Hey, for the record the guy who wrote the diagnostic criteria for malignant narcissism in the DSM went on Twitter and said he didn't think people should be calling President Trump a malignant narcissist. He knows a hell of a lot more about this than I do so I'm going to stop doing that, and I encourage you to listen to him and not whatever nonsense I come up with off the top of my head.
Yes, this means I absolutely did lose a Facebook friend over an argument I promptly changed my mind about the next day. I have no regrets. It was their behaviour, rather than the substance of their words, that ended our communication, and I refuse to be so stubborn that I'm not willing to re-evaluate my beliefs just because I chose to make sacrifices to defend those beliefs in the past.
Not hugely important because nobody is really reading what I have to say anyway, I'm just talking to myself, but in the unlikely event anybody _does_ ever develop an interest I figure I need to take some accountability.
Friday, February 3, 2017
Thursday, February 2, 2017
The Line
Just unfriended somebody on FB for excessive radicalism. I feel surprisingly good about this. I did get in the last word, which helps, of course, but more than that it makes me feel better about our future.
Because, man, I do have a lot of tribal allegiances, though on the left they like to call them "class allegiances". And I really strongly believe that we all need to work together, and that "working together" in practice involves a whole hell of a lot of me shutting the fuck up. I will center the voices of marginalized people. I will give their voices primacy over my own.
There is, however, still a line for me. That line is between primacy and absolutism. I ask myself the question, "Who will they allow to question them?" And when the answer is "No-one", that's when I get off the bus.
This gives me hope because this phenomenon, I believe, has distinct echoes on the Right. The people there are ideologues, willing to cut Trump a tremendous amount of slack. But at a certain point, differences can no longer be papered over. Enough of them will not be able support someone who can stand to hear no voices other than his own.
Because, man, I do have a lot of tribal allegiances, though on the left they like to call them "class allegiances". And I really strongly believe that we all need to work together, and that "working together" in practice involves a whole hell of a lot of me shutting the fuck up. I will center the voices of marginalized people. I will give their voices primacy over my own.
There is, however, still a line for me. That line is between primacy and absolutism. I ask myself the question, "Who will they allow to question them?" And when the answer is "No-one", that's when I get off the bus.
This gives me hope because this phenomenon, I believe, has distinct echoes on the Right. The people there are ideologues, willing to cut Trump a tremendous amount of slack. But at a certain point, differences can no longer be papered over. Enough of them will not be able support someone who can stand to hear no voices other than his own.
It's Okay To Call Donald Trump A Malignant Narcissist
I deliberately steer clear out of a lot of the second-order discussions relating to Trump and Trumpism, because I respect expertise and there a lot of areas where I'm lacking in expertise. The most powerful form of expertise, in my book, is experiential expertise. I'm not going to argue with a black man on racism on the grounds that I read Invisible Man in college. Mostly I'm going to listen. I'm a white Christian male. Tell me what I can do to support you and I'll do what I can to the best of my ability.
So the reason I'm speaking up here, on this issue, is because I do have experiential expertise, because I have a very long history of serious mental illness. This doesn't make me right, but it does give me the right to be heard. That's all I'm asking for here.
The secondary issue of authority here is that of professional expertise - that I speaking here as what is often derided as an "armchair psychologist". A couple things to say about that. First is that the actual psychiatrists are precluded from saying the things I am saying by their professional code of ethics, although I note that many of them are increasingly coming to believe that this situation is serious enough as to require them to break this code of ethics. The second is that lack of professional expertise compels deference and caution, not willful ignorance. If I see somebody choking, I am going to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on them, even though I do not hold any current medical certifications.
So, centering this in my own experience as a mentally ill person, I want to say that first, I find it personally helpful to identify Donald Trump as a malignant narcissist, to identify his irrational supporters as enablers of a malignant narcissist, and to treat them accordingly.
That's important, but it's not enough. That doesn't grant me, or you, or anybody, the right to "self-care" at the expense of a marginalized class. So the second important thing I want to do is to argue that identifying Donald Trump as a malignant narcissist is not primarily or exclusively detrimental to those of us who suffer from mental illness.
First I do want to acknowledge that labelling him as such does have the real potential for significant detriment. If the way this gets played out is that Congress brings him up on the 25th Amendment and makes a bunch of speeches on how Mr. Crazy Pants should never be allowed anywhere near the White House and that we're all a bunch of deranged killers, you know, like the way Muslims get treated, then yeah, that's bullshit.
I haven't seen it play out that way in my life and in the lives of those I care about. My observation is that this situation has served to increase understanding of mental illness, its effects, and how it works in a lot of people, myself included. It's given me the strength to confront destructive behaviour patterns in my everyday life, to recognize how common these destructive behaviour patterns are. I am less likely to turn a blind eye to abuse as a result of this. If I were to treat Donald Trump's presidency as a simply political phenomenon, I do not think that I should have been empowered to do this.
Because the political is personal, both in a broader sense and, in a very specific sense, for Donald Trump. His political fascism is inseparable from his uncontrolled malignant narcissism. If we treat one aspect while choosing not to confront the other, for whatever reason, we are blinding ourselves to the obvious - blinding ourselves to the obvious in a way which is strikingly similar to the behaviour of his enablers.
One of the reactions I get when I come out as mentally ill to people is denial. I get the "oh, you're not really crazy". And while that's well-intentioned, that's hurtful, not just to me, but to them, because if they can't recognize and cope with me for who I am they're going to be in for a pretty nasty surprise when my symptoms start manifesting.
And this is particularly important when a disorder someone is manifesting is an abuse disorder. Most mental disorders contain the potential for abuse - I am not a "bad person", but I do sometimes mistreat people as a result of my illness, and I take responsibility for that.
