A Slight Rant about Blogging for Pay

In a free content era, professional writers are increasingly squeezed. A dwindling number of outlets actually pay their providers. As a means of establishing a publication name, freelance writers have turned more and more to blog aggregators, whose primary means of achieving revenue is through ad content. These web syndicates dangle the promise of payment, but first provided one follows a series of exacting, exasperating steps. Beware of empty promises.

I have refused to act like a trained pony, even though doing so takes a certain amount of money out of my pocket. Suggested assignments by these outlets require hours of extra work. Interviewing business owners, local politicians, and important people takes a long while. Putting in the time pays one less than minimum wage, if broken down into earnings per hour. And with no guarantee of reimbursement beyond the initial $15 for taking on a complicated piece of work, what I receive is chump change. I resent being treated as a cash cow, with the quality/composition of my contributions valued much less than a formulaic business model.

Here, most of the money earned streams to the top. Those who make it easy for the company to make profit find a few peanuts thrown their way. But these are the exception, rather than the rule. Huffington Post, for example, continues to refuse to pay most of its writers. And yet, as if to show blatant evidence of this topsy-turvy world in which we inhabit, it has even won Pulitzer Prizes in the past couple of years. Long time journalists have been wooed away, wise enough to see the writing on the wall. More are soon to follow.

Long-standing periodicals like Newsweek and Time have begun to implode. Now that first-rate staff has flown the coop, the quality of both continues to decline. Newspapers have begun to transition to online editions, this to save money, though what is posted often seems rushed and amateur. My hometown newspaper The Birmingham News has made one series of cuts to staffing after another. Forced buyouts and decreased benefits, plus a decline in pay, is today's world. The al.com domain that shares the content of the newspapers of the three largest cities in the state is a long-delayed nod to the new online reality facing everyone.

In the meantime, each of us scratches out some livelihood, though the ethic of scarcity is in force. If this career field could be compared to a suckling pig, there are too many young in search of milk and not enough places for all of them to feed. In a race to the top, sharp elbows are often employed. The journos of the nation seek jobs that are peeling away day by day. Or, as the old Gershwin standard inquired, "Nice work if you can get it. And if you get it, won't you tell me how?"

For Tomorrow

He's a twentieth century boy
With his hands on the rails
Trying not to be sick again
And holding on for tomorrow

London ice cracks on a seamless line
He's hanging on for dear life
And so we hold each other tightly
And hold on for tomorrow, singing

La, la la l-la, la, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la
La, la la l-la, la, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la
La, la la l-la, la, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la
Holding on for tomorrow

She's a twentieth century girl
With her hands on the wheel
Trying not to be sick again
Seeing what she can borrow

London's so nice back in your seamless rhymes
But we're lost on the West way
So we hold each other tightly
And we can wait until tomorrow, singing

La, la la l-la, la, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la
La, la la l-la, la, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la
La, la la l-la, la, la la, l-la l-la la-la-la
Holding on for tomorrow

Camping Trip Planning

I'm working on a camping trip for Young Adult Friends this week. Pictures will follow and I'm sure they'll be gorgeous. Because the planning consuming lots of my time, I'll be posting a little lighter than normal for the next several days. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I will be in Shenandoah National Park, enjoying the company of others. Entries for the weekend days will be queued up to automatically post ahead of time.

Each of us has really pulled together to make this trip happen. I'm very grateful that Friends are taking this seriously. If I have a selfish desire, it is that all who attend would feel the presence of God strongly. Past conferences, especially those specifically designed towards young adults have felt Spiritually powerful. We will have fun, but will also pause for Worship and for Worship Sharing.

If I feel led, I'll write a little about it.

A Pacifist's Thoughts on Memorial Day

On this Memorial Day, I take my traditional, tried-and-true, consistently conflicted position. A Quaker and a pacifist, I am never sure how to commemorate military service. Many Friends find today an incredibly difficult, awkward holiday, especially when combined with jingoistic platitudes about glory and honor. Ours has been a minority view for years.

The holiday was originally known as Decoration Day, and sought to honor the dead of the Civil War. Today I aim for the magnanimous. I would like to believe, as Abraham Lincoln himself noted in the Gettysburg Address, that our dead in any conflict shall not have died in vain. In my more judgmental moments, however, I believe that the ultimate sacrifice of one’s life is foolish and immoral. In my best moments, I can empathize with the severe belief in duty and devotion that spurred men on to pick up a gun.

In school, I excelled in history. As part of my studies, I read accounts of great battles, notable generals, and deft military maneuvers. A skillful retelling of warfare holds the interest of its audience well. Battle narratives often sensationalize human struggle. The fact that others risked life and limb only adds to the fascination and engagement of the reader. Still, I’m supposed to find war deplorable, an ancient, shameful practice of barbarism and violence regrettably not yet obsolete. And yet, today I find once again that there is something irresistibly compelling about the very idea of armed conflicted.

As is true with many Americans, I find something very fascinating, but also heavily tragic about the Civil War. Today, those who served in combat will be rededicated once again, in remembrance of their toil and struggle. Following the war’s most decisive battle, Confederate and Union veterans met on the battlefield of Gettysburg every Memorial Day to commemorate the Herculean human struggle of both sides. This year, they come together again for 145^th time.

There is something more to war than maneuvers and strategy, iron and blood. The hopes of an entire people can be caught up in a valiant struggle, one waged against all odds. History is written by the victors, but it is remembered by the losers.  William Faulkner, in a 1948 book entitled Intruder in the Dust, wrote in part about the Lost Cause of the Confederacy. It is a concept that seems incomprehensible to those not reared in the South.   

For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it's still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863…Maybe this time with all this much to lose than all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the golden dome of Washington itself to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the cast made two years ago.

The romanticism inherent in this description only makes sense when it is a byproduct of the humiliated and vanquished. Stark odds against the continued persistence and longevity of the Confederacy existed from the outset. It would make sense, then, that the war is a footnote outside the rebellious states and an everlasting topic of cultural fascination in Dixie. A defeated people built a mythology around themselves, to deflect the humiliation and destruction left behind.

150 years later, Faulkner’s description of a defiant, unbowed, belligerent region was passed down to me and for many I knew. This persistent legacy has never completely died out. A belief in state’s rights, one that challenges perceived meddling by the Federal Government is still a Southern tradition. Former Republican Presidential candidate and Texas Governor Rick Perry invoked the specter of secession under this same persistent regional mentality.   

Our Civil War, or for that matter, any Civil War holds a special poignancy for its country of origin. Other wars our nation fought involved mostly foreign participants, often Europeans. Here, Americans engaged in hand-to-hand conflict with their countrymen, giving rise to a thousand ironies great and small. When taking the field with divided loyalties from the beginning, it’s more difficult to resort to dehumanizing propaganda. When it is we who are across battle lines from each other, vilifying one’s enemy is more complicated. Siblings, cousins, fathers, and sons all took up arms against each other.

The United States in the late 19^th Century was an extremely religious nation. North and South both used Old Testament language to justify this bloody conflict. The Union and the rebelling South believed that they were the Israel of ancient days, their cause vindicated by a vengeful God.  The Almighty would forcibly destroy the idolatrous invaders, in the minds of the South, and force out the treasonous secessionists, in the minds of the North. In Lincoln’s words, given a month before the formal surrender of the South, the prayers of neither were answered.

