Not to Praise, But to Bury

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As another elder statesman dies and the nation is caught in the grip of another bout of panegyrics, it’s worth stepping back to concentrate on the individual lives that they touched during their time in the halls of power. For George Herbert Walker Bush, specifically, that means considering also the plight of Keith Jackson.

In 1989, Jackson was a high school senior in Anacostia, southeast DC, living in one of the worst zip codes in the country. Like many of his peers, Jackson was a low-level drug dealer, one of the smallest cogs in a larger machine, like the Baltimore towers in The Wire. Crucially, he had reached his 18th birthday when the federal government started setting him up for a presidential publicity stunt.

See, George Bush, seemingly desperate to prove he was man enough to live up to his successor, wanted a set piece to kick off his own extension of Reagan’s War on Drugs. So his staff came up with the idea of busting someone for selling crack cocaine—still the drug warrior’s enemy of choice—in the shadow of the White House.

Bush demanded more cops to arrest drug dealers, more prosecutors to seek harsher penalties for them, and more prisons to hold all the extra convicts.

DEA agents offered up Jackson as a patsy. He’d been on their radar for months—so if selling drugs in and of itself was really such a big deal, they could have grabbed him at any point (and then he’d be replaced by another young slinger with no other prospects, and then another, ad infinitum). No, he was only worth it if he could be sacrificed for a higher purpose, like making a weedy, “wimpy” Massachusetts desk-occupier look like a tough guy. That purpose in hand, the undercover DEA agent on Jackson’s case asked him to meet at Lafayette Park, promising an extra premium to lure Jackson to Northwest DC, where black residents of the city almost never went. (As a measure of how stratified and segregated DC society was at the time — not to mention how complete the failure of the educational system — when the undercover DEA agent asked Jackson to meet him in the park across from the White House, Jackson didn’t know where that was until piecing together that it was “where Reagan lives,” and he was hesitant to make the trip because one thing he did know is how much greater the police presence would be in Official DC.)

The purchase took place on September 1, and on September 5 Bush was holding up a plastic baggie of crack cocaine during a White House address, noting that it had been “seized” (not bought) just across the street. He demanded more cops to arrest drug dealers, more prosecutors to seek harsher penalties for them, and more prisons to hold all the extra convicts. He got all of those things, often in connection with mandatory minimum laws that eliminated judicial discretion in sentencing (and which perpetuated a nonsensical divide in sentencing between powdered and crack cocaine, the burden of which fell almost entirely on the black community).

If George Bush ever cared about those whose lives didn’t intersect with his, he certainly never showed it.

Keith Jackson was one of those who fell prey to a mandatory minimum. The DEA arrested him, not at the sale for whatever reason, but immediately after Bush’s speech. After his first two trials ended in hung juries, a third trial saw him convicted and sentenced to a legally-mandated decade in prison without parole. The judge in the case, uncomfortable with the mode of Jackson’s entrapment, urged him to ask the president for a commutation. But Bush had almost immediately washed his hands of the matter: facing criticism from a variety of sources including even those had a stake in the Drug War’s continuance (like the head of the city’s police union), Bush said, “I cannot feel sorry for [Jackson]. I’m sorry, they ought not to be peddling these insidious drugs that ruin the children of this country.” And so, for the crime of selling 2.4 grams of crack cocaine to another consenting adult in a place where there had been no recorded drug busts in the past, Keith Jackson served almost eight years in prison.

What happened to him after that point is not known. One doubts that Bush ever dwelt on Jackson or any other of the thousands affected by yet another surge in the War on Drugs—young men and occasionally women losing their futures to ruthless sentencing guidelines and the economic incentives of incarceration, or often just their lives to police enforcement or to the criminal turf wars that invariably follow the artificial limiting of a highly in-demand substance. Add in the families and communities that depended on this suddenly absent and incarcerated generation, and it’s hundreds of thousands if not millions.

But if Bush ever cared about those whose lives didn’t intersect with his, he certainly never showed it, as the Iraqi people had ample opportunity to learn. In the rush to war with one-time American ally (indeed, almost appointee) Saddam Hussein over the invasion of Kuwait, Bush infamously allowed himself to be swayed by the testimony of a supposed refugee of the conflict, known only as Nayirah, who spoke of Iraqi soldiers raiding Kuwaiti hospitals, pulling prematurely born infants out of incubators and tossing them aside to die. By the time it was discovered that Nayirah was actually the daughter of the Kuwaiti ambassador to the U.S., and the entire thing had been organized by an American PR firm in the employ of the Kuwaiti government, the war was already over — though its repercussions will persist long after our lifetimes.

