The Mind of the South

Now that I have relocated nearly 750 miles northeast from the South, I have moved from a solidly Republican region to a solidly Democratic one. I'm happy where I live, but I am more refugee than immigrant. Immigrants assimilate with great purpose to a new culture, but refugees retain a strong identification with home. I lament the inability to find overcooked, oversalted vegetables seasoned with pork or the proper form of cornmeal by which to make cornbread.

When traveling home or waiting in airports, I automatically gravitate to others from my state of birth. I deliberately seek out those with Alabama t-shirts on, engaging in enthusiastic small talk, most often about football or sports. Part of this comes from growing up in a small state with a population of only 4.8 million people. The city I live in now has more inhabitants than the entire state of my birth.

One topic is noticeably absent: politics. A sharp and immediate difference separates me from most Alabamians, and for that matter, most Southerners. I'm a liberal Democrat. They're usually conservative Republicans. For this reason, I simply don't go there. The conventional wisdom is that our country is as ideologically divided as it ever has been. I'm not convinced.

Writing in the Daily Beast, Michael Tomsky writes, with no small derision, about a new solid South.

It’s lost. It’s gone. A different country. And maybe someday it really should be. I’ll save that for another column. Until that day comes, the Democratic Party shouldn’t bother trying. If they get no votes from the region, they will in turn owe it nothing, and in time the South, which is the biggest welfare moocher in the world in terms of the largess it gets from the more advanced and innovative states, will be on its own, which is what Southerners always say they want anyway.

Once part of the New Deal Coalition, the politics of the South have changed from solidly (albeit conservative) Democrat to solidly Republican. This trend is not new and has been underway for at least the last fifty years.Things really began to change in 1964 with the passage of the Civil Rights Act and Barry Goldwater, but the region's overwhelming support for George Wallace's independent campaign in 1968 was the true onus. The 1990's saw massive party switching from conservative Democrats in the Senate and House to the conservative Republicans they are today.

Earlier in this year we glanced across the pond at Scotland, a region of the UK that has long had an ambivalent relationship with the rest of Great Britain. By a relatively close margin, it declined to secede. Should Southern secession be put to a vote, rather than a bloody armed conflict, it would be curious to know the results. Southerners, including yours truly, bear a chip on their shoulders a mile wide, believing themselves to be the red headed stepchild, always fearful and suspicious that they are being negatively judged and dismissed by other Americans.

Tomsky is right that the South simultaneously mooches off of the rest of the country while claiming disingenuously that its own affairs and self-governance are not respected. But it is also true that the region contains some of the most deplorable poverty and lack of opportunity in the United States. I left, refugee or not, because it was my observation that the demands and petty superstitions of the rural south consistently dragged down its urban counterparts.

The main point is this: Trying to win Southern seats is not worth the ideological cost for Democrats. As Memphis Rep. Steve Cohen recently told my colleague Ben Jacobs, the Democratic Party cannot (and I’d say should not) try to calibrate its positions to placate Southern mores: “It’s come to pass, and really a lot of white Southerners vote on gays and guns and God, and we’re not going to ever be too good on gays and guns and God.”

Politics in the capital city of Montgomery show this fight between more progressive city dwellers and the attitudes of those in rural areas that I can only describe as backwards and resistant to improve conditions for all Alabamians. I waited years for my state, and the South in general, to change its nationwide reputation and make things better for its citizens. After a time, I threw up my hands and headed North, as many Southern liberals do.

I speak with sadness, not derision. Tomsky's column begins with the failed campaign of now-former Louisiana Senator Mary Landrieu.

That is what Louisiana, and almost the entire South, has become. The victims of the particular form of euthanasia it enforces with such glee are tolerance, compassion, civic decency, trans-racial community, the crucial secular values on which this country was founded… I could keep this list going. But I think you get the idea. Practically the whole region has rejected nearly everything that’s good about this country and has become just one big nuclear waste site of choleric, and extremely racialized, resentment. A fact made even sadder because on the whole they’re such nice people! (I truly mean that.)

Southerners know how to circle the wagons. They are well-practiced at that and at adapting a kind of siege mentality. Words like these are written for the outliers and outsiders looking in like me. The target of this column will build up walls at an even faster clip. This is why I don't think of the South as a lost cause for the Democratic Party. The failing of Tomsky's argument is that it sees the South as a single entity, with no significantly core distinctions and differences.

South Carolina-bred author and journalist W.J. Cash wrote a notable book about Southern culture and history called The Mind of the South. Writing in 1941, Cash's hypothesis was that Southern identity was uniform and dismissive of alternate points of view.

Proud, brave, honorable by its lights, courteous, personally generous, loyal, swift to act, often too swift, but signally effective, sometimes terrible, in its action -- such was the South at its best. And such at its best it remains today, despite the great falling away in some of its virtues.

Violence, intolerance, aversion and suspicion toward new ideas, an incapacity for analysis, an inclination to act from feeling rather than from thought, an exaggerated individualism and too narrow concept of social responsibility, attachment to fictions and false values, above all too great attachment to racial values and a tendency to justify cruelty and injustice in the name of those values, sentimentality and a lack of realism -- these have been its characteristic vices in the past. And, despite changes for the better, they remain its characteristic vices today.

It's been over seventy years since the book's initial publication, and one can say much the same thing today. Cash's words may be themselves an oversimplification in terms, but they retain enough truth to speak to us today. I don't pretend to know how to fix the problem, but current political realities may not always be daunting, not always leading liberals and progressives to throw in the towel. I'm glad it's not my fight, but it needs to be someone's.

Street Harassment as a Class Issue

A brand new grocery store has been recently built a block from my apartment. To clear my head in between work assignments, I visit several times a week. Unwittingly, I've attracted the attention of three or four women who work there. They are very flirtatious and loquacious in my presence. I'm not used to this treatment. It is flattering, yes, but a little embarrassing at the same time.

Recent feminist discussion has addressed, once more, the issue of unwanted catcalls and other invasive behavior that falls under the category of street harassment. What I've experienced myself is different, but has some similarities. It feels good to be complimented, but a little unnerving when it is so overt and not subtle. The analogy I am seeking to draw here isn't entirely congruent, I recognize, but the two of them share a few things in common.

As a man, I know that I probably don't have to fear pursuit or obsessive attention from a woman. What I have been experiencing is a kind of good-natured, somewhat ribald teasing. I could let it go to my head if I wanted, especially because I've never seen myself as especially good looking. They wait for me now, ready to pounce and to initiate conversation the moment I enter the self-checkout line. If I were less socially phobic, I might be able to even enjoy it, since this appears to be utterly harmless.

What I experience over the course of five minutes is experienced, at least partially, by many women every day. As a male ally, I've observed behavior like this at times when out in public, out in the streets, or on the bus. But street harassment is different. In those situations, I've felt completely impotent and powerless. Is it my role to intervene, perhaps risking a physical altercation in the process? I can't fight every battle and my religious beliefs discourage violence in any form, for any reason. The best I can do is let my life shine as an example of proper conduct and privately instruct other men who behave in inappropriate ways.

The rules and codes of conduct for male feminists are frequently, frustratingly absent. Feminists, either male or female, are often misunderstood, many times a projection of fears that reveal more about personal bias than actual doctrinal misunderstanding. But again, what can men do to eliminate cat calls, wolf whistles, and inappropriate remarks?

None of my male relatives engaged in such behavior. I take an outsider role from the outset. My father viewed it merely from a male perspective as a male-only matter, but was nevertheless critical of these acts. For him, such behavior was low-class and inexcusably coarse. Over the passage of time, men have formulated acceptable codes of conduct within themselves, and many men were brought up to believe as I was. Street harassment in any form is seen as inappropriate by many men, but our mistake is not moving from disgust to intervention.