Now, the President, he doesn't take responsibility for anything. He is out of control. He refuses to admit to or confront his problems. This doesn't mean that we don't have to confront them or hold him responsible for his actions in exactly the same way that I, as an openly mentally ill person, need to be held responsible. Responsibility is good and appropriate in these situations, blame much less so.
In conclusion, I believe that dealing with Donald Trump based on his clear and unambiguous symptoms of mental illness is both important for survival on a personal level and helps us as a society better address and cope with the phenomenon of, and the diversity of, mental illness, particularly when the conversation is led by the voices of the mentally ill.
So the reason I'm speaking up here, on this issue, is because I do have experiential expertise, because I have a very long history of serious mental illness. This doesn't make me right, but it does give me the right to be heard. That's all I'm asking for here.
The secondary issue of authority here is that of professional expertise - that I speaking here as what is often derided as an "armchair psychologist". A couple things to say about that. First is that the actual psychiatrists are precluded from saying the things I am saying by their professional code of ethics, although I note that many of them are increasingly coming to believe that this situation is serious enough as to require them to break this code of ethics. The second is that lack of professional expertise compels deference and caution, not willful ignorance. If I see somebody choking, I am going to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on them, even though I do not hold any current medical certifications.
So, centering this in my own experience as a mentally ill person, I want to say that first, I find it personally helpful to identify Donald Trump as a malignant narcissist, to identify his irrational supporters as enablers of a malignant narcissist, and to treat them accordingly.
That's important, but it's not enough. That doesn't grant me, or you, or anybody, the right to "self-care" at the expense of a marginalized class. So the second important thing I want to do is to argue that identifying Donald Trump as a malignant narcissist is not primarily or exclusively detrimental to those of us who suffer from mental illness.
First I do want to acknowledge that labelling him as such does have the real potential for significant detriment. If the way this gets played out is that Congress brings him up on the 25th Amendment and makes a bunch of speeches on how Mr. Crazy Pants should never be allowed anywhere near the White House and that we're all a bunch of deranged killers, you know, like the way Muslims get treated, then yeah, that's bullshit.
I haven't seen it play out that way in my life and in the lives of those I care about. My observation is that this situation has served to increase understanding of mental illness, its effects, and how it works in a lot of people, myself included. It's given me the strength to confront destructive behaviour patterns in my everyday life, to recognize how common these destructive behaviour patterns are. I am less likely to turn a blind eye to abuse as a result of this. If I were to treat Donald Trump's presidency as a simply political phenomenon, I do not think that I should have been empowered to do this.
Because the political is personal, both in a broader sense and, in a very specific sense, for Donald Trump. His political fascism is inseparable from his uncontrolled malignant narcissism. If we treat one aspect while choosing not to confront the other, for whatever reason, we are blinding ourselves to the obvious - blinding ourselves to the obvious in a way which is strikingly similar to the behaviour of his enablers.
One of the reactions I get when I come out as mentally ill to people is denial. I get the "oh, you're not really crazy". And while that's well-intentioned, that's hurtful, not just to me, but to them, because if they can't recognize and cope with me for who I am they're going to be in for a pretty nasty surprise when my symptoms start manifesting.
And this is particularly important when a disorder someone is manifesting is an abuse disorder. Most mental disorders contain the potential for abuse - I am not a "bad person", but I do sometimes mistreat people as a result of my illness, and I take responsibility for that.
Now, the President, he doesn't take responsibility for anything. He is out of control. He refuses to admit to or confront his problems. This doesn't mean that we don't have to confront them or hold him responsible for his actions in exactly the same way that I, as an openly mentally ill person, need to be held responsible. Responsibility is good and appropriate in these situations, blame much less so.
In conclusion, I believe that dealing with Donald Trump based on his clear and unambiguous symptoms of mental illness is both important for survival on a personal level and helps us as a society better address and cope with the phenomenon of, and the diversity of, mental illness, particularly when the conversation is led by the voices of the mentally ill.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Emotional Weather Report
OK, emotional check-in. I'm sick and exhausted. It's not despair. I've had plenty of despair these past few months, but for me, uncertainty is worse than despair. How much will be enough? No idea. How much can I do? Not as much as I want to. This is the way the movement goes - it's a lot like Facebook as a whole, we're not really all together at one time. It's draining, even for extroverts it's probably draining, and people have to drop out suddenly for self-care. That's good, that's important, for those of you who may be taking time off in the near future. Fight when you can, do what you need to, but this is a long struggle, one that probably won't be decided this week or next week.
I've never been very good at taking it easy in the best of times. It's hard for me to set boundaries, particularly when everything people are doing right now is so critically important. And I don't really have anywhere else to go. I can only watch so many kung fu movies, can only listen to so many records, before I have to say something, do something, even if there is no immediate result. But a lot of times it doesn't make me feel better. Even when it does, like on Saturday, there's this sense of deep exhaustion, and sometimes the sense is that of yelling into a black hole.
Anyway, I just wanted to write this stuff down because I am sure I'm not the only one feeling this way, and hopefully it helps a little.
I've never been very good at taking it easy in the best of times. It's hard for me to set boundaries, particularly when everything people are doing right now is so critically important. And I don't really have anywhere else to go. I can only watch so many kung fu movies, can only listen to so many records, before I have to say something, do something, even if there is no immediate result. But a lot of times it doesn't make me feel better. Even when it does, like on Saturday, there's this sense of deep exhaustion, and sometimes the sense is that of yelling into a black hole.
Anyway, I just wanted to write this stuff down because I am sure I'm not the only one feeling this way, and hopefully it helps a little.
The Economy, Stupid?
The rabbit holes I've been going down lately have led me to thinking about the cultural aspects of political change. I'm starting to believe that I've underestimated the importance of cultural factors in favor of economic issues, and have been wrong to do so. It's not the economy, stupid.