I return to the meaning of Memorial Day. War may be hell, but it has existed since the dawn of humankind. Why does it remain so persistent, with any number of loyal believers? When will we rid ourselves of the need for what I and others see as senseless slaughter and needless suffering? Following the battle of Fredericksburg, Confederate General Robert E. Lee summarized well the conflicting emotions I experience every holiday in which we place a singular focus on armed conflict. “It is well that war is so terrible,” Lee wrote, “otherwise we would grow too fond of it.”      

Quote of the Week

"Why don't they pass a constitutional amendment prohibiting anybody from learning anything? If it works as well as prohibition did, in five years Americans would be the smartest race of people on Earth.”- Will Rogers

Saturday Video

Weed and bach and bach a monaural
Weed and bach and bach a low

Gotta do get and get it over.
Gotta do get and get a low.

Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Oh I
Diggy diggy da mona mon

Oh I

Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come

Well, western boys and highs mow, oh no.
Ah western boys and highs a low.

Gotta do get and got it all over.
Gotta do get and get it and get it alone.

Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Oh I
Diggy diggy da mona mon

Oh I

Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come

Well westen bach and bach a mona roll.
Westen bach and bach a low.

God, do you get and gotted it over.

and get it and gotten it and got it alone.

Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Diggy diggy da mona mon
Oh I
Diggy diggy da mona mon

Oh I

Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, come a come a come
Say dare I, coma a come a come
A come a come a come a cause

Happy Memorial Day Weekend

It's summertime and the living is easy
The fish are jumping and the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich and your mama's good looking
Won't you hush, pretty baby, don't you cry

One of these mornings you're going to wake up singing
Then you're going to spread your wings and take to the sky
But till that morning ain't nothing, nothing going to harm you
With your mommy and daddy there standing by

It's summertime and the living is easy
The fish are jumping and the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich and your mama's good looking
Would you hush, pretty baby, don't you cry

________________

Words and Music by George Gershwin, Du Bose Heyward, Dorothy Heyward, Ira Gershwin

Radical Acceptance: When an Attender is a Sex Offender

At the end of last year, a man began arriving every First Day at our Meeting. I noticed him because he kept plain dress. As is true with many houses of worship these days, the preferred style of clothing for most of us is casual. The tall, bearded man I saw downstairs prior to First Hour was clad in white shirt, black pants, and suspenders. He appeared deeply uncomfortable, shuffling back and forth uneasily.

Because my introversion usually keeps me anxious around people, I made an extra effort to be friendly. He stared at me as though unsure of what to do with the gesture. I thought nothing of it and made my way upstairs to Meeting for Worship, like usual. Perhaps he was a visitor from another Meeting. We have so many, after all. Washington, DC, is a haven for tourists and a few of them are traveling Quakers.

The mysterious man turned out to be a registered sex offender. He had reached out to our Meeting some weeks before via an old-fashioned letter in the mail. Sad to say, we’d displaced his correspondence for a few weeks, the first of many mistakes later to follow. In the letter, he explained his situation and circumstances. He was to be released in a few days from prison after a lengthy sentence for molesting a child.

He found Quakers because of a Conservative Friends Meeting in his place of incarceration. Their prison ministry had reached out to him. With the zeal of the new convert, he had become a Friend, idealizing his new found faith as many do in the beginning. Eager to start a new life, he followed the letter of the law to a T, desirous to follow the many requirements and restrictions placed upon all registered sex offenders.

His correspondence did not hide the nature of his crime. A native of the area, finally returning home, he wished to Worship with us. Due to his conviction, correspondence from his parole officer was a mandatory part of the process. Since nothing quite like this had ever been taken on by the Meeting, no one was sure how it ought to proceed.

Two Meeting committees were assigned an exceeding delicate task. Quaker process is slow as molasses in the best of circumstances, but this matter was sensitive and potentially toxic, especially if it got out of hand. The man met frequently with our Personal Aid committee for several weeks. Later, Healing & Reconciliation was incorporated into the process. Deliberation followed deliberation. Two months passed.

Those on committees contributed lots of extra time, establishing a support committee alongside other efforts. Each of these was conscious of a need to control the news and present it in a responsible, sober fashion. This man’s past was a liability, and not just for strictly legal reasons. A very different letter through the mail shared the news with the Meeting, urging discretion. Members and regular attenders were requested to keep the words of the letter to themselves. However, as Robert Burns wrote, the best laid plans oft go awry. And awry was a generous word to use under the circumstances.

The parents went into full out panic mode. Why had they not been told of this man’s presence in the Meeting until he had been actively attending for two months? What if he stalked their children? Skittish, frightened parents expressed anxiety after anxiety. What was thought to have been handled sufficiently by two committees spilled out beyond its intended borders. Once the cat was out of the bag, hurt, fear, and pain were on full display.

Meetings can be fast asleep in matters such as these. Business placed before us must season, we say, and so we adopt a deliberative approach. In emotionally intense situations, we have no choice but to act swiftly and firmly. In this setting, insistence upon strict secrecy meant that multiple, conflicting versions of the truth leaked out, much like a giant version of the game Telephone.

It was discovered that two regular attenders had also been convicted of child sexual abuse. One of them had once even served as a clerk of a committee. A child safety task force was hastily formed. Alongside it, a punitive system of strict supervision and boundaries not to be crossed was eventually adopted to apply to sex offenders. In part, it was drafted to comfort worried parents. In reality, it did not begin to address the multiplicity of issues that this crisis situation had brought forth.

The input and involvement of the most vulnerable was overshadowed by worst case scenario. Parents will sometimes lose all sense of perspective when their own offspring is concerned. The stridency of discourse omitted essential considerations.

Basic protection aside, children need to be taught to speak up on the own behalf. They must be told to assert their own rights as individuals. Should they be left alone in a room with an adult who is not a RE teacher, for example, they should vocalize their discomfort and tell other adults. No amount of punishing the offender in a preemptive fashion will stop the possibility. Legalistic language and adopted protocol is purely a panacea. Absolute security simply does not exist.

I’m adamant about this debate for a very specific reason. For the past several months, I’ve written in great detail about a part of my own early life. Or, to put it another way, I was molested because I had been taught to do exactly what other adults told me to do. My parents instructed me that, out of respect, I ought to have obedience and respect for my elders. When an older man directed me to do exactly as he said, I obeyed. Though what I was asked to do felt uncomfortable and somehow wrong, I believed that, as someone my parent’s age, he knew best. Then only a child, this was all that I knew.

In the meantime, the man whose intended presence among us had sparked the firestorm withdrew his intention to join us. The vituperative nature of criticism led him to believe that he was unwanted. Among some, but not all, I believe that he was. Many Friends felt as though their effort to accommodate him in fellowship had failed. The process had been emotionally draining for almost everyone.

The Meeting continues to deal with the fallout. Three listening sessions have been scheduled. A majority of voices have resolved to allow a sex offender to Worship with us, albeit with severe strings attached. Yet, questions remain. How will we handle something like this in the future? How can we confront a topic that is severely verboten for many, especially for survivors? To me, the truth lies in our willingness to wake from our slumber.