One incident of street harassment is too many. I wonder sometimes if feminist thinkers and writers have looked deeply enough into Patriarchy, and viewed it on the merits of its complexity and nuances. At times, I feel like a self-designated expert on men behaving badly. If we talk about street harassment, we'll need to discuss the men who maintain the practice and where they learned the behavior.

I began with a story of receiving attention that, while not unwanted, certainly took me out of my comfort zone. Before I read the personal anecdotes of women, I assumed this sort of behavior was consigned only to construction workers. But on second thought, I do recall that a former girlfriend lived in a rough part of town. She enjoyed my company when taking a walk. That way, random men passing by in cars would leave her alone. She saw this as inevitable, not as a personal affront.

This issue is often tied closely to class and socio-economic status. I was taught that this was behavior performed by other men who were borderline criminal. Other men might think these thoughts but not verbalize them, or at least not verbalize them in this way. That was part of being a respectable citizen, not a deadbeat.

In the same way, shouted words and an energetic argument is one way of vocalizing conflict. The appearance of a handgun is another. And until we are really willing to dig deeply into class distinctions and cultures not our own, not to avert our eyes and mutter things under our breath, nothing will change.  

Quote of the Week

Ordinarily I would not post a quote by this speaker, but it was too good to leave out.

"It has been said that politics is the second oldest profession. I have learned that it bears a striking resemblance to the first."- Ronald Reagan

Saturday Video

I ain't happy but, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on

I am happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
Is coming on
Is coming on
Is coming on

Edited for brevity.

Big Empty

Driving faster in my car
Falling farther from just what we are
Smoke a cigarette and lie some more
These conversations kill
Falling faster in my car

Time to take her home,
Her dizzy head is conscious laden.
Time to take a ride it leaves today
No conversation

Time to take her home her dizzy head is
Conscious laden
Time to wait too long, to wait too long,
To wait too long.

Too much walking shoes worn thin
Too much trippin' and my soul's worn thin
Time to catch her ride it leaves today,
Her name is what it means

Too much walking shoes worn thin
Time to take her home,
Her dizzy head is conscious laden.
Time to take a ride it leaves today
No conversation

Time to take her home her dizzy head is
Conscious laden
Time to wait too long, to wait too long,
To wait too long.

Conversations kill
Conversations kill
Conversations kill

Time to take her home,
Her dizzy head is conscious laden.
Time to take a ride it leaves today
No conversation

Time to take her home her dizzy head is
Conscious laden
Time to wait too long, to wait too long,
To wait too long.

Conversations kill
Conversations kill
Conversations kill

Ferguson and the Legacy of Bombingham

The last year or so I have watched incidents of racially-based police brutality and violence and have not added my own voice and my own perspective. The reason for this is simple. I'm weary of conflicts predicated on black versus white. Ferguson and the others to come may be novel concepts to much of America, but to me, it's only the beginning of another round of hostilities.

I won't stand in the way of progress, nor will I criticize those who march and take active roles addressing senseless violence against black men. You might say I have no heart for the fighting, because the events of most of my life have been an exasperating series of Fergusons or Trayvon Martins. I've felt unduly persecuted by residents of the rest of the country, a chip on my shoulder, and have noted with a kind of previously secret righteousness that none of these offenses and abuses have occurred in the Deep South.

I grew up in Birmingham, Alabama, a city that has greatly rehabilitated its image in fifty years, but only to an extent. The city's tragic history of race relations needs no further mention. Suffice it to say that the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing, which we remember to the current day, was only one of fifty in a twenty-year stretch.

In the aftermath, politicians both black and white manipulated public sentiment in Pavlovian fashion, waving the bloody shirt in front of two distinct communities with pronounced biases and mistrust of the other. Resentment is what exists now, the sort of resentment that will only prevent subsequent healing and ensure that reforms proceed at a snail's pace.

The city, like so many others, re-segregated following Civil Rights. White wealth has enriched many communities while the city of Birmingham, now majority African-American, continues to decline. While there has been a mild Renaissance in recent years, revitalizing Birmingham will take time and money, both in copious quantity.

Whites are weary of the same refrain, the same grainy black and white videos queued up again. In my own life, I admit that I've heard a few offensive epithets thrown around, but I've mostly encountered people who have learned their lesson in the most painful way possible.

But achievement aside, learning a lesson does not imply that subsequent growth and active discourse is forthcoming. People sometimes freeze in their tracks, believing themselves to be persecuted and forever the focal point of the blame. I am sure this is a view held by many whites to this day. We will only invoke a racist past as much as absolutely necessary, burying as many painful truths as possible.

The Modern Sign Company was a sign shop owned by Merle Snow and located at the corner of 3rd Avenue North and 16th Street North in Birmingham. It is only a few blocks away from the 16th Street Baptist Church and was a haven of violent extremists, namely the Ku Klux Klan. One will find no plaque present there, nor busloads of tourists commemorating a historical event, though it is most assuredly a significant location to be preserved for posterity.

During the 1950's and 60's the shop produced countless Confederate flags which were a popular symbol of resistance to Federal court rulings in favor of racial integration. Snow allowed members of the Ku Klux Klan and the National States' Rights Party to use the shop's equipment at cost to produce picket signs, bumper stickers and placards. The shop became a meeting place and was sometimes used to establish alibis for Klan operatives suspected of violent crimes. Investigators suspect that the bomb used in the bombing of 16th Street Baptist Church two blocks away on September 15, 1963 was assembled at the shop.

In 1974, the black comedian Richard Pryor released a Grammy-winning comedy album entitled That Nigger's Crazy. Forty years later, we've been dealing with the same problem.

Cops put a hurtin’ on your ass, man. You know, they really degrade you. White folks don’t believe that shit, they don’t believe cops degrade. 'Ah, come on, those beatings, those people are resisting arrest. I'm tired of this harassment of police officers.’ That’s 'cause the police live in your neighborhood, see, and you be knowin' 'em as Officer Timpson.

’Hello, Officer Timpson, going bowling tonight? Yes, nice new Pinto you have.' Niggers don’t know them like that. See, white folks get a ticket, they pull over, 'Hey, Officer, yes, glad to be of help, cheerio!'

A nigger got to be talkin’ 'bout, ’I am reaching into my pocket for my license! ’Cause I don't wanna be no motherfucking accident!’ Police degrade. I don’t know, you know, it’s — often you wonder why a nigger don’t go completely mad. No, you do.

You get your shit together, you work all week, right? And then you get dressed and you make — maybe say you can’t make $125 a week, you get $80, if you’re lucky. Right? And you go out, get clean and be driving with this old lady going out to a club, and the police pull over.

'Get out of the car! There was a robbery! A nigger looked just like you! Put your hands up, take your pants down, spread your cheeks!' Now, what nigger feel like having fun after that? ’Let’s just go home, baby.’ You go home and beat your kids and shit. You goin’ take that shit out on somebody.

How we address this issue as a nation is absolutely crucial. Some would brush it under the rug, their own way of managing bad news. Others would proceed forward, but cautiously and without addressing the complete problem. Our fault as Americans was believing that past actions were sufficient and the problem had been solved. Hurricane Katrina revealed the persistence and prevalence of black poverty. Ferguson revealed the racism of the criminal justice system and officers of the supposed peace.

We cannot play duck and cover with the truth. I've looked at well-meaning protesters on television and in person and have felt a deep sadness that they are missing the full picture. We are not all Trayvon Martin, which is the entire point. White allies need to refocus. They are not playing with a full deck and until they are, there simply won't be any real resolution.