It's surprising that I should have bought into that line of thinking considering that I myself have a long and distinguished record of voting on cultural issues over economic issues. I have a strong memory of the culture wars of the late '80s and early '90s. They left a big impression on me. Yet somehow when the reasons for George Bush's defeat are enumerated, people talk about Ross Perot and about the recession and not about his attack on the Simpsons or his vice president's attack on Murphy Brown.
Last week's rabbit hole led me to reading about the "Rural Purge" of the early 1970s, and to reconsider George H.W. Bush's Presidency in light of what I learned. See, I thought "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" was a song about the impossibility of the media of representing reality. On one level it is. On another level it is a direct call-out of CBS for favoring programming which marginalized black voices. What I didn't realize is that CBS, as well as the other networks, listened and responded.
The "rural purge" is largely lamented in nostalgia articles when it's noted at all - old folks still salty that they cancelled Petticoat Junction. Overlooked is that the "rural purge" opened the door for most of the great series of the '70s. Petticoat Junction was replaced with the Mary Tyler Moore show. The cancelled shows made way shows like All in the Family and Sanford and Son. Feminist voices, black voices, now had a stronger presence on the networks, in the most popular media of the day.
And "The Waltons", which George H.W. Bush championed over the Simpsons, was part of the wave of counterreaction to that purge. Now, I'm sure the Waltons, which I haven't seen, is a fine show. A lot of the rural shows were not only not racist, but did oppose racism, and I have no wish to judge the shows themselves, but only their broader cultural significance, which is that in the big picture, ruralism is inseparably linked to traditionalism, and traditionalism, in this context, is inseparably linked to racism.
Invoking things like the Waltons and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band is a dog whistle. Not even necessarily consciously so - I have no reason to believe that any part of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band are racist, and certainly the Will the Circle Be Unbroken set is justly respected, though when it comes to overviews of this sort of music it doesn't come close to measuring up to the "post-racial" Harry Smith Anthology. But belonging to that culture makes it not just possible, and easy, to say things like that you don't think atheists should be considered American citizens, without even thinking about it.
Thinking about it in these terms is instructive and useful. Ronald Reagan didn't denounce television - he had his wife go on Diff'rent Strokes. George W. Bush, despite his status as a "born-again" Christian, was markedly averse to "culture wars". Indeed, the party running against popular culture in 2000 was the Democratic ticket, featuring Al Gore, husband of Tipper, and Joe Lieberman.
So I believe that this current round of culture wars, the Internet culture wars, are pivotally important. And for me, the telling thing about this round of culture wars is seeing how quickly and easily a certain strain of libertarianism tilts into fascism. This is not a new phenomenon. Heinlein was a libertarian, and he gave us Starship Troopers - Verhoeven's filmed attack on that fascist novel in the guise of an "adaptation" is to me his finest moment as a filmmaker. So, for that matter, was Robespierre a libertarian.
This is not to say that all libertarianism slides, at the moment of crisis, towards fascism. This is demonstrably false. Indeed, libertarianism flourishes most brightly in the absence of crisis or struggle. It is the favored ideology of the favored. For my part, I have a certain distrust of any libertarian who is not also a libertine. A person who claims to want more "freedom" but has no discernible tendencies towards excess is naturally suspect. If they don't want freedom to orgy, what, then, do they want with it? Because freedom, in people's hearts, is never really an end in itself, but only a means to an end.
And that end, in many cases, is power without responsibility. This is the dominant paradigm of the libertarian Internet. God help us if we did not have Spiderman on our side.
It's surprising that I should have bought into that line of thinking considering that I myself have a long and distinguished record of voting on cultural issues over economic issues. I have a strong memory of the culture wars of the late '80s and early '90s. They left a big impression on me. Yet somehow when the reasons for George Bush's defeat are enumerated, people talk about Ross Perot and about the recession and not about his attack on the Simpsons or his vice president's attack on Murphy Brown.
Last week's rabbit hole led me to reading about the "Rural Purge" of the early 1970s, and to reconsider George H.W. Bush's Presidency in light of what I learned. See, I thought "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" was a song about the impossibility of the media of representing reality. On one level it is. On another level it is a direct call-out of CBS for favoring programming which marginalized black voices. What I didn't realize is that CBS, as well as the other networks, listened and responded.
The "rural purge" is largely lamented in nostalgia articles when it's noted at all - old folks still salty that they cancelled Petticoat Junction. Overlooked is that the "rural purge" opened the door for most of the great series of the '70s. Petticoat Junction was replaced with the Mary Tyler Moore show. The cancelled shows made way shows like All in the Family and Sanford and Son. Feminist voices, black voices, now had a stronger presence on the networks, in the most popular media of the day.
And "The Waltons", which George H.W. Bush championed over the Simpsons, was part of the wave of counterreaction to that purge. Now, I'm sure the Waltons, which I haven't seen, is a fine show. A lot of the rural shows were not only not racist, but did oppose racism, and I have no wish to judge the shows themselves, but only their broader cultural significance, which is that in the big picture, ruralism is inseparably linked to traditionalism, and traditionalism, in this context, is inseparably linked to racism.
Invoking things like the Waltons and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band is a dog whistle. Not even necessarily consciously so - I have no reason to believe that any part of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band are racist, and certainly the Will the Circle Be Unbroken set is justly respected, though when it comes to overviews of this sort of music it doesn't come close to measuring up to the "post-racial" Harry Smith Anthology. But belonging to that culture makes it not just possible, and easy, to say things like that you don't think atheists should be considered American citizens, without even thinking about it.