My Thoughts Exactly

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

Baby, do you understand me now?
Sometimes I feel a little mad
But don't you know that no one alive
can always be an angel
When things go wrong I seem to be bad.

'Cause I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree
With a joy that's hard to hide
And sometimes it seems that,
all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

If I seem edgy, I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems, and I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do

Cause I love you,
Oh,

Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human
Have flaws like any other one
Sometimes I find myself long regretting
Some foolish thing, some little sinful thing I've done

I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

Life

Editor's Note: This is the story of everyone past the age of 30.

Grown-up

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Another Lost Generation

We may well be another lost generation. The first Lost Generation struggled through a World War in Europe only to feel disillusioned and uncertain for the future. Soldiers, ambulance drivers, and nurses all returned to a very changed country. The lost generation I inhabit has had to live in the shadows of a new American reality. No longer can hard work and ingenuity alone provide a stable paycheck or substantial livelihood for anyone. What passes for the American dream is a supreme fiction.

The fortunate in this age are well-connected and lucky enough to not slip through the cracks. Those with jobs either possess the exact skills and precise training to suit fickle employers, or they find themselves consigned to occupational Purgatory. In a buyer's market, those hiring can afford to wait for the perfect fit in every way, shape, and fashion. Whether they attended a liberal arts college or a state school, graduated with honors or not, few applicants find their skills in demand.

Often they have had to borrow money from parents to stay afloat. Returning home to the womb for a few tours of duty, also known as their parent’s house is all too uncommon. We've been sold a bill of goods. Everything we were told was factual and true is totally wrong.

To best illustrate my point, I thought I might now tell the stories of a few of my friends. Each is in his or her late 20’s into the early 30’s and lives in Washington, DC. Though economists have told us that we are in recovery, whatever that means, it surely doesn’t feel like it to us. We’ve had to be creative in marketing ourselves to employers who can afford to be picky.

We’ve had to accept the subtle, but essential details that mean the difference between employment and unemployment. It’s humbling, to say the least to learn how worthless our educational training, resumes, and prior work experience can be. Twisting ourselves into pretzels for the sake of fitting into a narrowly defined skill set might as well be our stock in trade. When we’ve finally found employment, we’ve often taken jobs completely at odds with the work to which we assumed we would give our lives. We had absolutely no say in the matter.

One of my friends was hired by a non-profit right out of college. She enjoyed the work immensely, but knew her tenure was time-limited from the beginning. Contract work has become more and more prevalent with employers who wish to keep costs down. She spent the next eighteen months out of work, diligently searching for a job.

Employment finally arrived in the form of a Federal Government job in the same field as before. However, her new employer worked exclusively in policy, a complicated profession, to say the least, one she had never before even contemplated. On-the-job training was a necessity and, to her, the experience reminded her of cramming for the toughest examination she’d ever taken in her life.

Another friend spent about the same length of time on the unemployment rolls. He, too, found a job with the Federal Government, the only offer he was given. Within a few months of working there, he discovered that upper level management was highly incompetent and the agency itself was badly run. The institutionalized dysfunction influenced hiring practices and compromised morale. His co-workers were not adequately vetted before starting work and routinely were entirely unsuited for the nature of the work.

He dealt with all of it as long as possible, and then tendered his resignation three weeks ago. Once again unemployed, he has two months’ worth of savings to tide him over until he begins another one. Because he voluntarily resigned, unemployment compensation was flatly denied. He has filed an appeal and waits nervously for a decision.

Still another friend graduated after four years from a prestigious university, one with the most expensive tuition in the country. After periods of chronic underemployment, she has now achieved full-time work, but with severe strings attached. Her wages are low, granting her the ability to survive, though without the income she would really prefer. She spends everything she makes and laments the ability to be unable to save for a rainy day. Lacking health insurance, she worries about potential financial catastrophe should she need emergency medical treatment someday.

She’s been looking in frustration for another career for two months, having interviewed for two or three openings. Nothing seem to pan out in the end, a common denominator with the people in each of these stories. Each opening for which she obtains an interview draws a minimum of 100 applicants, most of whom have the identical qualifications she does. The odds are not exactly in her favor. I could tell at least ten more stories that follow the same basic frustrating trajectory.

Each of the persons mentioned above is highly qualified, highly educated, and struggling mightily to stay afloat. Place of origin does make a difference. Compounding the problem is that even in the best of times, Washington, DC, is an expensive place to live. Though booming in some sectors, our Nation’s Capital can be a stressful place for ambitious young adults.

Though a certain hyper-competitive quality is attached to the city by its very nature, employment opportunities nonetheless once existed in sufficient quantity. Now they do not. Regardless of how motivated and driven job seekers may be, they rapidly learn two particular truisms: 1. patience is a virtue and 2. there is no such thing as fair. For those in partnered relationships, the dynamics are slightly different, but related to those of singles. Often only one person holds down full-time work and functions as the primary breadwinner.

With heterosexual couples, the traditional gendered arrangement of a primary male breadwinner frequently reversed because of sheer necessity. Without the existence of dual incomes, sexism aside, the monetary imbalance can lead to tension within a relationship; one person often has to make a barely adequate inflow stretch for two. Should the sole source of money lose his or her job, a disaster would be left in its wake. 

What is often not discussed is that the Great Recession only exacerbated existing trends. For a decade or more before 2007, underemployment was the frequent lot of entry level workers who had just left college. Now, if recently published statistics are to be believed, 1 in 2 recent college graduates can expect to be unemployed upon entering the workforce. Living with one’s parents past college was once considered embarrassing and shameful: a denial of formal adulthood. The stigma may still be in place, but even achievers and hard workers have had to return to the nest when money is tight.

Allow me to make a sharp distinction. I am, of course, writing about a very particular group of people. All are white, each has been raised in middle class households, and each has also graduated from college with good grades. I imagine the climate is even worse for those who don’t have a certain amount of financial support, parental support, and privilege to back it up. For those without the good fortune of these material advantages, the future is even more uncertain, confusing, and difficult. Across the country, young men and women have similar stories to tell. No one knows how much longer we will exist in a state of fiduciary limbo.

Politicians promise recovery, but no one yet has provided a coherent plan. Recent Congressional efforts to reduce if not altogether eliminate financial aid debt will help, but they don’t address the primary problem. Where are the jobs? The forthcoming Presidential election will swing to a large extent on that very issue.

Until change comes to America, young adults will be unable to invest in their country. Until then, we sit and wait, soldiering along because we have no choice but to accept a recession era lifestyle. We’re surprisingly far less aimless and directionless than often believed. Our needs will be surprisingly well met and our distress will be soothed by the simplest of acts; we want work and we want to feel worthwhile and productive.

We are the future leaders of this country, but unless we can get a firm toe-hold with our foot in the door, we aren’t doing anyone much good. One single campaign issue unifies us together, regardless of where we call home. When is it our turn to begin building a future?