Radio Interview

My five minutes of fame on sports talk radio.

I am roughly 18 minutes into the broadcast. Follow the link.

For the Rest of the Week

For the rest of the week, posting may be sparse. I have three separate doctor's appointments scheduled this week, in addition to publication deadlines. I've written three brand new short stories in the past two or three months. The last time I was so prolific was undergrad writing workshop, and that was only because I had to crank out a new story every week or two.

Let Me Roll It To You

You gave me something, I understand,
You gave me loving in the palm of my hand
I can't tell you how I feel
My heart is like a wheel

Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me toll it to you

I want to tell you
And now's the time
I want to tell you that
You're going to be mine

I can't tell you how I feel
My heart is like a wheel.

Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you
Let me roll it
Let me roll it to you

You Can't White Knuckle Relationship Success

In most of my writing, I make a point to leave partners and significant others out of them. This is partially an act of benevolence, but mostly a need to keep at least a few secrets to myself. Even an ambitious and driven person such as myself should remember to always leave an escape route. Showing rather than telling is the first maxim of creative writing, at least as I was taught.

Last week, I wrote about a young woman who sought a boyfriend. Her one judging criteria was that he self-identify as feminist. It won me some sharp criticism, in particular one memorable comment that accused me of seeking to put a twenty-one-year old in her place. I recall that at 21 I wanted to be taken seriously, so I merely extended the same courtesy to her.

Her primary litmus test for relationship suitability was a man who was a feminist, and by that she mostly meant that she wanted a man who respected women. While I respect her desires, and agree with them, I'm afraid the reality goes beyond any single movement and a set of legalistic beliefs. She was lamentably ensnared by a forgery, a man who claimed to be and sounded like what she wanted but who disregarded sexual consent behind closed doors. Her conclusion was that no man could truly be a feminist.

Egalitarian partnerships and marriages are prized and desired by many, myself included. I've heard from several women, at least the ones who partner with men, that they want a boyfriend to understand a little bit about women's rights without fearing emasculation or ridicule. It's a worthy request, but if a man isn't at least halfway down the path before her arrival, I fear she is wasting her time.

If a woman feels that she needs to constantly emphasize and reinforce proper behavior and basic human courtesy, the cause is likely lost from the very beginning. There will be no equality. Successful relationships are built not just on an equal distribution of power, but an equal distribution of love and genuine, lasting concern for the other. Selfishness has no place. In my own life, if I've felt a strong connection with a partner, I rarely needed to be reminded of the proper way of conducting myself. Though I would never be optimistic enough to think that love conquers all, but it does separate the suitable from the pretenders.

Each of us can exist on our own best behavior for a little while. Many relationships begin promisingly enough, but problems can develop and worsen with time. When we first meet someone, we often begin by trying to impress them. A friend of mine described successful relationships as tough mountain hikes that give way to beautiful vistas worthy of contemplation. Once primary goals are accomplished comes cohabitation, the ultimate test for lasting stability. Either we are easy to live with, or not.

How we are brought up is important to how we behave around others, at least to an extent. My parents' forty-year-long marriage has been egalitarian in some respects, and highly one-sided in others. Regardless of her strong identification with women's liberation in a younger self, when it came down to actual parenting, my mother only partially accomplished her goal of total self-sufficiency.

When it came time to mete out discipline, Mom and Dad were a unified unit. My two sisters and I were raised strictly and, I think, successfully. Mom had primary domain over the girls and my father took that role with me. But the manner in which the both of them shared overlapping parental responsibilities I can say now with adult insight was executed almost flawlessly.

However, when it came time for crisis management techniques, so to speak, my father was thrust into a very traditional role because he had no other choice. Mom threw her hands up in the air, begging my father to resolve the problem, often stuck in bed, too emotionally wrecked to participate. I could have resented her for dereliction of duty, but I saw my mother's frailties for what they were, a sign of illness. Those were her worries alone. I doubt any of us blamed my mother for her sometimes frayed nerves and bouts with depression, least not me.

As a child, I had no real concept, nor any understanding what my parents should have done in any given situation. I either accepted the decisions made or rejected them. My mother did the best she could and I have never judged her harshly. I maintain that my mother is a tremendously strong woman regardless of whichever definition one uses, regardless of the circumstances. She cannot be faulted for seeking to be the perfect mother, even though this self-assigned burden taxed her severely. Should she from time to time violate her own standard, even without intending it, no one took it harder than she did.

Strong women come in many forms. The women in my life have not been deferential and compliant to anyone's standard, nor a need to conform to whatever a woman is supposed to be. One of my sisters has recently dealt with a collection of traumatizing experiences that have left behind many scars that remain fresh to the current day. She was married for a time to a physically and emotionally abusive man. He hid his behavior well in the beginning, but soon she had to accept that the man she fell in love with was not the same person when the two of them were alone.

Jung theorized that a man seeking a heterosexual relationship was, in essence, capturing aspects of his mother in those to whom he was primarily attracted. If this is true, it would explain much about my own choices, and, if the genders and sexual orientations are properly assigned, everyone else's, too. Past girlfriends have been emotionally intense and artistic, but with a secret vulnerable side that always took me a while to discover for myself.

We return to the question by which I opened this post. What determines an egalitarian relationship? The more I think about it, I believe it's based on intent rather than follow through. Rest assured, I've made mistakes in bushels. Relationship partners have made mistakes. But forgiveness was a constant. There was enough affection and devotion between us that made up for anything that went wrong. For me, the moment the laughing, the playfulness, and the mutual silliness that falls under the category of affection went away, the end was nigh.      

Women often feel they need to closely regulate their life decisions down to the micrometer. In particular, this often shows up during pregnancy and, following that, being a mother. My mother ate protein-rich food during her pregnancy, wanting me to be as healthy as possible. Then when I turned out to have chronic health conditions, she blamed herself for what she had consumed, even though there is no scientific basis that tuna fish causes fetal damage.

The perfect woman, or those who aspire to be the perfect woman have to check many boxes, and my sympathies are with those who believe they must be everything to everyone.

It took my mother to reach her early sixties and retirement to finally live for herself. She looks relaxed and liberated now, a woman liberated at last, having reached or discarded the goals she set for herself decades earlier. Even though it makes no logical sense, I see women streaming past me every day on the bus and the rail with pursed lips and a countenance of extreme purpose. They are on their own crusade.

Welcome to Pennsylvania

German-sounding place names? Check.

Quote of the Week

"Judy Henske, who was the then reigning queen of folk music, said to me at The Troubadour, 'Honey, in this profession there are four sexes. Men, women, homosexuals, and girl singers.'"-Linda Ronstadt

Saturday Video

I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why

Don't know why
I have to drive so fast
My car has nothing to prove
It's not new
But it'll do 0 to 60 in 5.2

Oh I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why

Can't be late
I leave plenty of time
Shaking hands with the clock
I can't stop
I'm on a roll and I'm ready to rock

Oh I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why

I hear a voice
That say's I'm running behind
I better pick up my pace
It's a race
And there ain't no room
For someone in second place

I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why.

I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why.

I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why.

I'm in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life's no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I'm in a hurry and don't know why.

New Thanksgiving Experience

I saw the two of them seated together, next to each other. One of them was an old acquaintance of mine, a woman I’d nearly dated years before, though we retained our friendship. In medical school, she had practiced self-denial for years, before succumbing to the understandable need for a relationship. They sat across the room from me, next to each other at a close enough distance that seemed to signify they were in a relationship. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but of course one always does.

At nineteen, I’d decided to seduce an older man. I knew by his mannerisms he was unmistakably gay. I’d guessed wrongly once before with a guy in writing workshop, which was incredibly awkward for him and me. Fortunately he brushed me off with proficiency and didn't threaten physical violence.