Thinking about it in these terms is instructive and useful. Ronald Reagan didn't denounce television - he had his wife go on Diff'rent Strokes. George W. Bush, despite his status as a "born-again" Christian, was markedly averse to "culture wars". Indeed, the party running against popular culture in 2000 was the Democratic ticket, featuring Al Gore, husband of Tipper, and Joe Lieberman.
So I believe that this current round of culture wars, the Internet culture wars, are pivotally important. And for me, the telling thing about this round of culture wars is seeing how quickly and easily a certain strain of libertarianism tilts into fascism. This is not a new phenomenon. Heinlein was a libertarian, and he gave us Starship Troopers - Verhoeven's filmed attack on that fascist novel in the guise of an "adaptation" is to me his finest moment as a filmmaker. So, for that matter, was Robespierre a libertarian.
This is not to say that all libertarianism slides, at the moment of crisis, towards fascism. This is demonstrably false. Indeed, libertarianism flourishes most brightly in the absence of crisis or struggle. It is the favored ideology of the favored. For my part, I have a certain distrust of any libertarian who is not also a libertine. A person who claims to want more "freedom" but has no discernible tendencies towards excess is naturally suspect. If they don't want freedom to orgy, what, then, do they want with it? Because freedom, in people's hearts, is never really an end in itself, but only a means to an end.
And that end, in many cases, is power without responsibility. This is the dominant paradigm of the libertarian Internet. God help us if we did not have Spiderman on our side.
Is it enough for Christians to be "welcoming"?
I change churches and faiths a lot. I'd like to be part of a stable religious community, like to be one of those people who goes to the same church for twenty or thirty years, but my personal beliefs keep changing and evolving. I remember in November there was some advice to write down what you believe so as not to violate those beliefs, but now, in January, I recognize that my beliefs have always changed constantly. I can't hold the line to who I was in November 2016, or in 2012, or at any past time. I can only hope that I change for the better.
I started going to my last church because I wanted to be part of a church that was welcoming and inclusive, which was something I felt was observed in the breach in my previous congregation. I'm a demanding person, but even more challenging to my long-term membership in a congregation is that my spiritual needs change over time, and I'm not sure any one religious community can meet all of them.
I still think that it's important for Christianity to be welcoming, but I no longer think it's enough. I have spent years seeking the "peace of Christ", continue to seek it, but find and have found it elusive. What I find instead are the torments of Christ. I welcome them. I do not seek to suppress or deny suffering for Christ's sake. And at my former church, well, they just don't necessarily feel that way. I think they'd say that before you can ease others' suffering you have to ease your own.
I seek to ease others' suffering because I cannot ease my own without doing so.
My religious beliefs are informed by my political beliefs, as well as vice versa. They overlap. Politically, I have come to believe that I have chosen to tolerate things which I should never have tolerated, things we as a society should never have tolerated. I believe this same statement applies to my Christianity.
It is not Christian behavior to overlook the actions of those who preach oppression in the name of Christ. It is not Christian to welcome them as brothers and sisters without also remonstrating with them for their open defiance of Christ's teachings. Our failure to challenge them has consequences. The consequence is that most people, both Christian and otherwise, think that the words and actions of prosperity Christianity, of dominionists, are the words and teachings of Christ.
We cannot expect non-Christians to ever believe that these are not Christ's teachings, to treat us with anything other than hatred and disgust, unless we, as Christians, take responsibility for the words and deeds of our "brothers" and "sisters" who preach hatred and intolerance in Christ's name. Not just politically, but we need to go to the churches, the megachurches, where they teach these things and spread Christ's gospel to the people there. If we are not willing to do that, our faith will continue to wither and die on the vine.
I started going to my last church because I wanted to be part of a church that was welcoming and inclusive, which was something I felt was observed in the breach in my previous congregation. I'm a demanding person, but even more challenging to my long-term membership in a congregation is that my spiritual needs change over time, and I'm not sure any one religious community can meet all of them.
I still think that it's important for Christianity to be welcoming, but I no longer think it's enough. I have spent years seeking the "peace of Christ", continue to seek it, but find and have found it elusive. What I find instead are the torments of Christ. I welcome them. I do not seek to suppress or deny suffering for Christ's sake. And at my former church, well, they just don't necessarily feel that way. I think they'd say that before you can ease others' suffering you have to ease your own.
I seek to ease others' suffering because I cannot ease my own without doing so.
My religious beliefs are informed by my political beliefs, as well as vice versa. They overlap. Politically, I have come to believe that I have chosen to tolerate things which I should never have tolerated, things we as a society should never have tolerated. I believe this same statement applies to my Christianity.
It is not Christian behavior to overlook the actions of those who preach oppression in the name of Christ. It is not Christian to welcome them as brothers and sisters without also remonstrating with them for their open defiance of Christ's teachings. Our failure to challenge them has consequences. The consequence is that most people, both Christian and otherwise, think that the words and actions of prosperity Christianity, of dominionists, are the words and teachings of Christ.
We cannot expect non-Christians to ever believe that these are not Christ's teachings, to treat us with anything other than hatred and disgust, unless we, as Christians, take responsibility for the words and deeds of our "brothers" and "sisters" who preach hatred and intolerance in Christ's name. Not just politically, but we need to go to the churches, the megachurches, where they teach these things and spread Christ's gospel to the people there. If we are not willing to do that, our faith will continue to wither and die on the vine.
Dealing with Hypocrisy.
I am, unfortunately, a little overly sensitive and quick to anger right now. This can, however, be a unique opportunity, because when people say something that makes me angry I have the opportunity to recognize it, understand why that is, and not treat others that way.
So, for instance, one of this week's talking points is that what Trump did was no different from something Obama proposed. Now, this is a falsehood, just short of a brazen lie, but thinking about it, I think that I should find it objectionable even if it were true. Because the implication of such a statement is that people who oppose Trump's actions are hypocrites.