Lotta Love

La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La
Ooh, Ooh,

It's gonna take a lotta love
To change the way things are
It's gonna take a lotta love
Or we won't get too far

So if you look in my direction
And we don't see eye to eye
My heart needs protection and so do I

It's gonna take a lotta love
To get us thru the night
It's gonna take a lotta love
To make things work out right

So if you are there waitin'
I hope you show up soon,
'Cause my head needs relatin' not solitude

Gotta lotta love
Gotta lotta love
La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La, La
Ooh, Ooh

It's gonna take a lotta love
To change the way we are
It's gonna take a lotta love
Or we won't get too far.

It's gonna take a lotta love
To change the way we are
It's gonna take a lotta love
Or we won't get too far
Or we won't get too far

Quote of the Week

"In externals we advance with lightning express speed, in modes of thought and sympathy we lumber on in stage-coach fashion."- Frances Willard

Saturday Video

If lust and hate is the candy,
if blood and love tastes so sweet,
then we give 'em what they want.
Hey, hey, give 'em what they want.

So their eyes are growing hazy 'cos they wanna turn
it on,
so their minds are soft and lazy.
Well, hey, give 'em what they want.

If lust and hate is the candy,
if blood and love tastes so sweet,
then we give 'em what they want.

So their eyes are growing hazy 'cos they wanna turn
it on,
so their minds are soft and lazy.
Well... who do you wanna blame?

Hey, hey, give 'em what they want.

If lust and hate is the candy,
if blood and love tastes so sweet,
then we give 'em what they want.

So their eyes are growing hazy 'cos they wanna turn
it on,
so their minds are soft and lazy.

Well... who do you wanna blame?

It's So Easy

It's so easy to fall in love.
It's so easy to fall in love.

People tell me love's for fools.
So, here I go, breaking all the rules.

It seems so easy,
Oh so doggone easy,
It seems so easy.
Where you're concerned, my heart has learned.

It's so easy to fall in love.
It's so easy to fall in love.

Look into your heart and see,
What your love book has set apart for me.

It seems so easy,
Oh so doggone easy,
It seems so easy.
Where you're concerned, my heart has learned.

It's so easy to fall in love.
It's so easy to fall in love.

Life with a Chronic Illness (Or Two)

Chronic illnesses are, by their basic definition, long-lasting. Some, like Bipolar Disorder, I expect to have forever. I would be utterly shocked if a cure for any of the major psychiatric ailments is discovered during my lifetime. Metabolic and autoimmune disorders, however, are more fixable. If not put aside altogether, they may be controlled with the proper course of treatment. Addressing even the most basic problems of each is not nearly as easy as it may first seem.

The endocrine system is complicated. Its diseases and illnesses interconnect and interlock with other bodily processes and functions. For me, hypogonadism (abnormally low levels of testosterone) was only the first layer of discovery. Over the past year and a half, tests have slowly eliminated potential problems and shed light on others. A patient begins treatment at a big picture setting, and then focuses inward slowly, steadily, zeroing in on the likely culprits.

It’s never just one particular problem. I’ve been a patient so long that I stopped expecting swift resolution in any context around fifteen years ago. From the very beginning, my parents took me to specialists. This started early in childhood. By now, I can converse with doctors like a medical textbook, with note-perfect recall and flawless accuracy. A recent doctor even assumed that I had gone to medical school myself, based on what I knew already. When it’s your life at stake or at least sorely out of balance, one learns to do one’s research. I’ve memorized jargon instinctively.

You’d do the same thing, I promise. As it stands, I have a concerted interest in reading through voluminous, stodgy online medical journals. When a new medication is released, I’m the first to know. My life has been modified a thousand times, literally and figuratively held under a microscope, and filtered through a billion lenses. And still I’m here, a survivor, clinging to the scattered remains of a few substantial shipwrecks. In the middle of everything, especially the bombast and drama, one can only live in the moment.

Kurt Vonnegut put it well in his famous novel Slaughter-house Five. Vonnegut’s been on my mind a good bit recently. In researching an article I wrote, I’ve learned much about his biography. He spoke about the burden of expectations and outcomes, especially when they seem to be played on an endless loop.

My name is Yon Yonson, I work in Wisconsin, I work in a lumbermill there. The people I meet when I walk down the street, They say, 'What is your name?' And so it goes.

Trying to explain what happened this week would fill an entire page. I’d probably lose you in the complicated procedural soup. I’m used to having phlebotomy wounds where my bicep joins my forearm. Small plastic cylinders of urine have been hastily dropped off in front of lab technicians. Last night, I had a plastic mask strapped over my nose and mouth for eight hours. The remains of where the electric leads were attached underneath my ears and stuck to my ankles left behind a greasy residue. It was only washed off with a badly needed shower.      

This is my life. If I can articulate myself well to you, it’s because I’ve meticulously described symptoms, feelings, and impressions long before now. Medical practitioners likely breathe a sigh of relief with me once properly introduced. I like my doctors, usually. Once or twice, a few have been afraid I was trying to trap them into a malpractice lawsuit. They were mistaken. I want to be well, not to make trouble.

Without being dramatic, I wake up every morning next to ten prescription bottles. By now, I’ve lost count of how many medications I take daily. My best guess would be around seven or so. That total has shrunk to four and swelled to as many as ten. It often bothers me wondering how many prescriptions I’ll take when 

I’m fifty, considering that many people who are fifty often take the same drugs I do.

I would not have chosen this life for myself. I can’t imagine many people would, if given the option. What gives me comfort is a friend who also struggles with chronic illness herself. We commiserate over lab visits and griping about the still sky high cost of medical treatment. Another thing that brings me great comfort is belief in God. The laws and logic of humanity have never provided me consistent answers. As far as I’m concerned, trusting in something larger than me has made perfect sense.

Even now, I do admit that I sometimes lose patience. There are certain days where I obsess about my disabilities and nothing can comfort my mind. Fortunately, it’s not always this way. My strengths usually overshadow my weaknesses. And it is on that note that I’d like to draw this extended soliloquy to its fitting end.     

Busy Week

Pardon for the light posting this week. I'm getting over the flu and have had lots of medical appointments. Next week should be more prolific.

Shameless Self-Promotion

My essay, entitled "FGC and FUM Types of Worship", has been published in the new June/July 2012 edition of Friends Journal!

Movie review: The Red Shoes

The creative partnership of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger created many notable British films from the 1940’s to the late 1950’s. Known collectively as The Archers, The Red Shoes was the duo’s first resounding box office success. It also made a star out of redheaded Scottish ballet dancer and actress Moira Shearer, who later was given the title Lady Kennedy. A marvel of three strip Technicolor, The Red Shoes is an expensive but visually stunning motion picture.

Underneath the slowly unfolding drama is unstated, but implied gay subtext. Common to its era, this aspect of the film remained covert and subtle. Svengali Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook) has committed the whole of his life to his work in charge of a ballet that bears his name. Immaculately clothed and sophisticated man of the world, Lermontov jealously guards his talent, particularly protégé Vicky Page (Shearer), a prima ballerina who he has plucked from obscurity. Lermontov is especially keen to control Vicky’s life in every possible manner. One might assume at first that he desires her romantically, but Lermontov’s behavior openly contradicts this.