As our time together progressed, my new boyfriend guided me through the unfamiliar, instantly offering to hold my hand through the process. Fellow LGBTs have offered their wisdom and validation to me numerous times since then, and it is for their hard work that I am not a bundle of unresolved neuroses by now. This same unguarded sweetness I have found everywhere is most appealing. But as for my own relationship, I begged my partner not to leave, but the age difference was always an issue for him, though it was never an issue for me.

She was clearly drawn to the masculine, as her girlfriend was decided more so than her. But regardless of how they presented, what they displayed to the outside were the nerves common to those starting out. This was my friend’s first same-sex relationship and I could tell she was still finding her footing. Her partner had only recently gotten a butch haircut, signifying to those in the know that she was interested in women. Her girlfriend kept her hair the same style and length as I remembered. In the beginning, finding balance can be challenging, and knowing the proper amount of makeup or not make up, dressing or not dressing, and haircuts and not haircuts must be discerned only by the self.

The two were too young to be jaded about relationships, which was a disarming thing to observe. One might think that the femme, my friend, who had only dated men before was simply exploring her sexuality. I suppose this is true inasmuch as everyone queer focuses on self-observation due to the way that it sticks out from the norm. But this was not a mere dabbling in homosexual relationships. Teenage acne had barely subsided, true, and what was left were a couple with much to learn about themselves and each other. In time, one gets more of the hang of it.

This is the way relationships, regardless of sex or gender, really ought to be. In times past, finding a queer relationship partner came after a lengthy period of soul-searching, usually with a healthy dollop of angst on the side. Every relationship, gay or straight, feels like a personal invention, a living organism that exists between two people. The patterns by which heterosexual relationships progress have been refined for thousands of years, and homosexual pairings take on some of those same elements while creating something new, unique only to them.

But in any case, I wished my friend well. I didn’t feel particularly jealous, only a little surprised. I asked her if she identified as a lesbian and she gave a flummoxed look. She could only describe herself as queer and seemed extremely conflicted about even that adjective. I relate, but I suppose I mostly wished she’d felt comfortable with me earlier to tell me. More than many men, I would have understood and tried to help her.

For those making familiar Thanksgiving drives in the next few days with unfamiliar company, I wish you peace, joy, and comfort. Regardless of outcome, you are loved by God and loved by the most important person in your life. Parents will be adjusting themselves as you are adjusting yourself, but they've had fewer years to process it than you have. No one ever forgets the first Thanksgiving with a significant other's family.

Belated Quote of the Week

"To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven."-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thanksgiving Break Armistice

I will be with family for a week, so posting here will be sparse until next week. I hope you all have a Happy Thanksgiving and have the ability to spend time with your loved ones.

Saturday Video

Takin' my time
Choosin' my lines
Tryin' to decide what to do
Looks like my stop
Don't want to get off
Got myself hung up on you

Seems to me
You don't want to talk about it
Seems to me
You just turn your pretty head and walk away

Places I've known
Things that I'm growin'
Don't taste the same without you
I got my self in
The worst mess I've been
And I find myself starvin' without you

Seems to me
Talk all night here comes the mornin'
Seems to me
You just forget what we said and greet the day

I've got to cool myself down
Stompin' around
Thinkin' some words I can't name ya
Meet you half way
Got nothing to say
Still I don't suppose I can blame ya

Seems to me
You don't want to talk about it
Seems to me
You just turn your pretty head and walk away

Thanksgiving Cheer

I originally wrote this post as an open letter to my Meeting, Friends Meeting of Washington, DC. In it, I reflect upon the romantic notion of a perfect Thanksgiving and the way it often turns out instead. __________

Dear Friends,

Thanksgiving means warm thoughts of togetherness and familial bliss to many of us. Yet, for some of us, it is a perpetually colossal and consistent letdown, full of needless drama and hostility. I can say with honesty that both the rosy and the sour versions are the case for me. My nuclear family and I, comprised of my two sisters and both parents, come together once a year to share a meal and each other's company. Genuine warmth exists between each of us and we have a lively conversation around the dinner table.

Should I speak about my mother's dysfunctional family, my feelings turn a full 180 degrees. Thanksgiving dinner with two warring uncles, both alcoholics, turns dinner conversation into a verbal feud unlikely to ever resolve itself. Even as a small child, I sensed first a silent tension that usually erupted quickly into caustic commentary between those seated once the first wine bottle was uncorked.

My uncles have mental illnesses they never treat. Instead, they self-medicate with alcohol. Products of the hyper-masculine decade of the 1950's, they believe that seeking help, even for a significant problem, is indicative of weakness and personal failing.

On a positive note, Thanksgiving means something else very important to me. It signifies six years in your company. November of 2008 was the first time I visited Friends Meeting of Washington. Two years before that, I encountered a Quaker meeting for the first time, and fell in love with our faith so completely that I formally joined a mere four months after my first visit. I have never regretted my decision.

You have become my family and my faith community. I have become emotionally invested in each of you. I sense Divine purpose in my work within FMW and have never once believed that this wasn't the right place for me. God wants me here and I have learned not to deviate from his plan for my life. I may not know all the answers, but I know enough to satisfy me.

While on the subject of mental illness, I've meant to share a particular phobia of mine for a while. When considering the shortcomings and mental health issues of my relatives, I am reminded of my own. I could have only told my worries to specialized committees like Personal Aid or Healing and Reconciliation, but, for my own sake, I want instead to share my fears in a public forum like this.

The worry that keeps me up at night is that I, a manic depressive, might enter a manic episode while in your company. Should that happen, I would hope that you could separate who I am from my illness. Sometimes I know that it isn't easy. But neither is it easy to see that of God in everyone.

Depression, I have learned the hard way, isolates one from the rest of the world and provides problems mostly for oneself. Mania quickly become a serious issue for everyone. Should my behavior become erratic, I hope you will correctly know its source and respond accordingly. I don't expect to have one, but I can never say with certainty that I won't.

I haven't had a manic episode since six months before I moved here. I spent three weeks in the hospital recovering, and when I was discharged, I had some wounded pride to take care of after I returned to health. It was a transformative event for me. I felt I had burned so many bridges where I lived at the time that I needed to radically reshuffle my life and my priorities. This is what led me to take a job in DC and to settle here for good.

If George Fox, our founder, suffered from the same medical condition as me, I delight that the both of us eventually found reason to be cheerful and to set our wanderings aside. And in the meantime, I hope we will find ways to bring joy and cheer to the lives of other people, seeing them as they are, underneath the bluster, broken.

Candy Says

Candy says I've come to hate my body
And all that it requires in this world
Candy says I'd like to know completely
What others so discretely talk about

I'm gonna watch the blue birds fly over my shoulder
I'm gonna watch them pass me by
Maybe when I'm older
What do you think I'd see
If I could walk away from me?

Candy says I hate the quiet places
That cause the smallest taste of what will be
Candy says I hate the big decisions
That cause endless revisions in my mind

I'm gonna watch the blue birds fly over my shoulder
I'm gonna watch them pass me by
Maybe when I'm older
What do you think I'd see
If I could walk away from me?

What Makes a Male Feminist?

Around a week ago, the writer Alexis Scargill wrote a column entitled “Kindness and Generosity: Insidious Male Entitlement and the Mask of Male Feminism." Scargill's post set its sights squarely on male feminists or male allies, or rather those who proport to be feminist for their own selfish reasons.