Unless your goal is to make people more angry and irrational (which sometimes is the goal), this is rhetorically counterproductive. People will not like you if you imply that they are hypocrites.
More to the point, it is not a particularly valid line of argument. Forcing people to confess to some real or imagined past error as a condition of acknowledging the legitimacy of their current grievance only serves to de-legitimize the grievance itself by undermining the person making it, as well as shifting the center of the discussion away from the correctness or incorrectness of the action in question.
This is important because Trump supporters are hypocrites par excellence. If you attack them for supporting Russia when Trump started advocating them despite opposing Russia in the past, you will make no headway. Better to privately note their hypocrisy and untrustworthy nature and stick to confronting them on the issues themselves.
So, for instance, one of this week's talking points is that what Trump did was no different from something Obama proposed. Now, this is a falsehood, just short of a brazen lie, but thinking about it, I think that I should find it objectionable even if it were true. Because the implication of such a statement is that people who oppose Trump's actions are hypocrites.
Unless your goal is to make people more angry and irrational (which sometimes is the goal), this is rhetorically counterproductive. People will not like you if you imply that they are hypocrites.
More to the point, it is not a particularly valid line of argument. Forcing people to confess to some real or imagined past error as a condition of acknowledging the legitimacy of their current grievance only serves to de-legitimize the grievance itself by undermining the person making it, as well as shifting the center of the discussion away from the correctness or incorrectness of the action in question.
This is important because Trump supporters are hypocrites par excellence. If you attack them for supporting Russia when Trump started advocating them despite opposing Russia in the past, you will make no headway. Better to privately note their hypocrisy and untrustworthy nature and stick to confronting them on the issues themselves.
Note to self: Breathe.
Wanted to share a couple thoughts I have been having lately.
Caring for ourselves and each other is important. Holding onto our core, essential values is important. I ask for your forbearance on what follows, because the way I write comes out as a lecture, and I'm not trying to lecture anybody or hold anybody to task. I just want to remind myself, and remind the people I love, about who we are.
It's difficult because we do face serious, real threats. People all over are gaslighting us, attempting to sow division, but our response to that must not be to divide ourselves.
So let's remind ourselves who we are. We are anybody who is concerned about Donald Trump's words and actions. This includes not just those of us who are speaking up publicly to oppose him, but those of us who remain silent.
Absolutely I feel disgust for anybody who is remaining silent right now. I believe this is a time of the utmost moral imperative, and their behavior is cowardice. I can assure you that they feel differently. I would say they would frame it as "discretion".
What this means is that, unlike Trump supporters, they are open to appeal. How are Trump supporters "appealing" to these people? With threats and bullying, with attempts to coerce them into joining their angry mob.
Now, how are we appealing to these people?
On this issue, there is not necessarily a "we". We are a grass-roots resistance. We do not have a leader, we do not have rules of order or agreements on what is or is not acceptable. I speak only for myself and have only my words to attempt to persuade.
As much anger, as much fear as I am feeling right now, I must consider the source of those feelings. And the source is both our President and the uncounted millions who openly support him, the flying monkeys who will excuse anything regardless of logic or conscience. Every reservation expressed is an opportunity.
And I, personally, see that opportunity not through our history, not through fables of the American dream, but through direct appeal to who we are now. History is a difficult thing for me to invoke with the knowledge of how many people "on the fence" are ahistorical people at best, or openly hypocritical at worst. There's a feeling when one talks about these things of "that was then, this is now". And it's right! For all the past parallels, what we are facing, who we are, is markedly different from what has come before. This is not 1933 Germany. This is 2017 America. We can be informed by the past, but we must not be defined by it.
And so I look at this through the lens of psychiatric language. Some might argue that we do not have the right to diagnose President Trump with mental illness and behave accordingly. I strongly disagree. It is the victims' right to name their abusers. If we do not use the words to their faces, we should acknowledge among ourselves that President Trump is a malignant narcissist, that his vocal supporters are enablers, "flying monkeys" in the jargon. These words are more useful to me, help me to treat such people in the appropriate fashion, than words like "hypocrite" and "fascist".
But these words are still labels, and labels get overused. Once we find words which are powerful our tendency is to apply them to anything and everything we find objectionable. When we do this, we strip the words of their power, we make them meaningless. This is particularly important with words most people still do not know. They will understand these words through their context, so we must use exceptional care with such words.
More important than words, though, is emotion. I've certainly made mistakes here. I've certainly lashed out at people in anger for asking perfectly reasonable questions. But what I try to do is learn from my mistakes, and especially apologize for my mistakes. Apologies are tricky, because in today's world there's a lot of emotional baggage to them. They can be used as a tool of submission, or as a tool of passive aggression. My feeling is that we should work not to apologize unless we have, in word or deed, genuinely wronged someone else, not merely "offended" them. As we continue to speak up and advocate for our interests, we will occasionally do this. An apology, even if sometimes inadequate, is an essential tool for maintaining trust, respect, and common cause. When these qualities are not present there is no use or need for an apology - apologies are a repair tool, not a construction tool.
Perhaps many of us have felt a strange sense of reversal, a feeling that the way we are now behaving is the way the other side behaved last year. Certainly I feel that way. This is in part a conscious decision on my part. After the election, I did question my base assumptions, went through some soul-searching about how this calamity had happened. This conversation was, in the larger sense, never resolved. It's not something we're all in agreement on or all united on. But my conclusion, which I continue to advocate for, was that if we failed, it was not in our policies, not in our values, but in our strategy and tactics. This is also the conclusion of the Indivisible movement.
But if we learn from the successes of the other side, we must especially be cautious not to repeat their failures. Because their movement is, in significant measure, a failure. What have they accomplished? They elected a President, a President who is despised by half the people of this country. They have galvanized an opposition which dwarfs their own in scale and in dedication. They have brought this country into a maelstrom of fear and hatred.