Lermontov’s closeted homosexuality reveals itself in two crucial lines of dialogue. While witnessing early rehearsals, the impresario responds with ferocity, demanding utter perfection from his star. Expressing the most essential distillation of his personal philosophy, Lermontov’s countenance takes on a steely, driven, wild-eyed look. He speaks with autocratic certainty.

“A dancer who relies upon the doubtful comforts of human love,” Lermontov proclaims, “will never be a great dancer. Never.”  When questioned as to whether or not this defies the laws of basic human desire, Lermontov forcefully responds, “I think you can do even better than that — you can ignore it."

Meanwhile, promising young composer Julian Craster (Marius Goring) has been hired by Lermontov to score a new ballet, an adaptation from a Hans Christian Anderson story entitled The Red Shoes. Vicky and Julian fall in love with each other and begin a relationship, which throws the possessive Lermontov into a fit. The impresario would closely control every element of Vicky’s life if he could. His reaction to their pleadings to be left in peace is cold, harsh contempt. If he can’t have a romantic relationship, no one else can either.

Plot aside, the cinematography of The Red Shoes is as important as the character development. Released in 1948, it is, as noted above, one of the last films to use the three strip Technicolor process. This color motion picture process was notably used stateside for 1939’s The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind, two films now considered classics.

In some ways, the most stunning segment occurs around halfway through the picture. Advanced camera techniques, cinematic slight-of-hand, editing trickery, and brilliant camera work enhance an extended fifteen minute visual sequence, the introduction of the ballet. Without a score of trained hands at work, the audience might have otherwise easily grown thoroughly bored.

The Red Shoes is beholden to an earlier school of film craft than what followed afterwards. UK filmmakers, producers, and writers like The Archers sought to compete with Hollywood by proving that non-American movies could stand on equal footing. However, within ten years, an entire artistic movement would completely disown the opulence on display here.

A fanciful rendering of the aristocracy would be exchanged for the rough-hewn grit of the working class North of England. Stark black and white photography would replace the awe-inspiring but technically complicated (and expensive) shades of bluest blue, greenest green, and reddest red. The British New Wave to follow was more concerned with strict realism, not fantasy, however gorgeously concocted.         

It seems incomprehensible now that The Red Shoes did not achieve substantial popularity upon initial release. Its lush landscapes are almost worth the price of admission in and of themselves. Instead, the film became a sleeper hit. It was made a success primarily by word of mouth. The approach employed by The Archers defied the conventional wisdom of the time. For one, a meta-narrative is at work; the main plotline follows that of the ballet. The tragic ending will be identical both in reality and in art.          

Quote of the Week

"Hypocrisy is a fashionable vice, and all fashionable vices pass for virtue”- Molière

Saturday Video

Your face when sleeping is sublime
And then you open up your eyes

Then comes pancake factor number one
Eyeliner, rose hips and lip gloss, such fun
You're a slick little girl, you're a slick little girl

Rouge and coloring, incense and ice
Perfume and kisses, oh it's all so nice
You're a slick little girl, you're a slick little girl

Now we're coming out, out of our closets
Out on the streets, yeah, we're coming out

When you're in bed it's so wonderful
It'd be so nice to fall in love
When you get dressed I really get my fill
People say that it's impossible

Gowns lovely made out of lace
And all the things that you do to your face
You're a slick little girl, you're a slick little girl

Eyeliner, whitener then color the eyes
Yellow and green, oh what a surprise
You're a slick little girl, oh, you're such a slick little girl

Now we're coming out, out of our closets
Out on the streets, yes, we're coming out
Yeah, we're coming out...

Liberal Quaker Skepticism and the Meaning of Servant-Lead Leadership

After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?"

Jesus replied, "You don't understand now what I am doing, but someday you will." "No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." 

My religious environment is full of seekers, skeptics, and lost sheep. Liberal unprogrammed Friends are the Doubting Thomas’ of Quakerism. The difficulty in ministering to the eternally suspicious cannot be over-stressed. I must admit that often times I feel like C.S. Lewis, trying to distill the most salient talking points as a defense against those who would forever resist them.

Friends have, no doubt expressing their own sentiments, instructed me to be patient. Some took years of contemplation and proper seasoning to make what, for them, was a momentous decision. It has been my understanding that a person doesn’t take one leap of faith in his or her lifetime, but several of them. While I empathize with what for some must be a substantial tussle with the conscience, I am saddened by how much effort must be first undertaken.

Liberal Friends sometimes only pursue formal membership in a Monthly Meeting as a means to some desired end. Perhaps they feel strongly led towards a particular sort of committee membership. Other times, they are interested only in one particular event that best speaks to their own cares. When I was more actively involved in scheduling Young Adult Friend activities, some attenders only showed up for very particular, narrowly defined personal wants and reasons.

It is difficult for me not to feel a little exasperated in contexts such as these. The most recent example that comes to mind is that of a Young Adult Friend who has joined the Meeting to legitimize her occupation. She is an interfaith chaplain and a pastoral therapist. Unless formal certification necessitated formal membership, she would not have pursued this course of action.

In a collection of BBC radio-delivered essays later entitled “Mere Christianity,” C.S. Lewis speaks to this theological confusion.

There are two parodies of the truth which different sets of Christians have, in the past, been accused by other Christians of believing: perhaps they may make the truth clearer. One set were accused of saying, "Good actions are all that matters. The best good action is charity. The best kind of charity is giving money. The best thing to give money to is the Church. So hand us over ₤10,000 and we will see you through." The answer to that nonsense, of course, would be that good actions done for that motive, done with the idea that Heaven can be bought, would not be good actions at all, but only commercial speculations.

The other set were accused of saying, "Faith is all that matters. Consequently, if you have faith, it doesn't matter what you do. Sin away, my lad, and have a good time and Christ will see that it makes no difference in the end." The answers to that nonsense is that, if what you call your "faith" in Christ does not involve taking the slightest notice of what he says, then it is not Faith at all — not faith or trust in Him, but only intellectual acceptance of some theory of Him.

I return to the Friend who desires to be a chaplain. Her work, as envisioned, would speak to those who are squeamish about religion, any religion. Though it pains me to contemplate, I know she will not hurt for business. As has often been addressed in Christian Left circles, the Religious Right has distorted and twisted the true meaning of our faith. The Young Adult Friends with whom I associate regularly follow a highly individual path, one often tortuously protracted. Then and only then can they find complete comfort. It may take five years, and it may take fifty.

Spiritual maturity often requires willful self-reflection and trust in the Holy Spirit to recognize those crucial distinctions. True believers in some areas of their lives, liberal YAFs immediately form negative value judgments around the very idea of religion. Leaders far more wise than me have found the challenge cut out for them extremely daunting.

Reasons for joining a Monthly Meeting, as I have observed, are not holistic, they are segmented. By contrast, I joined because I felt a Divine leading to be present within that congregation. That was the extent of my analysis at the time, and I was so awed by the revelation I asked few questions. God told me I needed to learn life lessons and bolster my Spiritual development, so I listened. My work has unfolded piecemeal, bit by bit. I know enough to recognize that it is not yet been fully revealed. Beyond that, I have no clue what time will offer me.