This is a particularly sensitive topic for me. It took me years to win trust with particular feminist activists and fellow writers. At first, they assumed the worst about my motives while I only wanted to learn more. I wasn't pandering for sympathy, but that's often how I was perceived with every intellectual breakthrough I made. It would have been nice every now and again to find a man or woman (or even a group of men and women) willing to be mentors to me. That is what is needed to keep men properly up-to-date and hold themselves accountable.

Though this borders on a very different topic, as I've said, I think that male allies and/or male feminists need to band together to refine their views and help each other through what can be an intimidating atmosphere of terminology and hyper-charged political debate. Otherwise, only the most tenacious and motivated men will bother to remain.

My viewpoints in the beginning were those that any novice might make take. One has to know that 2 + 2 = 4 before one can learn how to multiply. I'll concede that I made my mistakes, but from the outset, by some, the bar was placed particularly high for me. Among some, I was expected instantly to be an quasi-expert. A quick study, it didn't take me very long not just to echo the arguments I saw in front of me, but to add my own views in ways that furthered the greater dialogue.

Men who claim to be feminist or male allies for manipulative ends are a minority, but I don't doubt they do exist. Many men who are turned off by the movement believe that it threatens nothing less than castration on their part and a complete loss of power. But to a particular group of supposedly enlightened men, no pose is off limits if it leads to sex. This reminds me of certain men who claim to be gay in order to win trust from women more easily, only to reveal the truth months later.

Scargill writes,

“I would never date a guy who wasn’t a feminist.” This is something I’ve said in response to a hundred debates in academia, at various jobs, among friends, at family gatherings. It is something I’ve stood by since I was a teenager. But what I really meant was, “I would never date a guy who didn’t self-identify as a feminist.” Because most often, they were not actually feminists in practice, regardless of how they believed to identify and regardless of how enthusiastically they nod in agreement to my feminist declarations.

At 21, I no longer believe a man can take the title of feminist. Feminist ally is the most he could hope to be. Feminist men need to understand first and foremost that the best way to be an ally and support feminism is to support women, not speak for them. Practice good feminism but don’t speak over women. Listen to their experiences and perspectives and learn something every day to be a better ally, because you will never have the lived experience of a woman. 

I will never completely understand what it is like to be a woman. I was not socialized as one and though as a male feminist I will constantly seek to understand, I recognize that I will always come up short. I use this as an exercise in humility and seek to listen more than to talk. At the same time, though I have purged most of this away, something most male feminists often find themselves needing to do, there are residual traces remaining of old hurts. My father has always felt threatened by feminism in any form and those political opinions formed me, even though I came to reject them in later life.

Among affluent liberals, who are a minority group in this country, it is much more likely to come across men who assert themselves in this way. Most American men would never take on the identity of feminist in the first place. This was the attitude present for me while I was growing up in the Deep South where rugged masculinity was still the law of the land. But I think this is true for most men, regardless of region.

Scargill uses several personal examples to explain her argument.

Within the past two weeks, I have had two more experiences with this betrayal by self-identified male feminists with two men who are close friends to me. To everyone around them, they are feminists, outspoken about their politics, critical of outspoken misogynist men, defensive of women. And that’s what frightens me. They seem cool and trustworthy, but in private, they ultimately weren’t. I don’t want to say these men are horrible people- I really do think they believe in these feminist ideals. 

But they don’t practice the same standards they hold men to, and I’m not sure they are even aware of it. If that’s the case- and I hope it is- that self-identified feminist men who fail to respect a woman’s body autonomy by making her feel unsafe or uncomfortable simply don’t realize what they are doing, simply don’t “know better,” they need to know now. They have no more excuses. They need to know better.

And I agree, but I don't think that the behavior of some automatically disqualifies all men from self-identifying as feminist. What the author has experienced is unacceptable behavior, but rather than making a blanket statement that men can't be feminists, I'd rather we continue to work on strategies which insist that men respect boundaries. Scargill backs up from her analysis to state that she doesn't think fake feminist men aren't horrible people, just hypocrites. I understand that she doesn't want to come across too harshly, but if men can't be feminists, how can they hold other men to proper standards of conduct around women?

Male feminist and male ally have been used interchangeably at times. It seems to depend entirely upon the audience. Some think that men can never be feminists. Some think that all men should be feminists. Some define male ally in one way and others define male feminists in a very different one. Some men don't feel they have any right to call themselves a feminist. Some, like me, wear it like a badge of honor. But regardless of definition, we ought to be discussing a code of conduct more than we are defining a litmus test of who's in and who's out.

I respect Scargill's perspective, but I respectfully disagree with her. Being a male ally feels like I'm sitting on the sidelines, consigned to a secondary role. I consider myself a male feminist because I want to be an active participant. My mouth may stay closed longer than it is open, but having processed what I've just experienced, I have the right to open it from time to time and add to the discussion.

The Loner

He's a perfect stranger,
Like a cross
of himself and a fox.

He's a feeling arranger
And a changer
of the ways he talks.

He's the unforeseen danger
The keeper of
the key to the locks.

Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It's the loner.

If you see him in the subway,
He'll be down
at the end of the car.

Watching you move
Until he knows
he knows who you are.

When you get off
at your station alone,
He'll know that you are.

Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It's the loner.

There was a woman he knew
About a year or so ago.

She had something
that he needed

And he pleaded
with her not to go.

On the day that she left,
He died,
but it did not show.

Know when you see him,
Nothing can free him.
Step aside, open wide,
It's the loner.

Political Failure is not the End of the World

Ever since the Midterm elections ended, badly, liberals have been looking everywhere for answers. They feel betrayed by the Democratic Party and disappointed by President Obama. Every election cycle that goes against its wishes begins the inevitable finger-pointing and army of apologetics and revisionist historians. One wave of thought and theory begins and another sweeps it away.

A study of history shows that pendulum swings are inevitable. One single party has dominated for a time, but not forever. FDR won four terms and Harry Truman won one of his own, but that only led to two terms of Eisenhower. But Eisenhower could only produce four years of Republican rule in Congress. A generation before, two terms of crusading reforms by Democrat Woodrow Wilson gave way to a Republican return to normalcy.

Americans have always felt, eventually, disillusioned with the party in power. If they had not, one party would have eventually asserted dominance, as is the case with countries not wealthy enough or advanced enough to be considered part of the First World. As some may recall, our founders were idealistic enough to believe that two competing parties would simply not emerge.

Americans have a love/hate relationship with idealism in politics, finding it easy to fall in love with the newest idea or theory and the newest messenger. The opposite side of the coin of idealism is cynicism. Americans are guarded romantics at heart. If we were true cynics or fatalists, we would assume that politics is little more than a lost cause and refuse to cast a single ballot.

We get burned by the Washington insider, so we choose a Washington outsider this time. If he or she disappoints, we believe a Beltway politician is the the most sensible choice. The older we grow, the more we see the same patterns reassert themselves. This is to say that the worries of leftists are temporary. If we ever gravitate to one-party rule, then we have every reason to be genuinely worried. I don't see that happening.

Adversity reminds us that life is short, teaches us to live wisely, and refines our character. Christianity and Judaism see value in suffering in suffering and sorrow. Eastern religions seek to escape it, the Greeks and Romans absolutely despised it, but the Christian and Jewish traditions see tough times as a refining fire. We learn more about ourselves from difficult times than from happy times and now is time to re-school and retool who we are and what we believe.

Democrats may need to sojourn a while in the wilderness by doing what every party must do to remain relevant, reinventing itself. Rest assured, a new leader will win favor and a new kid in Washington will rise to power. Our political system does not preach a belief in escaping pain. Washington is not exactly the place for Zen-like stoicism and self-sacrificial behavior. Nor has it ever been, nor will it ever be so, no matter how many millions and billions of dollars enter the picture.

