumni playing at the next level as there are Huskies. That speaks for itself.

I live in Boise.

I underestimated the Bronco faithful, and for that I apologize. Fair’s fair.

After watching the Cal-Berkeley fanbase’s reaction a couple of years back to our hiring away of a couple of their assistants–they went through all the Stages of Grief, but tarried long in Anger–I wasn’t expecting much warmth of the good kind. I anticipated rage, fury, loathing, wearing of potato sackcloth and ashes, rending of garments, weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Reaction on the BSU fanboards was about 90% this: “We knew it could happen. Thanks Pete for every great memory and win. Go Broncos and then go Huskies.” Not what I’d expected. There are programs whose fans would be sending the coach and his family death threats over such a thing, not wishing them well.

As it turns out, I had occasion to be out and about today, and while I didn’t want to wash anyone’s face in their grief, my windbreaker is purple and gold with prominent lettering on back. So if anyone wanted to give me some spillover, they’d get their chance. I don’t have a desire to rub anything in, but you can’t case the colors.

I underestimated the BSU fanbase. Of course, everyone had a reaction, but a lot of it was wanting to know how I felt about the hire. They took it like fans of a power program, not like crybabies. It was the good kind of college football banter, not the bad kind. They’re good fans, and while there may be some bandwagon falloff, they’ll be all right. When I wished them well, I found myself meaning it.

And, Broncos, if you end up hiring our prize DC Justin Wilcox to replace Petersen, well, we can hardly blame you. If that happens, I hope we behave as well as you have. But thanks for showing me that you have reached a point that some Pac-12 and SEC programs still don’t grasp: the ability of a longtime winner to be gracious in the face of a setback. I hope the new playoff system gives you a fair opportunity to shoot for the big prize. I’ve always felt that situation was fundamentally unfair.

Good luck, Bronco Nation.

We’re looking at the wrong imperial downfall model

Of this I am convinced.

The conventional analogy most often given for the United States’ rise and (anticipated by some) fall is that of the Roman Empire. That analogy has a lot of problems. Rome began as a bucolic thorp on the western Italian coast, dominated for the first two and a half centuries by Etruscan or Etruscan-backed kings. In time it threw them off, and formed the Roman Republic. This was never a democracy as we would reckon it today, but it was a step up from despotism, and evolved over its five centuries of existence. Yes. Rome was a republic for as long as has passed for us since Cristobal Colón landed in the Bahamas and got lasting credit for discovering an inhabited continent whose land territory he never saw. (How that continent became named for a Florentine latecomer is one of history’s stranger tales. I guess ‘Vespuccia’ just didn’t have that ring to it.)

In those five centuries, Rome consolidated first the Italian peninsula, then nearby islands and territories under its hegemony. In its final century, the Republic became hegemon over the entire Mediterranean. Alexander of Macedon (called ‘the Great’) went east against Persia rather than west against Rome and Carthage, and his former eastern Mediterranean holdings fell under full Roman control about three centuries after he was gone.

Rome did not go from republic to empire in a day, nor was Julius Caesar ever emperor. In its final century as a republic, infighting grew into chronic civil war. Representative government and civil war don’t coexist very well. When everyone was ready for peace, the state bestowed upon a First Citizen (Augustus) enough power to do much as he saw fit. We tend to call this his Emperorhood, but in reality, the role took several decades to realize that title’s full implications. The Roman Empire lasted in unity (most of the time, anyway) for three centuries, until it was reorganized by splitting in two pieces: eastern (which would endure for another millennium as the Byzantine Empire, a Greek state pretending to be Roman) and western (headquartered at Ravenna rather than decadent Rome). After another century and a half, the western half collapsed under the weight of sustained Germanic and Hunnic migrations/invasions (sometimes the line grew blurry), but left the legacy of a Christian Roman imperium which European states would seek to appropriate well into the 1800s.

As an analogy for the United States, this has plenty of problems, starting with the question of splitting the nation into two self-governing halves (one surviving a long time). There’s always noise about that, but little groundswell to think it likely, and especially not voluntarily. Rome either conquered and administered territory or not, which doesn’t fit the pattern of the rise of US power. And while some take satisfaction in the common perception that the western Roman fall came about due to increased economic stratification (with many Romans seeing nothing worth defending), the record does not really bear that out. The record suggests that when Rome began losing battles, armies and provinces to numerous Germanic invaders, that turned the tax base the wrong direction at a time when that was the worst possible news for the state. If Goths occupied Thrace, not only did they stop sending taxes to Ravenna, they might demand bribes to refrain from further violence. Less money–at a time when more was needed to rebuild destroyed armies–was a self-compounding problem leading to more lost tax base. That problem was at times patched by hiring Germanic mercenaries of questionable potential loyalty, especially if used as ballista fodder. When enough provinces turned from payers to non-payers, or became money sinks, the western Empire was finished.

The rise of US global influence and domestic authoritarianism doesn’t fit most of these patterns. Illegal aliens, despite what some think, are not a good analogy for Alaric the Visigoth. And despite republican trappings, Rome had always been oligarchic and plutocratic. Rome also didn’t have allied independent states, for the most part: there were Roman provinces, and bordering lands. Rome either wanted these, to conquer and Romanize, or it did not. And as mentioned, half the Empire didn’t fall at all, and exerted itself very little to keep the other half from Germanic conquest.

Little presented, but more pertinent, is the example of Athens. Perhaps this is because Americans are more ignorant of the Athenian Empire of the 5th century BCE, and perhaps it’s our conceit: Athens’ empire was too small and brief to compare. In size, that is true. In duration, comparison is not so far apart. In 500 BCE, Athens was perhaps the first among equals of the Greek poleis (city-states). By mid-century it was an empire. By 400, it was defeated and eclipsed by other Hellenic poleis. How’d that journey go?