And they have done this, chiefly, by attacking, belittling, and demonizing anyone who disagrees with them. The President calls anybody who disagrees with him a bad person, very bad. Nasty women. Bad hombres. We ought to be sure that we are not on the path to doing the same, and to be honest, some of us do seem to be.
We call all Republicans "traitors" because they made this possible. We dismiss them out of hand, we repudiate them, excoriate them, even when they express reservations about Trump's words and actions. In many cases we have reason to do so, because their words are not matching their actions, and we do need to pay attention to this. There are two ways to reconcile this discrepancy - one can change their words, or one can change their actions. Which course are we encouraging?
Too often, I feel, it is the former. When we deal with Republicans, we treat them as though they were bad Democrats. If a Democrat votes to confirm Jeff Sessions, have the right and obligation to be mad as hell, because that person is representing our party. But being a Democrat is not the same thing as being a human.
This is tricky. Because I am a Democrat because of my values, values which are not up for compromise. I do believe, believe strongly, that a Senator, Democrat or Republican, who votes to confirm Jeff Sessions is acting as a bad human being. But the reality is that their first allegiance is to their party.
I know the ideal is that representatives of a particular party in government do not represent that party, but represent all their constituents, but we need to acknowledge that this is not the way it has worked out in practice. Republicans in office bear a greater responsibility to Republicans, and Democrats in office bear a greater responsibility to Democrats.
This is absolutely wrong, absolutely terrible governance, and should not be. It's also not a problem we have the ability to fix right now.
So we need to recognize that what the Republicans need to do is much, much harder than anything we need to do. It's very easy to tell them to put party over country when that's not something we have to do ourselves. If you want evidence of this feel free to fill in with your own historical examples, but like I said, I am not making an argument from history but an argument from human nature.
What this means is that we need to be kinder to Republicans, particularly Republicans who are on the fence, than we are to Democratic leaders. My own Republican representative, Susan Collins, has spoken out against the executive order Trump issued Friday. She has done it by equivocating, by implicitly endorsing points of view I think are terrible, but I wrote her today to thank her, not to call her out on her equivocation. I encouraged her to continue to be strong and to work to uphold our Constitution, not to complain about the interest groups who have bought and paid for her. Republicans right now are being shot by both sides. They're smart enough to know that the most they can expect from us is a temporary truce, but a lot of them are also smart enough to run towards the side that's not shooting at them.
Caring for ourselves and each other is important. Holding onto our core, essential values is important. I ask for your forbearance on what follows, because the way I write comes out as a lecture, and I'm not trying to lecture anybody or hold anybody to task. I just want to remind myself, and remind the people I love, about who we are.
It's difficult because we do face serious, real threats. People all over are gaslighting us, attempting to sow division, but our response to that must not be to divide ourselves.
So let's remind ourselves who we are. We are anybody who is concerned about Donald Trump's words and actions. This includes not just those of us who are speaking up publicly to oppose him, but those of us who remain silent.
Absolutely I feel disgust for anybody who is remaining silent right now. I believe this is a time of the utmost moral imperative, and their behavior is cowardice. I can assure you that they feel differently. I would say they would frame it as "discretion".
What this means is that, unlike Trump supporters, they are open to appeal. How are Trump supporters "appealing" to these people? With threats and bullying, with attempts to coerce them into joining their angry mob.
Now, how are we appealing to these people?
On this issue, there is not necessarily a "we". We are a grass-roots resistance. We do not have a leader, we do not have rules of order or agreements on what is or is not acceptable. I speak only for myself and have only my words to attempt to persuade.
As much anger, as much fear as I am feeling right now, I must consider the source of those feelings. And the source is both our President and the uncounted millions who openly support him, the flying monkeys who will excuse anything regardless of logic or conscience. Every reservation expressed is an opportunity.
And I, personally, see that opportunity not through our history, not through fables of the American dream, but through direct appeal to who we are now. History is a difficult thing for me to invoke with the knowledge of how many people "on the fence" are ahistorical people at best, or openly hypocritical at worst. There's a feeling when one talks about these things of "that was then, this is now". And it's right! For all the past parallels, what we are facing, who we are, is markedly different from what has come before. This is not 1933 Germany. This is 2017 America. We can be informed by the past, but we must not be defined by it.
And so I look at this through the lens of psychiatric language. Some might argue that we do not have the right to diagnose President Trump with mental illness and behave accordingly. I strongly disagree. It is the victims' right to name their abusers. If we do not use the words to their faces, we should acknowledge among ourselves that President Trump is a malignant narcissist, that his vocal supporters are enablers, "flying monkeys" in the jargon. These words are more useful to me, help me to treat such people in the appropriate fashion, than words like "hypocrite" and "fascist".
But these words are still labels, and labels get overused. Once we find words which are powerful our tendency is to apply them to anything and everything we find objectionable. When we do this, we strip the words of their power, we make them meaningless. This is particularly important with words most people still do not know. They will understand these words through their context, so we must use exceptional care with such words.
More important than words, though, is emotion. I've certainly made mistakes here. I've certainly lashed out at people in anger for asking perfectly reasonable questions. But what I try to do is learn from my mistakes, and especially apologize for my mistakes. Apologies are tricky, because in today's world there's a lot of emotional baggage to them. They can be used as a tool of submission, or as a tool of passive aggression. My feeling is that we should work not to apologize unless we have, in word or deed, genuinely wronged someone else, not merely "offended" them. As we continue to speak up and advocate for our interests, we will occasionally do this. An apology, even if sometimes inadequate, is an essential tool for maintaining trust, respect, and common cause. When these qualities are not present there is no use or need for an apology - apologies are a repair tool, not a construction tool.