Legitimate worries exist. Reproductive rights and abortion rights are under attack in many conservative states, but the latest poll showed that a clear majority of Americans still believe that Roe v. Wade should continue to be the law of the land. Many PACs, non-profits, and NGOs have a concerted interest and motive in spinning out the worst case scenario. That what keeps them funded and in business.

Political parties and those allied with them do the same. When I first moved to Washington, I worked an internship at a 527. It was partially my responsibility to take survey data from donors and manually enter it into a spreadsheet. Every donor large and small was mailed a series of questions, along with an opportunity to donate money. We received no dearth of opinions. The form had, frankly, exaggerated the severity of our financial need.

Had the survey been worded in a Buddhist format, immaculately crafted open-ended questions begging for serenity and peace of mind would have been found instead. The problem with this approach is that it would not have increased our donations. An impending snowstorm produces a phenomenon known as panic buying. Over time, people have realized that the same effect is true if you scare people enough to open their wallets.

I firmly believe that at least half of the political organizations in Washington were designed to make themselves redundant, but have decided to set up shop forever instead. That is my answer as to why Washington is broken. Value in suffering exists, but we must first be receptive to hard truths and tough love. We are an experiment in democracy and our own death has been predicted a million times. Let's refrain from sounding the same tired refrain once more.

As it is written, which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to your span of life? Forgive me for saying this, but these are not transformational times. Instead, ours is a brittle, cynical, confusing epoch. This is not the first occurrence and it will not be the last. When it is our turn again, we must hold fast to our successes, knowing we must make the most of the time we have. This is true for life and it is true for politics.

Quote of the Week

"Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different."-T.S. Eliot

Saturday Video

C'mon Billy
Come to me
You know I'm waiting
I love you endlessly

C'mon Billy
You're the only one
Don't you think it's time now
You met your only son

I remember
Lover's play
The corn was golden
We lay in it for days

I remember
The things you said
My little Billy,
Come to your lover's bed

Come home
Is my plea
Your home now is
Here with me
Come home
To your son
Tomorrow might never come

C'mon Billy
You look good to me
How many nights now
Your child inside of...

Don't forget me
I had your son
Damn thing went crazy
But I swear you're the only one

Come along, Billy, come to me
Come along, Billy, come to me

Sexual Assault Cuts Both Ways

In Blount Country, Alabama, a young female teacher has been accused of performing sex acts and exchanging sexually graphic texts and pictures with three of her male students. What transpired over the past three months has been far from the only instance observed across the United States and in the state.

Ashley Parkins Pruitt, 28, turned herself into authorities just before 3 p.m. She is charged with three felonies and two misdemeanors. She is being held in the Blount County Jail with bond set at $215,000, according to jail records.

In Pruitt's cases, the alleged incidents happened in August, September and October, according to court records. The allegations against the teacher range from having oral sex in a car to sending sexually-explicit photos of her breasts and vagina to the victims.

It may be easy to draw ideological lines and distinction here, but here they are no help. For those who know little about Blount Country, it is a solidly working class part in the north of the state, one of its most conservative and Republican regions. Before conservative commentators draw facile and incorrect conclusions, the facts must be presented first. Many instances of teacher/pupil sexual relationship occur in locations with demographics just like these. This seeming paradox makes it difficult to understand motive and rationale.

As I just mentioned, social conservatives draw and have drawn some instant conclusions for situations like these. For them, the fact that women teachers are molesting their students is purely as a result of lax morals and the drawbacks of women's rights. If women had been put in their rightful place as restrained and demure, as their thinking goes, such indiscretions would never have transpired in the first place. This line of thinking simplifies considerably a complicated issue and does nothing to correct it.

I spent one miserable year as a teaching assistant in a high school. The principal, my immediate boss, was a nice guy, but he had no backbone. He'd stepped away from his responsibilities coaching football to move to administration, which was a massive mistake on behalf of the school system. K-12 systems can be very incestuous, preferring to hire from within. Strong leaders challenge poor hiring practices and keep a toxic workplace climate from developing in the first place. Based on the way the news story is presented, it is much more likely that the parents of one or more of these children blew the whistle, not the school system.

For feminists, this challenges primary focus and preferred narrative. With so many instances of violent assault and rape by men against women left without being brought to justice, little oxygen is left to entertain the reverse. In this situation, the young woman in question is physically attractive and sexually available.

I happen to know a story about a young woman, a teacher, who was several pounds overweight. She engaged in a clandestine relationship with a male student because it made her feel attractive for the first time in her life. In that situation, he made the first move. In the other situation I've described, it seems as though the older woman initiated the proceedings. In time, both women were caught, arrested, and charged.

The high school where I attended had an alternative school for disruptive students who had been expelled from the main campus. One of the teachers was a lesbian and began a relationship with a lesbian student. As school systems often do, the matter was quietly brushed under the rug. If educators had their  way of going about it, embarrassing events like these would never be reported in newspapers or other publications. If they can be hushed up, they are. In this case, even threatened litigation has a way of tarnishing the good name of school systems, sometimes culminating in lawsuits, which drag on for months, and potentially are very costly.

Colleges and universities have been roundly criticized for their own way of dodging accountability and prosecution by men who rape and sexually abuse women. Neither K-12, nor higher education wants a protracted scandal on their hands. Many K-12 systems would sooner settle out of court than go to litigation, and to a degree the same is true with higher ed.

This leads to massive problems where spurious legal charges are brought which would not stand up in court, but even so systems often pay out a cash settlement. I recognize that there are legitimate claims of sexual assault and rape that should be brought before a judge, but the first impulse of many educators and administrators is to first cover their ass. Jobs are at stake. Administration is a dog-eat-dog, hyper-political machine that would not seem out of place in an episode of House of Cards.

School administrators have to be de facto politicians as well as educators, and few can manage both. This does not excuse the conduct of men, particularly male athletes, who receive a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card because they produce millions of dollars in revenue for the university or college. Nothing about that is excusable, but one may have noticed that I have provided few concrete motives for why young women, usually in their twenties and thirties, feel a compulsion to engage sexually with their students. The easiest conclusion is that a belief that sexual desire and conduct is vastly different for men rather than women, though this could not be more incorrect.

Jailbait is a slang term used to denote pornographic content by women are just under the legal age of consent. Most jailbait porn showcases high school girls in various states of undress. It is usually frowned upon by many. But could we say in this circumstance that the female teacher had her own secret attraction, her own taboo attraction? And if that is the case, we may have to concede, once more, that men and women aren't as dissimilar as they have been thought to be.

When women are accused and convicted of crimes like these, the nature of their crimes are softened and sometimes otherwise excused. They are seen as victims. Some argue that they were sexually abused in childhood. Others had low self-esteem and felt they needed someone to make them feel worthwhile. Should a man be on trial for a similar charge, it appears that many want to throw the book at him. Men are the aggressors and the pursuers. Women have merely been led astray.

Until more details of these accusations become known, I'm left with guesses and conjecture. It's worth continuing to pursue young men who take advantage of young women, as these probably constitute the majority of offenses. But until patterns of behavior are fully understood, we should also be cognizant of young women who take advantage of young men. The two are linked, but precisely how remains to be seen.

It's Coming Down

It's coming down
It's coming down
It's raining outside
You've nowhere to hide

She's asking you why you think it's funny
It's coming down
It's coming down
She's leaving your house

She had to get out
She's mad and she'll take her mattress with her
It's coming down
It's coming down

It's coming down
It's coming down
It's coming down
It's coming down

It's coming down
It's coming down
It's coming down
You lie on the floor

She's slamming your door
She's gone and she's wearing your red sweater
It's coming down
It's coming down

It's coming down
It's coming down
It's coming down
It's coming down

Aw no
It's coming down
It's coming down
It's coming down

Wars Fought in Peacetime

On this Veterans' Day, I usually write about being a pacifist Quaker on a day devoted to eulogizing soldiers and those involved in active combat. I have, however, little more to add to the discourse. I instead shift to the incidences of tragic violence, inflicted by others and by ourselves, against others and against ourselves. Beyond any pontificating of my own as to the evils of warfare, I remove politics and replace instead an example from my own life.

