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Neighbors’ Signs and Our Swings

We went for our typical walk this evening — a route that wanders primarily through the neighborhood on the other side of the main-ish street off of which several neighborhoods spiral. As we walked by a house, a man came up to us saying that he’d been meaning to meet us several times he’s seen us go by. It seems he’s quite the border collie fan and has noticed our cute pup as we walk by. We got to talking and talk turned to corona. He pointed to a sign in his yard — not quite like the sign at right but the same general idea — and said, “I guess it’s obvious where I stand.”

I glanced over at the sign in his neighbor’s yard. I found myself wondering how they get along. I know for a fact that my views are more liberal than our neighbors’ views, but I tend not to talk about politics with them. When the topic does come up, I might make a non-committal comment every now and then, but by and large, I keep my views to myself.

It’s not that I think they’ll be angered that I have different views than they hold. It’s not that I fear damaging the relationship we have (though I wonder if they might not think less of me were they to know what I think of our president). I just don’t see the point in adding politics into a relationship like that.

It reminds me of Frost’s line, “Good fences make good neighbors,” and while I don’t necessarily agree with the sentiment, I would say good fences make great backyards. As do swings, hammocks, trampolines, dogs, and tennis balls.

Opportunity

Rarely do such stark opportunities emerge to rise to one’s professed principles or to sink to rank hypocrisy as this moment for Republicans. What will it be? Will they prove themselves to be a party of principle or a party interested only in gathering unto itself increasing political power? Will they, now that the shoe is on the other foot, treat Democrats as they demanded they be treated in 2016?

That’s the real irony of this looming crisis: Republicans wrap themselves in the pages of the Bible, proclaiming themselves to be the vanguard of all that’s decent — according to their definition of the term, which is always couched in religious ideals. But when it comes down to it, they are no more interested in principles or basic decency than your average thug.

In Armando Iannucci’s brilliant The Death of Stalin, there’s a telling scene in which Lavrentiy Beria, facing his own doom, demands to be treated in accordance with the law and then begs for mercy. In his brutal career, he faced such pleas countless times, I’m sure, and he always responded with barbarity and cruelty. When he lost power, he begged for just that which he would not give to others.

Lindsey Graham, Mitch McConnell, Marco Rubio, and Ted Cruz are on record:

So when Mitch McConnell said “President Trump’s nominee will receive a vote on the floor of the United States Senate,” he showed himself to be perhaps the best, clearest example of a hypocrite that one could imagine. It’s hard to envision a more clear-cut case of blatant, power-grabbing hypocrisy than what we’re witnessing now in the Republican party.

Any Congressional Republicans who go along with this show their constituency that they are not individuals of their words, that they are the basest liars, that they should not be entrusted with any power, and on the basis of principle alone, their Republican constituents should vote them out.

Will this happen? Of course not. Why won’t Republicans do this? Because the Republican party no longer exists. It is a party of only one principle, and that’s power. Republican states are no longer red states (Isn’t it ironic that the color for Republicans is the color associated with communism? Isn’t it ironic how cozy our current Republican president is with the Russian leader trying desperately to reconstitute Soviet power?); they are orange states, to match the hue of their lord and savior.

“The Names”

A poem by Billy Collins for the first anniversary of the 9/11 attacks

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name —
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner —
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O’Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening — weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds —
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

Assumptions

We go through our lives with basic assumptions that we often never question. Some of those assumptions are small, relatively insignificant; others involve reality on a global scale.

Take for instance the Cold War: growing up, I never thought it would end. And yet it did. I never would have conceived of the Soviet Union not existing; and it’s been gone close to thirty years now.

What about the threat of Germany? We mostly thought some kind of far-right resurgence could never happen — at least I always thought that. At least in my adulthood. In my childhood — that’s a different story. At any rate, an interesting article appeared in the New York Times the other day about just what I have thought all my adult life is impossible:

One central motivation of the extremists has seemed so far-fetched and fantastical that for a long time the authorities and investigators did not take it seriously, even as it gained broader currency in far-right circles.

Neo-Nazi groups and other extremists call it Day X — a mythical moment when Germany’s social order collapses, requiring committed far-right extremists, in their telling, to save themselves and rescue the nation.