Perhaps many of us have felt a strange sense of reversal, a feeling that the way we are now behaving is the way the other side behaved last year. Certainly I feel that way. This is in part a conscious decision on my part. After the election, I did question my base assumptions, went through some soul-searching about how this calamity had happened. This conversation was, in the larger sense, never resolved. It's not something we're all in agreement on or all united on. But my conclusion, which I continue to advocate for, was that if we failed, it was not in our policies, not in our values, but in our strategy and tactics. This is also the conclusion of the Indivisible movement.
But if we learn from the successes of the other side, we must especially be cautious not to repeat their failures. Because their movement is, in significant measure, a failure. What have they accomplished? They elected a President, a President who is despised by half the people of this country. They have galvanized an opposition which dwarfs their own in scale and in dedication. They have brought this country into a maelstrom of fear and hatred.
And they have done this, chiefly, by attacking, belittling, and demonizing anyone who disagrees with them. The President calls anybody who disagrees with him a bad person, very bad. Nasty women. Bad hombres. We ought to be sure that we are not on the path to doing the same, and to be honest, some of us do seem to be.
We call all Republicans "traitors" because they made this possible. We dismiss them out of hand, we repudiate them, excoriate them, even when they express reservations about Trump's words and actions. In many cases we have reason to do so, because their words are not matching their actions, and we do need to pay attention to this. There are two ways to reconcile this discrepancy - one can change their words, or one can change their actions. Which course are we encouraging?
Too often, I feel, it is the former. When we deal with Republicans, we treat them as though they were bad Democrats. If a Democrat votes to confirm Jeff Sessions, have the right and obligation to be mad as hell, because that person is representing our party. But being a Democrat is not the same thing as being a human.
This is tricky. Because I am a Democrat because of my values, values which are not up for compromise. I do believe, believe strongly, that a Senator, Democrat or Republican, who votes to confirm Jeff Sessions is acting as a bad human being. But the reality is that their first allegiance is to their party.
I know the ideal is that representatives of a particular party in government do not represent that party, but represent all their constituents, but we need to acknowledge that this is not the way it has worked out in practice. Republicans in office bear a greater responsibility to Republicans, and Democrats in office bear a greater responsibility to Democrats.
This is absolutely wrong, absolutely terrible governance, and should not be. It's also not a problem we have the ability to fix right now.
So we need to recognize that what the Republicans need to do is much, much harder than anything we need to do. It's very easy to tell them to put party over country when that's not something we have to do ourselves. If you want evidence of this feel free to fill in with your own historical examples, but like I said, I am not making an argument from history but an argument from human nature.
What this means is that we need to be kinder to Republicans, particularly Republicans who are on the fence, than we are to Democratic leaders. My own Republican representative, Susan Collins, has spoken out against the executive order Trump issued Friday. She has done it by equivocating, by implicitly endorsing points of view I think are terrible, but I wrote her today to thank her, not to call her out on her equivocation. I encouraged her to continue to be strong and to work to uphold our Constitution, not to complain about the interest groups who have bought and paid for her. Republicans right now are being shot by both sides. They're smart enough to know that the most they can expect from us is a temporary truce, but a lot of them are also smart enough to run towards the side that's not shooting at them.
Lost (The Dance on Sand and Sea)
One of my friends, recently, referred to Indiana and Ohio as "lost". I have to say I agree with her. We have "lost" Indiana for certain, possibly also Ohio, for the foreseeable future.
What does it look like for a state to be "lost"? I can only tell you from my own experience. When I was 17, in my senior year of high school, I moved from New Jersey to Kentucky. I was very immediately struck by the stark and profound differences in my quality of education. Now, the high school in New Jersey was well and truly exceptional, yes, but the school in Louisville that I went to had a reputation for being one of the better public high schools. And there was no comparison. I had six classes, all of which were AP classes, and in five of them it barely mattered if I showed up or not. My "math" class consisted of the teacher standing up there for five minutes and then giving us the rest of the period to do our "homework". They didn't have anybody who could teach me German at my level of proficiency so they sent me in for "independent study", which meant that I went down to the library and spent the whole period goofing around on Usenet. The best you could get was somebody taking attendance. Because the appearance of education was more important than education. Most of my time during that senior year was spent in putting together my "portfolio", which was a bureaucratic requirement obliging me to give the appearance of having a basic education. It was essentially a paperwork exercise.
I did have one teacher who cared, my English teacher. Because of curriculum variances between states, most of what he covered was stuff I had already been taught, but I still learned more from him than I did from any of my other classes, classes where I was covering nominally "novel" material.
This is what it's like living in a "lost state". A "lost state" is more concerned about giving the appearance of success than of success itself. When I lived in Kentucky, when you drove into the state they had a big sign that said "Kentucky - where education pays!" From that I learned that whenever a locality puts up a sign on a particular issue, they are alerting you to a problem they have no idea how to handle. Please do not ever move to a town where the city limits have a sign saying that they do not tolerate domestic violence.
In a "lost state", the cost of living is very low. A very low percentage of people have a college education. Even when they do, jobs for them may or may not exist. I worked for a small company here in Indiana for seven years. For a long time our entire logistics department consisted of people with masters degrees or higher. We didn't really offer anything in the way of benefits, and the pay we offered wasn't very good either, but it was more than enough to get by here. My wife and I probably could even have bought a house here if we wanted.
"Lost states" are politically controlled by Republicans. They gerrymander and stack the deck, but even if the Republicans didn't do this they would easily have local supermajorities, because they not only control the majority of the people but the vast majority of the land. And the politics of these Republicans are the politics of resentment. They blame the cities, think of us as "rootless cosmopolitans", and their policies are specifically designed to weaken and punish us. They are suffering, and we can't help them, so they want us to share their pain.