A close family member narrowly escaped death a little over a year ago. At first, we assumed that he'd tried to commit suicide. It seemed to fit the profile. He'd jumped out of a three story apartment window, knowing, we assumed, that he was quite aware of the likely consequences of what he was doing. But after several harrowing days at the hospital, we weren't quite so sure.

The toxicology report, which took a while to be compiled and made available to us, pointed to a very different motive. In his system were a variety of unusual chemical substances, including a particularly potent designer drug known informally as bath salts. A chemist by trade, he'd been working in a lab that did not allow him the ability to take time off in order to get his ADD medication refilled. He needed an appointment with a doctor for subsequent refills, but didn't want to risk being fired to get what he needed.

With his training, he decided, very unwisely, to synthesize his own meds. Where he got this idea in the first place is a mystery. Though examining the internet history on his computer, it was determined that he had been frequenting internet boards for months. These showed step-by-step how to make what he needed, though his training would have presumably taught him to be wary of amateur tactics like these.

Up to a week prior to this tragic act, he'd been locking himself in the bathroom. His wife had been forced to enter the room only by first removing the door knob. The full story may never be told, but it is surmised that in his impaired state, he reacted in fear as the door opened. To his impaired mind, his only means of escape was out the window. The impact caused severe brain damage and he was rushed by ambulance to the Emergency Room.

For the next several hours, it wasn't clear whether or not he was going to live. Brain swelling was intense enough that he was deliberately placed into a coma. And yet, he persevered, being transferred from ICU to a regular room. Following that, his condition was monitored closely in a rehab center away from the hospital. Since then, his progress has been slow. In many ways, the family has been dealing with a Gabby Giffords sort of situation, where recovery is painfully slow but steady.  

I've been examining myself and my own reactions carefully. Sad to say, I haven't been particularly sympathetic. I know I ought to be. Justified or not, I'm upset with the rash foolishness of what he did. With his specialized training, he could have easily found another job. There's no telling as to how much time he devoted to concocting a complex chemical structure. Taking thirty minutes for a doctor's appointment would not have been difficult.

Obtaining a new job would not have been difficult, though I do understand that he was having financial problems. His own family would have lent him the money to last until then, as would his wife. So many questions remain. Was he enough of a believer in his own abilities and skills to willfully take his life in his hands? Did he honestly understand the risk he was taking? Was he in a state of mind capable of understanding the severe and likely consequences?

Lest I seem haughty and snobbish, I am a failed suicide. My most injurious attempt (yes, there were more than one) saw me drink kerosene. I am still alive to tell the tale today because I cried out for help. My father scooped me up into his arms and drove me directly to the ER. The kerosene, though toxic, did not kill me. My stomach was not pumped. Instead, it irritated my colon and gradually left my system. I smelled like a refinery for a week. I remained in the hospital around a month.

The family member I've referenced above was in too much of an impaired state to kill himself of his own free will. His behavior was extremely irrational and spontaneous while mine was committed with great purpose and much planning beforehand. I had been thinking of a way to do it for weeks, but was fighting with myself as to whether I had the emotional and psychological stamina to go through with it. I determined the nature of the act several days prior, but was not miserable enough to comply until that exact day.

This is where I likely go wrong. I see my family member in different terms that I would someone who had made a clear-cut suicide attempt as a result of diagnosed mental illness. I don't believe the pat assumption that voluntary self-destruction in this circumstance is simply not plausible. Something else was going on underneath the surface. This I firmly believe. An admission would have my complete understanding and sympathy. Much of this is being submerged and swept under the rug, an exercise in denial. I can tolerate many things, but familial denial is not one of them.

On this day, we make a decision to recall the horrors of war. We can pursue a course of denial, shutting our eyes once more to the evil humankind commits against itself. I believe that war is an irrational, immoral, nonsensical creation. And yet those who are geniuses in the field of battle are commemorated with ribbons and pins, holidays and reverence. I have more respect for the end of warfare, the reason we commemorated and memorialized November 11 in the beginning.

Bluh

I have the flu. Stay well away from me! Posting to follow once I have recovered.

Quote of the Week

"We now give more serious weight to the words of a country's poets than to the words of its politicians — though we know the latter may interfere more drastically with our lives. Religions, ideologies, mercantile competition divide us. The essential solidarity of the very diverse poets of the world, besides being mysterious fact is one we can be thankful for, since its terms are exclusively those of love, understanding and patience."-Ted Hughes 

Saturday Video

I know all there is to know
About the crying game
I've had my share
Of the crying game

First there are kisses
Then there are sighs
And then before
You know where you are
You're saying goodbye

One day soon I'm gonna tell the moon
About the crying game

And if he knows maybe he'll explain
Why there are heartaches
Why there are tears
And what to do
To stop feeling blue
When love disappears

First there are kisses
Then there are sighs
And then before
You know where you are
You're saying goodbye

Don't want no more of the crying game

Encouraging Voluntary Conversion, Not Winning Souls

During a recent support group for people with anxiety disorders, I mentioned that I was a Quaker. The moderator was extremely familiar with Friends terminology, even knowing our Testimonies (Simplicity, Peace, Integrity, Community, and Equality) by heart, a rare feat for someone who isn't one of us. She had great respect for what I and others believe, but uttered a particular sentence I've heard many times in many contexts.

I'm not religious, but if I were, I'd be a Quaker.

Columns before this one have covered similar territory. Those with a desire to spread our message know that these are the sorts of people who could find a Spiritual home with us. We recognize that proselytizing towards them would only push them away and wouldn't do it even if we wanted. But the question remains. How do we reach beyond what I consider to be the two most effective sources of Friendly growth: enrollment in a Quaker school or institute of higher learning, or our faithful presence at protest rallies?

We live at a time where we are increasingly encouraged to politicize our identities. Arguably, this response is unique to our times, but a study of history proves that this is not the case. Those who wear, to cite one example, t-shirts that say "This is what a feminist look like" are making a deliberate political statement. They are showcasing some aspect of themselves, though they have little to no control over the response they will receive from the outside.

Some wish to be shocking, some wish to inspire, some want to empower or challenge others, but it's impossible to know the true motives of the activist without interviewing the person individually. We have almost no control over how we will be perceived, and whether we'll turn off just as many as we turn on to our message.

Some of our perceptions are a result of our relative age and a generational mindset. This will grow ever more prominent as we continue to age. Writing in 1997, a Chicago Tribune columnist named Mary Schmich spoke to this idea in much detail. She titled her piece "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young."

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders.

I return to how I began this column. How do we encourage increased membership and participation in the Religious Society of Friends? My strong identity as a feminist presents similar challenges, especially when the words "religion" and "feminism" hold such strongly negative connotations to many. It's easy to dig in for a siege, to adopt a defensive posture.

Every so often, a little light is shined our way. Dame Judi Dench, the esteemed actress, is a Quaker and has spoken at length about it. Though their understanding of fully formed feminism may be lacking, female celebrities often identify as such. Without heavy-handed, coercive tactics, how do we make the hardest step of all, the first? Producing an A-ha or click moment begins the process of discovery and self-exploration. The most powerful incentive is the desire to learn more and to hone one's understanding.