Today Day X preppers are drawing serious people with serious skills and ambition. Increasingly, the German authorities consider the scenario a pretext for domestic terrorism by far-right plotters or even for a takeover of the government.

“I fear we’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg,” said Dirk Friedriszik, a lawmaker in the northeastern state of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania, where Nordkreuz was founded. “It isn’t just the KSK. The real worry is: These cells are everywhere. In the army, in the police, in reservist units.”

New York Times

I’m such an anti-conspiracy theorist that I forget that people actually do conspire sometimes…

The Beginning of Something Big

Perhaps it was because almost no one went to church this morning: Papa is still not feeling confident enough in his strength to risk it, L was sick, and K was worried that E would be too tough to control and keep in the same line she was planning for herself at church: touch nothing, nothing at all.

Perhaps it was the simple anticipation of an announcement we all knew was coming. “My guess is they’ll try to get through the next couple of weeks, then send everyone home for an early spring break,” K said last week. “Or at least through next week — it is a short week with Friday being a scheduled teacher work day.” Still, with all the alarm over the potential of this pandemic, we knew an announcement would likely come this afternoon or evening.

At any rate, when the announcement came at 2:30 that the governor would have a press conference at 4:00, we knew what was up.

Once that happened, I jumped on the computer and loaded up my book request queue to get some books from the local library system before everything shut down for good. Everyone else is hoarding toilet paper. I want to make sure I have something to read.

After that (and only after — priorities), I began checking my work email regularly. Finally, this: “The Governor has just announced all schools in South Carolina will close immediately in response to COVID-19. As you know, we have been preparing for this eventuality.”

What will we be doing? Is this vacation? Of course not, nor should it be:

At this point in the closure, teachers must be available during normal working hours throughout the closure to respond to student questions beginning Wednesday. Teachers are paid for this time and are required to be responsive and accessible via electronic means. […] During the closure teachers should catch up on paperwork, data entry, grading, or electronically delivered professional development. This will also be a great opportunity to plan for accelerating lessons upon students’ return.

Yet how much actual learning will be possible during this time? I have students who are motivated to work only when I’m standing over them, and one or two who don’t even work then. What will they do during this extended period of distance learning?

We’ll find out tomorrow.

Virus

And like that, everyone is living with the effects of a pandemic. The Girl’s tournament this week will almost certainly be canceled, and we aren’t going even if it isn’t: our club owner made an executive decision that no Excell teams will be playing there. USA volleyball recommended the cancellation of all tournaments, but the tournament organizers didn’t cancel. “I put the girls’ safety above everything else,” he said in a team meeting this evening after practice. “The NBA has stopped playing; universities have virtually closed down; schools are closing. It’s just not responsible to go.” And we all shook our heads in agreement.

It also puts into question our summer trip to Poland. It’s still three months away, but who knows how this will play out.

It’s gotten me to thinking macabre thoughts, though, about a potential pandemic a few years in the future that seems inevitable. A pandemic that, if it comes to pass, will have been completely preventable. The permafrost is melting due to rising temperatures, which in turn are due to our shortsightedness, past and present. Trapped within that permafrost are microbes that have been locked away from immunological history for millennia. When they get out, what will happen? In my mind, the worst-case scenario would make the present fears about coronavirus seem like the naive good old days.

Always the pessimist…

Hyper-partisanship

I saw this the other day, and I can’t really stop thinking about it.

This could, of course, go both ways: a supporter or opponent of Trump could post this, but the old acquaintance who posted this is, I think, a fairly staunch Trump supporter.

I usually refrain from saying much of anything on social media these days except to share pictures of the family with other family members, but I couldn’t let this one alone for some reason. Or rather, I chose not to.

“So now we’re reveling in hyper-partisanship and its destructive effects on relationships?” I asked. A bit provocative? Unduly sarcastic? I tried to be neither.

The response: “You’re more than welcome to unfriend me if you can’t handle my opinions 😊.”

I thought about that response for a while. Was she perhaps hoping I would do so? I don’t know. But it made me realize that that’s what the whole enterprise is about: politicize your feed to the point that people who have different political views just no longer think it’s worth their time to wade your stuff. In this case, she would probably see it as “getting rid of the snowflakes;” a liberal might define it as “getting rid of the wingnuts.”