In 500, Athens was pioneering the basics of thimokratia (we pronounce it ‘democracy’). It had rejected the notion of strongmen ruling by force. Not long after, the mighty, enlightened and quite cosmopolitan Persian Empire sought to convert Greece (which included many dozens of city-states in the Aegean and along what would one day become the Turkish coast) into yet another Persian satrapy. Persian dominion was far better than most previous Near Eastern forms, especially the unlamented Assyrian methods, but most Greeks had zero interest in Persian overlordship. This led to the famous battles of Thermopylae (mostly Spartans on land), Cape Artemision (mostly Athenians at sea), Marathon (mostly Athenians on land) and Salamis (mostly Athenians at sea).

By 480, a frustrated Persia had shelved the notion of absorbing most Greeks into its empire, unless opportunity jumped up and bit them. From that time dated the rise of Athenian power and prestige in the Greek world. The analogy is imperfect, but we might see parallels in the burgeoning of US power and prestige as we helped the Soviets and British/Commonwealth defeat the Axis. And as Sparta had been co-belligerent with Athens against Persian invasion, so did the US join with and assist the much-distrusted Soviet Union to lay low Nazi Germany, Japan and Italy.

While Athens had rivals in Thebes, Sparta and Corinth whose power merited respect, it was the great power of its region. Athens wasn’t large enough to dominate all Greece by conquest, but it was the power with whom no one wanted to tangle–not even Sparta, a cautious place deeply concerned with keeping its slaves in check. As an ostensible peace-and-collective-security move, Athens organized many of the Greek poleis into the Delian League. I’ve been to Delos, and it’s hard to imagine those windswept ruins as a major neutral meeting and trading zone, but they once were. The idea was to arbitrate disputes, gather membership dues to deal with major problems, and keep the Persians from picking them off one by one. Seemed prudent at the time.

Athenian concepts of democracy advanced as the century reached midpoint, with free male commoners actually gaining the ability to participate in government (which is ahead of where the USA was at independence). Athenian naval vessels kept the sea safe for Athenian foreign trade. Athens grew rich and prestigious, thinking itself the apogee of human development. Persia was still a potential threat, and the Athenians’ major Greek neighbors did not trust them, but peace and prosperity generally reigned. For Athens, that became more true after the discovery of silver in Attica (the peninsula on which Athens rests).

In between speeches telling Athenians how great they were, Athenian leaders spent the silver on monumental building, fortifications and naval vessels. Athenian domestic politics became more fickle and bitter, with ostrakismos (exile by public vote) the common fate of any great statesman or general. ‘For safekeeping,’ Athens moved the Delian League treasury to Athens, and began dipping into the till. When poleis sought to withdraw from the Delian League, they learned that withdrawal was unacceptable. If Athenian soldiers came to the defense of a League member polis, they came to stay. The Athenian military budget was by far the largest in Greece.

Never an alliance of equals to begin with, this Delian League boiled down to something like Mafia protection. You paid up, shut up and did as told, or you got a lesson. Some people grumbled that the comparison to Persian dominion was disadvantageous. The Athenians didn’t listen, since that was only their jealous inferiors talking, who didn’t realize that what was good for Athens was good for all Greeks. In the Athenian mind, they were spending all this money of their own, asking a pittance from member states, and setting the perfect example of democracy. Those ingrates, who ought to be forever grateful to their obvious betters, had the nerve to complain and question the judgment of the cultural and financial paragons who had saved all other Greeks from the need to cringe and scrape before Eastern potentates.

No alliance that amounts to a senior partner expecting gratitude from junior partners for exploiting and bullying them can long endure, especially if the external threat recedes. The membership will start edging away as soon as the senior partner falters, especially if they get some form of encouragement from the senior partner’s rivals. The Mafia can crush one or three rebels, but it cannot crush them all at one time, nor can it cannot simultaneously crush them all and fight off a serious rival operation.

Hybris is a legacy from Classical Greek. As ‘hubris,’ it is one of tens of thousands in modern English. Today we define it as excessive pride, the sort that goes before a fall. In Classical times, of which we speak, the meaning differed a bit: in general terms, we might describe its Classical meaning as spiking the ball and taunting your defeated rival. Our modern definition perfectly describes Athens circa 440 BCE. Athenians believed that every polis’s most important relationship must be that with the most important city this side of Persepolis: Athens, the pinnacle of wealth, culture and power.

By 431 BCE, the Athenians had ignored the resentful side effects of hubris long enough. Sparta was not a naval power, but on land it was formidable. War came to most Greek-speaking poleis, with Sparta and Athens as the major players. Athens engaged in a far-flung and disastrous expedition to Sicily, a foreign war for wealth and power disguised as protecting an ally. Athens’ Spartan rivals found it expedient to support those ready to make trouble for the Athenian Empire, which had begun as the Delian League. Most Delian cities rested within or ringed the Aegean, and had navies in some form. In union they could challenge the Athenian fleet, without which Athens could not hold its empire.

In 404, the war drew to a close. Exhausted in every imaginable way, the Athenians lay at Spartan mercy. They were amazed when Sparta failed to treat Athens as Athens might have treated Sparta, and had treated its some of its own vanquished over the years. The thug mentality has a fatal flaw: it presumes that everyone else is a thug. When you see the powerful behave as callous, exploitative thugs, doing as they please and using others because they can, you see a hated power that dares not slip or let down its guard.

The example seems instructive, more so than that of Rome.