States that are not "lost" have local resources to help them deal with problems and crises. I lived in Florida for three years, and during that time went through four major hurricanes. The experience quickly became routine, because after Hurricane Andrew in 1992 the state of Florida got very, very serious about mitigating hurricane damage. They strengthened building codes. They put robust emergency procedures in place. You get a bad hurricane and it does a lot of damage. Roofs everywhere are covered with blue tarps. Nobody has power for weeks and business shuts down while everybody sweats. But this is all right, because people are prepared for the emergency, and because the state acts strongly to deal with it.
So when I saw what happened with Katrina, when I saw how people were blaming the federal government for not helping, I saw that the federal government was helping them about as much as they helped Florida. The difference wasn't that FEMA was doing a materially worse job, it was that there was no support and aid on the state level in Louisiana, because Louisiana is a Lost State.
In fact, Lost States rely more on federal aid than a "blue state". They don't have the infrastructure to take care of themselves. Compare that to California, which, Californians will very quickly and saltily note to you, pays out more in federal tax than they receive back in services.
And the Republican representatives for Lost States, one of their strongest and most strongly supported beliefs is to end federal aid, wipe out taxes to fund the government, end public services, except for military services. One has to assume that the leaders, at least, know what they are doing, although if these policies have an end goal more specific than "making America great again" none of these representatives seem ever to have expressed it, and I certainly have no desire to put words in their mouths.
I will say, though, that in America we do see this combination of ethnic self-pride and determination for self-reliance. We see it on Native American lands - what gringos like me sometimes call "Indian reservations". And when I try to imagine what is going to happen to these "lost states", I do think that it is likely to be dogged by many of the same serious long-term problems experienced at present on Native American lands.
What does it look like for a state to be "lost"? I can only tell you from my own experience. When I was 17, in my senior year of high school, I moved from New Jersey to Kentucky. I was very immediately struck by the stark and profound differences in my quality of education. Now, the high school in New Jersey was well and truly exceptional, yes, but the school in Louisville that I went to had a reputation for being one of the better public high schools. And there was no comparison. I had six classes, all of which were AP classes, and in five of them it barely mattered if I showed up or not. My "math" class consisted of the teacher standing up there for five minutes and then giving us the rest of the period to do our "homework". They didn't have anybody who could teach me German at my level of proficiency so they sent me in for "independent study", which meant that I went down to the library and spent the whole period goofing around on Usenet. The best you could get was somebody taking attendance. Because the appearance of education was more important than education. Most of my time during that senior year was spent in putting together my "portfolio", which was a bureaucratic requirement obliging me to give the appearance of having a basic education. It was essentially a paperwork exercise.
I did have one teacher who cared, my English teacher. Because of curriculum variances between states, most of what he covered was stuff I had already been taught, but I still learned more from him than I did from any of my other classes, classes where I was covering nominally "novel" material.
This is what it's like living in a "lost state". A "lost state" is more concerned about giving the appearance of success than of success itself. When I lived in Kentucky, when you drove into the state they had a big sign that said "Kentucky - where education pays!" From that I learned that whenever a locality puts up a sign on a particular issue, they are alerting you to a problem they have no idea how to handle. Please do not ever move to a town where the city limits have a sign saying that they do not tolerate domestic violence.
In a "lost state", the cost of living is very low. A very low percentage of people have a college education. Even when they do, jobs for them may or may not exist. I worked for a small company here in Indiana for seven years. For a long time our entire logistics department consisted of people with masters degrees or higher. We didn't really offer anything in the way of benefits, and the pay we offered wasn't very good either, but it was more than enough to get by here. My wife and I probably could even have bought a house here if we wanted.
"Lost states" are politically controlled by Republicans. They gerrymander and stack the deck, but even if the Republicans didn't do this they would easily have local supermajorities, because they not only control the majority of the people but the vast majority of the land. And the politics of these Republicans are the politics of resentment. They blame the cities, think of us as "rootless cosmopolitans", and their policies are specifically designed to weaken and punish us. They are suffering, and we can't help them, so they want us to share their pain.
States that are not "lost" have local resources to help them deal with problems and crises. I lived in Florida for three years, and during that time went through four major hurricanes. The experience quickly became routine, because after Hurricane Andrew in 1992 the state of Florida got very, very serious about mitigating hurricane damage. They strengthened building codes. They put robust emergency procedures in place. You get a bad hurricane and it does a lot of damage. Roofs everywhere are covered with blue tarps. Nobody has power for weeks and business shuts down while everybody sweats. But this is all right, because people are prepared for the emergency, and because the state acts strongly to deal with it.
So when I saw what happened with Katrina, when I saw how people were blaming the federal government for not helping, I saw that the federal government was helping them about as much as they helped Florida. The difference wasn't that FEMA was doing a materially worse job, it was that there was no support and aid on the state level in Louisiana, because Louisiana is a Lost State.
In fact, Lost States rely more on federal aid than a "blue state". They don't have the infrastructure to take care of themselves. Compare that to California, which, Californians will very quickly and saltily note to you, pays out more in federal tax than they receive back in services.
And the Republican representatives for Lost States, one of their strongest and most strongly supported beliefs is to end federal aid, wipe out taxes to fund the government, end public services, except for military services. One has to assume that the leaders, at least, know what they are doing, although if these policies have an end goal more specific than "making America great again" none of these representatives seem ever to have expressed it, and I certainly have no desire to put words in their mouths.
I will say, though, that in America we do see this combination of ethnic self-pride and determination for self-reliance. We see it on Native American lands - what gringos like me sometimes call "Indian reservations". And when I try to imagine what is going to happen to these "lost states", I do think that it is likely to be dogged by many of the same serious long-term problems experienced at present on Native American lands.
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