Now to address the Scriptural passage by which I introduced this post. It is found within the Gospel of John. Shortly before his death, Jesus decided to take on a thankless task usually expected of a servant. His disciple Peter, in his time-honored role, at first completely missed what Jesus’ selfless act implied. Service ought to be for its own sake, without the expectation of something in return.

Same-Sex Marriage, A Generational Debate

The reasons why and the political calculations President Obama contemplated before finally stepping forward for gay marriage have been already exhaustively analyzed. In accordance, I have nothing new to contribute to that discussion. I do find it interesting that the history-making aspect of the event has been greeted completely without the accolades normally given to matters this important. In a less preoccupied, exhausted electorate this would have been a momentous occasion.

It is easy to be cynical about the political calculation Obama took in reaching this decision. My thoughts have gone in those directions, too. As someone who identifies as LGBT himself, I’ve always that believed that marriage equality was an eventuality, not the product of bombast and confrontation. A series of incremental steps, invisible when analyzed one by one, have caused a huge sea change in popular opinion. The sweeping visuals and fevered mechanizations of another era are nowhere to be found. Here are no planned campaigns stretching from city to city, few stirring speeches, and a modest amount of boots on the ground.

It hasn’t been needed. Older gay men and women remember the days where the entire world seemed to be against them. But these are different times. For many under the age of 40, gay marriage is a non-issue. LGBT rights seem to turn the conventional wisdom of achieving a basic Civil Right upside down. A majority of Americans now favor same-sex marriage, which has required neither a revolution, nor a strictly revolutionary attitude to achieve. Even the same states which define marriage as a strictly heterosexual union, if generational attitude is any clue, will change dramatically when their voting demographics do.

The 2008 Presidential Election was, in some ways, an extended dialogue between Baby Boomers. Gay marriage will also take this form, at least for now. To reiterate, approval and tolerance of marriage equality and homosexuality in general are generational issues. I must remember to see the broadest possible understanding, as I form my own. Even though my parents were not very accepting of my bisexuality when I came out to them in high school, many other Boomer parents were. Among my friends, throughout the course of my life, this controversy is anything but controversial. Political affiliation and ideology, to them, are secondary.

It may be that we, as Americans, have recognized we have had no need to march and protest as we once did. The Occupy movement revealed that even a dramatic call to arms, no matter its potential, produced no significant seismic shift in affecting policy. No one knows what path marriage equality will take, but nevertheless, prior battles have been fought thus far at the ballot box or within state legislatures. More will follow. The timing of when same-sex marriages are pronounced legal in all 50 states will be a measure of how competent government is in setting lasting policy.

It is a broken political system with which we content currently, and expecting it to respond effectively and with haste in this situation may be expecting much more than is feasible. In less than half a century, the United States of America, by itself, has radically changed its perception of homosexuality. An example of the basic evolution we have gone through as a country follows.

The Quaker Meeting of which I am a member splintered in the 1980’s. It was caught between two warring factions who took opposite sides of the gay marriage debate. Some, disgusted with the back and forth left for other Meetings in the area, never to return, and some stormed away in a huff. Others formed their own Worship across the property, a Worship setting designed for LGBTs and allies. Though never intended to be more than temporary, it continues to the present day.

I am less convinced that direct confrontation in this form really works. It took most of a decade and a half for the bad feelings to subside in the example I’ve just cited. And to some of a particular age, those memories will never die. What was meant to be a short-term protest site to harbor LGBTs who felt excluded and unsupported has become a Meeting for Worship in its own right. The controversy long since over, some Friends believe that it is past time for LGBTs to Worship together in the larger Meetingroom as we once all did. What was meant to be a temporary division has become permanent.

Our partitions can swiftly become habits. With enough destructive energy, separation becomes calcified. Anger becomes institutionalized. It is for this reason that I am cautious of too much, too soon. President Obama may have endeared himself to his liberal base, but I feel certain that marriage equality as a country is still a few decades off. Should anyone believe that picking a fight would do any good at all, I would ask him or her to really consider the consequences first.

Insomnia

Check back tomorrow, when I can think straight.

The Danger of American Exceptionalism

American exceptionalism has never gone completely unexpressed. Exceptionalism is present in many forms. The jingoistic saber-rattlers clamoring for war at various instances in our history kicked an extant philosophical movement into overdrive. To them, the United States is uniquely qualified to lead ceaseless military or diplomatic action and emerge victorious, the most powerful and influential, with nary a scratch to show for it. Most of this belief is bluster, the sort of important-sounding but meaningless rhetoric advanced by blowhards and gasbags.

Even at our most placid times, we’ve still been told that our national is special and different. For a long time, we proudly recited that we were a nation of immigrants. We even memorialized this ideal with the building of the Statue of Liberty. Terms like “melting pot” once were used to illustrate this greater point.

The United States has the largest population of immigrants in the world—over 38.5 million people living in the United States are first-generation immigrants, although on a percentage basis the immigrant population ranks 48th in the world. On an annual basis, the United States naturalizes approximately 898,000 immigrants as new citizens, first in the world in absolute terms, and 8th in the world in per capita terms. From 1960 to 2005, the United States was ranked first in the world for every five year period but one for the total number of immigrants admitted—overall, since 1995, the United States has admitted over 1 million immigrants per year.

Of the top ten countries accepting resettled refugees in 2006, the United States accepted more than twice as many as the next nine countries combined, approximately 50,000 refugees; in addition, on average, over 100,000 refugees per year were resettled annually between 1990 and 2000; further, over 85,000 asylum seekers annually come to the United States in search of sanctuary, of which approximately 45% are successful in obtaining.

These statistics call into question one especially prevalent and popular argument. Immigration has been generally allowed in the United States, provided, of course, it never deprived the so-called natural born citizen of his or her fully privileged status. The definition of that status or that deficiency has varied dramatically over time. Immigration has been restricted severely multiple times in our history, often for the sake of political expediency.

The qualifying factors for naturalization have changed considerably, too. Whether immigrants were allowed to settle here depends whether they were viewed by the powers that be as necessary for continued American growth or as impediments to a feared loss of economic gains.

We’ve informed the world for years and years that our unique experiment in Democracy is the original and best. We’ve culturally sold the idea alongside our consumer goods and knack for advertising. The hardest sell of all has been especially prominent during election year rhetoric. Being proud to be an American is one thing. Blind devotion is very different. This desire to let politicians speak in place of hard facts reduces debate to trifling cliches and fisticuffs.

Even observant liberals can make mistakes around this idea. The United States, over the decades, has built a solid mythology around itself, which is the envy of any border fence ever devised by human hands. Nor is this an uncommon compulsion. New nations often spell out policy in order to legitimize their gains, goals, and basic identity. However, pride in country rarely stops with pride in self.

For 236 years, it is true in our dealings with more established countries we’ve sometimes come across like arrogant upstarts. But it’s also factual that the ultimate success of our Democratic system, even though the brand has grown damaged, has nonetheless persisted. We have had no revolutions, no coups, and no dictatorial control. Our earliest leaders were afraid that the radical phase of the French Revolution would assert itself on these shores, yet it did not. Cynical progressives often today hint darkly of the final days of the United States of America. Such things must happen, but the end is not yet.