My own Meeting can in many ways stake a claim to being the Nation's Quaker Meeting. We are based in Washington, DC, our nation's capital, and during every Meeting for Worship, we always have with us several visitors new to the city or just passing through. That's the good news. The bad news is that only about 10-20% stick around for good or for any length of time. We attract lots of dabblers and seekers, but commitment is often lacking. This leaves me frustrated, but I have had to chalk this up to the nature and larger currents of the city I call home.

Feminism keeps its numbers robust through somewhat similar means. Those enrolled in women's studies or gender studies programs in college gravitate to larger issues and an increased engagement with the issues. I have found in my own anecdotal studies that strong personal identification with the issues that feminism addresses is the difference between lukewarm devotion to the cause and loyal membership.

The long view might be the best starting place. Nostalgia is as much a force is indignation. Respecting the personal journeys of those who came before us, struggle with us now, and will follow us later might be best. Accept certain inalienable truths: the poor will always be with us, the path towards progress is slow, and the details of our own demise are always greatly exaggerated.

The Feminist Points Game

Using the model of yesterday's post about Good Quakers™, here's the feminist version, penned by me. I freely admit that I borrowed the format of this column from another source. My point in expanding this initial idea is to show that it is entirely possible to be religious, Christian, feminist, and liberal simultaneously. In fact, owing to the fact that Friends allowed women to provide ministry during Worship hundreds of years before other faith traditions, Quakerism can stake an authentic claim to being a feminist religion.

The Feminist Points Game

Here are some examples of what will earn you points in what I call the Feminist Points Game. Feminists will get some of the inside jokes, but I think any activist, socially conscious liberal will understand, at least in part.


1. Your greatest aspiration is to take part in a panel discussion held at a small liberal arts college.
2. You were the first among your friends to discover what transgender means. Bonus points if you dated someone who later transitioned, and extra bonus points if you've been in a relationship of any length with someone who identifies as transgender.
3. You wrote your master's thesis about gender roles and domestic violence in a small African country. Add more points if you can actually speak the native language. Add even more if you studied there for at least one year.
4. You're a male ally and have constant angst about unintentionally sounding sexist or misogynistic, or by inadvertently dominating discussions by speaking first, or out of turn.
5. You've used the phrase "gender dissonance", "mansplaining, or "sex-positive" over the course of the last three hours.

Check, check, check! In this game, we give out and collect points for these things, keeping a mental tally in order to determine who is a “good Feminist.” Some believe that you are a really good Feminist if you satisfy any of the following:

1. You have a prominently displayed rape crisis center refrigerator magnet, just in case someone might need it.
2. You become absolutely livid at the mere mention of certain controversial topics, then write a blog post about it. At least ten people comment, mostly to say they agree with you.
3. You think bell hooks is a genius, but wonder what the hell happened to Namoi Wolf.
4. You produce 'zines with names like Smash the Patriarchy or Angry Femmes Rule.

I’ve noticed among the feminists I know that we generally agree on what behaviors or activities make someone a good feminist or really good feminists. These positive-point-earning items tend to be fairly easy to see and to check off on a list in our head. There are good feminists and there are...uh oh, what do we call the others besides “bad”? Maybe “not-good-yet”? How about “still-evolving” or “questionable” feminists?

If we’re awarding positive points, then we must be giving out negative points as well—ouch! But we don’t want to go there. We really do not like to look at our own dark sides or to acknowledge how making such general judgments may marginalize members of our community. But what if we did examine some of the stereotypes of what makes someone a “bad feminist”?


1. You stick up for male celebrities accused of sexual assault—negative fifty points.
2. You delight in being the only male in a women's studies class so that you can get the smug satisfaction of receiving better grades than your exclusively female classmates. Definitely minus points here; this is just called being a jackass.
3. You coin creative excuses for sloppy logic and pointless trolling on websites about topics in which you are extremely ill-informed.

On second thought, maybe the Feminist Points Game is pointless. Why judge a person—explicitly or implicitly—by external features. Sometimes we turn good, or at least well-intentioned people away with our generalized negative judgments of what we think is bad or at least not good enough. Insight is often found in the strangest of places, and we need to be open to it in everyone.

The Quaker Points Game

This article, "The Quaker Points Game", is part of the recently published November 2014 edition of Friends Journal. Its author is Richard House. I've posted it here to show my non-religious readers that Liberal Unprogrammed Quakers are not as dissimilar to them as they may think. Though designed for a Friendly audience, I think those of liberal sentiment can see similarities to their own lives. I have abbreviated this article considerably.

The Quaker Points Game

Most of us play it out loud. We think to ourselves, She drives a Prius; that is good, and we give her some positive points in our head. He came to work day, and that is really good—give him two points. A wonderful, rich, homemade chocolate cake for potluck: extra good, and we give her five extra points for that because we really love that chocolate cake and hope she brings it every week! 

Here are some more examples of what will earn you points in what I call the Quaker Points Game:

• You serve on more than one committee in your meeting.
• You live simply and drive an old car (or a hybrid). 
• You have gone to one or more protests in the last year.
• As a man, you wear a beard.
• You compost and keep a garden.

Check, check, check! In this game, we give out and collect points for these things, keeping a mental tally in order to determine who is a “good Quaker.” Some believe that you are a really good Quaker if you satisfy any of the following:

• You have solar panels on your roof.
• You are a vegetarian.
• You are a clerk or are willing to teach First-Day School (huge points for either activity).
• You keep chickens.

I’ve noticed among the Quakers I know that we generally agree on what behaviors or activities make someone a good Quaker or really good Quaker. These positive-point-earning items tend to be fairly easy to see and to check off on a list in our head. There are good Quakers and there are...uh oh, what do we call the others besides “bad”? Maybe “not-good-yet”? How about “still-evolving” or “questionable” Quakers? 

If we’re awarding positive points, then we must be giving out negative points as well—ouch! But we don’t want to go there. We really do not like to look at our own dark sides or to acknowledge how making such general judgments may marginalize members of our faith community. But what if we did examine some of the stereotypes of what makes someone a “bad Quaker”?

• You smoke cigarettes. It’s bad for your health, the environment, kids, and the world—negative five points.
• You drive a fancy car. Definitely minus points for this; it’s not in following with the simplicity testimony. 

Maybe the Quaker Points Game is pointless. Why judge a person—explicitly or implicitly—by the job he has or the car she drives? Sometimes we turn good people away with our generalized negative judgments of what we think is bad. The Light is found in even the strangest of places, and we need to be open to it in everyone.

Quote of the Week

"Now I see there is a people risen that I cannot win with gifts or honours, offices or places; but all other sects and people I can."-Oliver Cromwell

Saturday Video

I'm no one's little girl, oh no, I'm not,
I'm not gonna be - cause I don't wanna be,
I never shall be on your family tree -
Even if you ask me to.

I'm gonna turn you down,
I won't mess you around.

I'm no one's little girl, oh no, I'm not,
I'm not gonna be - cause I don't wanna be in your family tree
Even if you ask me to - I'm gonna turn you down.
I won't mess you around.

Oh no I'm not.
Oh no, I'm not,
Oh no, I'm not gonna be -
Cause I don't wanna be

I never shall be
In your family tree -
Even if you ask me to...

I'm gonna turn you down.
I won't mess you around -
Cause I don't wanna be,

I don't wanna be.

Trying on,
You can do it, you can choose it -
Trying on.
Trying on,

You can do it, you can choose it -
I'm no one's little girl -
Oh no, I'm not.
I'm not gonna be - cause I don't wanna be,
I never shall be on your family tree -
Even if you ask me to.

I'm gonna turn you down,
I won't mess you around,
Cause I don't wanna be.
Don't wanna be, don't wanna be.