“Oh, there’s no problem handling them,” I replied. “Just leaves me shaking my head that politics defines (and then breaks) so much today.”

Party Allegiance

9/11 Anniversary

It’s odd that today is the anniversary of the most significant and deadly terrorist attack in US history and I’ve heard almost nothing about it and I’ve read almost nothing about it in the press. Eighteen is a somewhat odd anniversary. Ten years, fifteen years, twenty years — these are significant because, well, I guess they’re half decades. But eighteen? Doesn’t have the same kind of significance — doesn’t feel that way, anyway.

It’s difficult to believe it’s been eighteen years. I’d just moved back to Poland, and for me, that’s what’s more difficult to believe: it’s been almost twenty years since I moved back to Poland after those two wonderful yet horrid years in Boston. That’s such a central period of my life, so significant, and I tend to organize my life around that as a milestone — when I had the courage to follow my inner voice, to do what seemed like the crazy yet right thing to do. I had a girlfriend; I was engaged; I had a great job making great money in computer programming; I lived in arguably the best city in the States, a city that feels small but has everything a big city has to offer. And I gave it all up and went back to Poland — what a crazy thing to do.

The attack itself — what a strange day. I remember coming back from school and trying to figure out what Pani Barnas was saying, something about a plane hitting a building, some kind of terrible accident. It was around four o’clock in the afternoon, so that made it 10 in the morning here. That would have been sometime between the two towers getting hit. I have a memory of watching the second plane hit the tower on live TV. Karol had stepped into the other room and I called him back: “Popacz,” I said, as if there were any other reason to call him back.

These kids were still four or five years from being born. What a thing to make you feel old. The kids I teach now weren’t even alive: I can’t ask, “Where were you when 9/11” happened. “Not even born yet,” they answer. That makes it like something that happened in, say, 1967 for me. I can’t think of anything significant that happened then. Was that when Israel was fighting one of its many wars of the 60s? Was that the Six Day War? Can’t remember.

Conspiracy Theories

From Anne Applebaum’s latest article in The Atlantic:

The emotional appeal of a conspiracy theory is in its simplicity. It explains away complex phenomena, accounts for chance and accidents, offers the believer the satisfying sense of having special, privileged access to the truth. But—once again—separating the appeal of conspiracy from the ways it affects the careers of those who promote it is very difficult. For those who become the one-party state’s gatekeepers, for those who repeat and promote the official conspiracy theories, acceptance of these simple explanations also brings another reward: power. (Source)

The conspiracy theories swirling around in Poland right now about who was responsible for the disaster at Smolensk includes thought Jews were somehow responsible, that the Russians did it, that the previous administration — kind of like the deep state conspiracy theory in the States — was responsible don’t at first appear similar to the conspiracy theories in the States like birtherism, Pizzagate, and the malicious omnipotence of George Soros. But Applebaum’s article points out some frightening similarities in the central commonality of all these conspiracy theories: the politicians who encourage and spread them do so as part of a mechanism to solidify power.

It’s been happening in Poland for some time now, and Applebaum’s article draws some parallels with how such thinking developed in Poland and led to an unquestioned leaning away from democracy. Both countries have experienced a demonization of the press, with our own president going so far as to call it the enemy of the people. A free press is only the enemy of someone with totalitarian aspirations, someone who looks at demagogues admiringly. Both countries are incredibly polarized with differing definitions even of the truth. Civil discussion has become all but impossible for many, and the article discusses how these political differences have divided and broken families. I’m sure it’s happened here in the States as well.

The article is worth a read.

Eulogy for the Ages

No matter what one thinks of him, Obama’s eulogy for John McCain was absolutely masterful. It is undoubtedly one of the best speeches I’ve heard in a long time.

What struck me most was this line: “We never doubted we were on the same team.” Such a difference from so many politicians and pundits who constantly demonize the other side.

Another standout passage:

So much of our politics, our public life, our public discourse can seem small and mean, and petty. Trafficking and bombast, and insult, and phony controversies, and manufactured outrage.

It’s a politics that pretends to be brave, and tough, but in fact is born of fear.

John called on us to be bigger than that — he called on us to better than that.

It’s a speech for the ages, sure to be included in anthologies of eulogies in the future.