In the meantime, we continue to disagree about how exceptional we are, and what that exceptionalism even means. Americans have been already called to war by one President to make the world safe for Democracy. Three hundred years prior to that, a Puritan leader named John Winthrop wrote that we were God’s country. To him, and to others who followed Winthrop, our nation is still a shining city on a hill.

It is understandable, even enviable that the landed, educated, elite men who set forth a new nation thought so much of their new creation. To this day, anyone with the skills and drive to build something out of nothing would surely rate the importance of their own work about as highly. Forming any new nation is a Frankenstein's monster of a sort. What these men established reflects highly upon them.

And yet, it has been said numerous times of Thomas Jefferson that he loved the common man, but at a distance. Leaders like Jefferson held a snobbish viewpoint, believing that the common person lacked the skills necessary to run any government in their new creation, on any level.

This supposedly egalitarian society was never as fair or equitable as it was said to be. That it has grown corrupt and unwieldy now in the 21st Century surprises few. Faction and competition grew to two competing parties, the same two that exist today. The names may be a little different, but the basic disagreements persist. Oversimplying the heart of the debate reveals one party who trusts government more than capital and the other who trusts capital more than government.

This hearty argument grows explosive quickly and needs no additional flint or tinder. Detonation doesn’t help us. Being proud Americans and refusing to adopt conceit in place of justified pride may stave off future conflagrations or bad Presidents. We can be proud of our country without having to adopt a braggart’s pose. And, for better or for worse, we can see push past the spin to the truth. Nothing says responsible citizen like keeping one’s mind open.

How True, How Very True

Quote of the Week

"All the proliferating falsifications of what I and everyone I know experienced once in what it is now so convenient to call the "fifties" or "sixties," as if life was really measured or lived in arbitrary decades, when the history books are sold like comix."- Lester Bangs

Embassy Days 2012

Saturday Video

Follow me into the desert
As thirsty as you are
Crack a smile and cut your mouth
And drown in alcohol

'Cause down below the truth is lying
Beneath the riverbed
So quench yourself and drink the water
That flows below her head

Oh no, there she goes
Out in the sunshine the sun is mine

I shot my love today
would you cry for me?
I lost my head again
would you lie for me?

I left her in the sand just a burden in my hand
I lost my head again
would you cry for me?

Close your eyes and bow your head
I need a little sympathy
'Cause fear is strong and love's for everyone
Who isn't me

So kill your health and kill yourself
And kill everything you love
And if you live you can fall to pieces
And suffer with my ghost

Just a burden in my hand
Just an anchor on my heart
Just a tumor in my head
And I'm in the dark

So follow me into the desert
As desperate as you are
Where the moon is glued to a picture of heaven
And all the little pigs have God

The Weight

I pulled into Nazareth, was feelin' about half past dead
I just need some place where I can lay my head
"Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, "no" was all he said

Take a load off Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me
(You put the load right on me)

I picked up my bag, I went lookin' for a place to hide
When I saw Carmen and the Devil walkin' side by side
I said, "Hey, Carmen, come on let's go downtown"
She said, "I gotta go but my friend can stick around"

Take a load off Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me
(You put the load right on me)

Go down, Miss Moses, there's nothin' you can say
It's just ol' Luke and Luke's waitin' on the Judgment Day
"Well, Luke, my friend, what about young Anna Lee?"
He said, "Do me a favor, son, won'tcha stay and keep Anna Lee company?"

Take a load off Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me
(You put the load right on me)

Crazy Chester followed me and he caught me in the fog
He said, "I will fix your rack if you'll take Jack, my dog"
I said, "Wait a minute, Chester, you know I'm a peaceful man"
He said, "That's okay, boy, won't you feed him when you can"

Take a load off Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me
(You put the load right on me)

Catch a cannon ball now to take me down the line
My bag is sinkin' low and I do believe it's time
To get back to Miss Fanny, you know she's the only one
Who sent me here with her regards for everyone

Take a load off Fanny
Take a load for free
Take a load off Fanny
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me
(You put the load right on me)

A Plea for Common Sense on the National Day of Prayer

Today, May 3, is the National Day of Prayer. The precise date of observance has varied over the years, but is now formally celebrated on the first Thursday of May. Official recognition by the United State Government has only been in place since 1952. President Harry S. Truman’s endorsement, due to its time of enactment, was more than likely meant to separate observant Americans from atheistic Soviet Communists enemies. Religious belief can draw distinct lines setting it apart from others, but it is not necessarily defensive in nature. Faith can be heartfelt and motivated by sincere convictions.

Presidents since George Washington have specified certain days for the purpose of prayer. Often, prayer has been formally encouraged in times of great strain and national turmoil, frequently in times of war. Each of us, regardless of how religious we identify ourselves, often turns to a Divine presence in stressful, similar circumstances. If we were inclined to reject the practice wholesale, context aside, arguments against the National Day of Prayer might ring truer.

As a believer in God and a Christian Quaker, I appreciate our nation’s once-a-year formal acknowledgement of faith. Unlike many conservative believers, I don’t believe that our nation was specifically designed to be Christian or even religious. If the Founders of this country had wanted to establish a Christian nation, they would have done that very thing from the outset and was not a clerical error. Omitting the formal presence of religion would have been a rather gigantic oversight, all told.

There are, very deliberately, no references to Scripture in the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, or the Bill of Rights. This is even more astounding when one considers that in the late 18th Century, religion held a cultural importance and priority that it does not today.

At the outset, two political parties emerged from the more-or-less unified consensus of the American Revolution. One was the Federalist Party. The Federalists were nominally headed by George Washington and Alexander Hamilton. Hamilton, in particular, was leery of a total lack of religious expression, believing it to be the first steps towards cultural, moral anarchy. The French Revolution then raging across the Atlantic reached a radical phase, abolishing religion altogether and sending clergymen by the score to the guillotine. 

The Republican Party of Thomas Jefferson was more skeptical of religion. Though Jefferson was not an atheist or bereft of religious expression, Federalist newspapers and pamphlets made routine accusations of these very same offenses. Republican doggerel fired back, increasing the putrid stench of an era even more hostile and partisan than our own. In its pure state, American religion has always been a largely private matter, only becoming a public one in tumultuous circumstances.

Now, in the 21st Century, a Freethought society called the Freedom from Religion Foundation seeks to overturn the National Day of Prayer. Believing itself to be thoroughly persecuted by religion in any form, its doctrine sees belief as mere superstition and an unfair repression of basic human liberty. The society displays a sign outside the Wisconsin State Capital in Madison during the Christmas Season. It reads as follows: 

At this season of the Winter Solstice, may reason prevail. There are no gods, no devils, no angels, no heaven or hell. There is only our natural world. Religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.

Freedom from Religion Foundation cause certain faith groups, usually conservative and Christian, to respond forcefully in reply. What we see before us today is an over-correction. The pendulum never swings towards the middle, as reason would surely dictate. Instead, it swings too far in one direction and too far another. Open conflict rarely provides a sensible, logical compromise. The overheated rhetoric of partisan divisiveness reflects fear, over-theatricality, and psychic projection. What it does not produce is a sensible compromise.

However, the paranoia of the Christian Right has taken this argument into very unhealthy territory. Some faith groups purport to speak for everyone, particularly every believer. Among many mainstream Christians, I’m considered something of a heretic. I believe in a strict separation between Church and State. I take Jesus’ ministry not as a justification for the way things always have been, but as a still relevant challenge to authority. As a Quaker, I believe in the equality of men and women. I do not interpret Pauline admonitions towards homosexuality and a proper role of women in the church as both are often defined.

   

Atheistic, often militant associations like the Freedom from Religion Foundation contain a strong core of wounded ex-believers. While I sympathize with their circumstances, I do not believe religion in all its permutations has injured them. Misguided individuals and misguided ideology has created these problems.

Freethought groups can be as overzealous as the religious groups from which members initially fled. Part of peaceful expression is a refusal to resort to overt stereotyping and backbiting. Politicians and political parties have sought to unfairly slander each other for a good long while, but the practice serves no positive end, nor any positive gain.

We are too busy trying to destroy the opposition, to snuff out the very life of those who oppose us. Though a civilized people, we have only within a few generations given up the sword for the pen to best resolve debates. Now we fight a war with words, hurting each other intellectually, but also emotionally. Words harm us in ways we may not understand upon their first utterance.

It is Freedom from Hyperbole that we require. Rather than waging war inside a courtroom, we might first understand our opposition. What pulls us apart is simpler than one might think.

And How!

Hope You Never

The audio embed program I usually use isn't work. Pardon the link below. Please click on the left-hand download after clicking the link on this page. Audio link here.

I hope you never fall in love
Hope you never get your heart broken
I hope you never fall in love
With somebody like you

I hope you never give a damn
Hope you never lose your perspective
I hope you never fall in love
With somebody like you

I wish you well
I wish you everything and more
Forgive my ignorance
I was starting to ramble on and on
Starting to ramble on and on

I hope you never need no one
Hope you treasure your independence
I hope you never fall in love
With somebody like you

I wish you well
I wish you everything and more
Forgive my ignorance
I was starting to ramble on and on
Starting to ramble on and on

I hope you never give a damn
Hope you never get your heart broken
I hope you never fall in love
With somebody like you

I hope you never fall in love
With somebody like you

The January 1998 Abortion Clinic Bombing in Birmingham, Alabama

Homegrown Terror's Role in the War on Women

The War on Women can be easy to conceptualize. The spectacle of men making decisions for women without their consent and input speaks for itself. The most telling distinctions, however, are often relegated to the shadows. Shame and fear have been used with equal measure against women seeking an abortion. Homegrown terrorists have sought to exploit these cultural fissures, all in a misguided belief that violence is a practical solution. Though we ought to monitor foreign terrorist networks and individuals that threaten our safety, the threat of internal attacks need not be neglected, either.

For years, I walked by the New Woman All Women abortion clinic on a daily basis. Adjacent to the campus of the University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB), it occupies a quiet, but intense corner of 10th Avenue South. Only a few paces across the street is Al’s Deli and Grill, the hangout of many an undergraduate. Busy chatting away, few students ever pause to peer for long at the tenant opposite the restaurant. Even fewer wish to speak at length about the services performed behind the blacked out windows.

New Woman All Women was bombed at 7:33 in the morning on January 29, 1998. Its perpetrator was far-right, homegrown terrorist Eric Rudolph. The blast killed Birmingham police officer and part-time clinic security guard Robert “Sandy” Sanderson, while critically injuring nurse Emily Lyons. Those who were living in nearby dorms or on their way to early class that morning remember the sound of the explosion and how it carried across several city blocks. Lyons, severely maimed by the attack, survived. She later became an outspoken abortion rights advocate.

Rudolph’s most ambitious project until then had been the audacious bombing of Centennial Olympic Park during the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia. Security guard Richard Jewel was falsely accused of the crime, but later exonerated. Aware he was being pursued by law enforcement, Rudolph headed for the Appalachian region of Western North Carolina, where he lived in hiding for the next several years. While living the life of a survivalist in the mountainous regions of the state, the assailant was aided and abetted by sympathizers.

When eventually caught and brought to justice, in 2003, Eric Rudolph admitted planting explosive devices at two Atlanta-area abortion clinics and at a lesbian bar. The suspect was unrepentant to the very end, refusing to apologize for his crimes.

After Rudolph's arrest for the bombings, The Washington Post reported that the FBI considered Rudolph to have "had a long association with the radical Christian Identity movement, which asserts that Northern European whites are the direct descendants of the lost tribes of Israel, God's chosen people."

Christian Identity is a white nationalist sect that holds that those who are not white Christians will be condemned to Hell. In the same article, the Post reported that some FBI investigators believed Rudolph may have written letters that claimed responsibility for the nightclub and abortion clinic bombings on behalf of the Army of God, a group that sanctions the use of force to combat abortions and is associated with Christian Identity.

After the front façade was rebuild, the entrance of the clinic looked somewhat like a fortress. A prominent security camera was installed, a feature that may have saved a life and spared physical and psychological trauma had been in place at the time of the attack. For years, the front was a drab, sedate shade of grey, but has since been repainted a dark pink. The issue now, as it always has been, is not what one sees outside as it is what goes on inside.

Unfortunately, the clinic appears to be only a few days away from losing its license to perform abortions. New Woman All Women would need to shut its doors effective May 18, if it cannot regain its ability to perform procedures legally.

The clinic in March agreed to surrender its license and close after a state investigation found problems including two instances in which patients were given overdoses of a drug and had to be transported to a hospital by ambulance. 

The consent decree under which the clinic's license was surrendered followed an investigation into instances in which two patients were given an overdose of the drug Vasopressin on Jan. 21. 

Each patient should have been administered 0.2 cubic centimeters of the drug, which limits blood loss, but they instead each were given 2.0 cubic centimeters.

Both women were transported to an unidentified Birmingham hospital by ambulance after vomiting, though there was no indication their condition was life-threatening, a report said.

These reports only reinforce anti-choice rhetoric. Abortion foes have scrutinized this center in an effort to find any detail they can to discredit its existence. Should New Woman All Women be forced out of business, as seems likely, it would leave the Birmingham Metro area with only one remaining abortion provider. In a Metro area of 1.2 million people, the disruption of services would be felt acutely. Ironically enough, in another addition to a national issue already in hot debate, Planned Parenthood Southeast would be the one remaining option.

Abortion remains a highly combustible issue. As surely as terrorist plots against us are being planned across the world, domestic terrorism shares that very same threat level. Even the language of the abortion dialogue has taken on militaristic, dogmatic trappings. Those who support abortion decry anti-choice factions, implying that their opposition would restrict a woman’s basic freedom and liberties. Pro-life forces speak stridently about killing babies.

The latest debate over Planned Parenthood has only turned up the heat. Where is this argument headed, beyond the Supreme Court? If we expect further instances of violence, looking inside our own borders is essential. Who is the next Eric Rudolph or the next Timothy McVeigh? One hopes that our vigilance with disrupting Radical Islam carries over to other Americans with destructive intentions.