Between his year directing the CIA and his time as vice president, he was involved in some of the most notorious operations run through the US government: Operation Condor, the School of the Americas, the Iran-Contra affair.

An estimated 100,000 Iraqi soldiers and an unknown number of civilians were killed in that first Gulf War, with the particular highlight of the Highway of Death, in which American forces blockaded and massacred retreating Iraqi forces, as well as any civilians unfortunate enough to be within cluster bomb range. Content with this level of slaughter, Bush called off hostilities the next day—a point in his favor, perhaps, when compared to those overseeing the unceasing carnage of today’s forever wars. But Bush hardly had clean hands before this, having already orchestrated an illegal invasion of Panama. Between his year directing the CIA and his time as vice president, he was involved in some of the most notorious operations run through the US government: Operation Condor, the School of the Americas, the Iran-Contra affair; it will be decades though, if ever, before we learn just how deeply he was implicated.

There’s much else to dislike about the elder Bush and the legacy he is leaving behind, in particular his enablement of many awful people. You can draw a direct line from his campaign manager Lee Atwater and his infamous Willie Horton ad to the race-baiting scare tactics used by Donald Trump. A look at Bush’s administrative appointees reveals many of the big names—Dick Cheney, Paul Wolfowitz, Donald Rumsfeld — who would go on to botch the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts, all the while pushing for ever more wars on ever more fronts. (Which is not even to mention his son who, in signing off on Gulf War Redux, committed what is thus far the greatest geopolitical blunder of the century.) You could talk also about his surrender to the tax-and-spenders on budget issues, or to the Religious Right about gay rights. You could also give him credit where it’s due: for handling the end of the Cold War with flexibility and grace, for committing himself to promoting volunteerism and community service, for not following in the footsteps of his father, Prescott Bush, and signing on to any half-baked fascist coups against the US government.

All this, at least the good stuff, or the bad stuff that various media figures want to recast as good, will be gone over ad infinitum. But when you see the footage of his funerals, when you take in the official outpouring of grief that is increasingly mandatory on such occasions, when above all you hear anyone talking about how George H.W. Bush advocated for a “kinder, gentler conservatism,” spare a thought for Keith Jackson. It’s more than Bush ever did.



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The Great Anti-Climax

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I do not believe in the saying that “all politics is local.” If that’s true, why are we always getting into wars in other countries? But during this election cycle I was very interested in California, which is my own locale.

As predicted, California elected as its next governor one Gavin Newsom, a wealthy former mayor of San Francisco and currently lieutenant governor of the state, who is about as smart as the average doorknob. This was a year in which handsome men were thought to have an enormous advantage; they seemed to remind people of John F. Kennedy, who when you think about it was handsome only when compared with Dwight D. Eisenhower. Newsom is handsome-for-a-politician, but that’s not why he won. He won because the Republican Party in this state dissolved about a decade ago, giving place to a fairly well-oiled Democracy run by the state employees’ unions. The surprise is that Newsom’s opponent, a small-government tax hawk named John Cox, received 41% of the vote and was considered a remote possibility to win. Cox was an excellent campaigner and got his votes by himself, with little help from a rumored “Republican Party.”

The same amount of help was rendered by that party to the biggest ballot initiative, Prop 6, which would have rolled back a large tax increase imposed in 2017 by the Democratic legislature, supposedly to “fix the roads.” When people list the core items that they expect to see in any state budget, roads usually rank first or second. But not in California. The money that should go for roads — even money granted by the voters in previous ballot propositions — goes instead for bike lanes, parks, and other “environmental” matters, and for astronomical employee salaries. (I don’t mean that the employees are astronomers; if they were, they might actually do some work. California is a place where people often have to wait seven hours to do their business at the DMV.) Before the latest tax increase, California already had the highest gas taxes in the nation; now they are higher. The new gas tax is one of the most regressive imaginable. It means that breadwinners have to pay the government about $400 a year, extra, or not be allowed to drive to work.

This was a year in which handsome men were thought to have an enormous advantage.

Prop 6 was designed to end this tax and not let it happen again. It was the brainchild, not of the Republican Party, but of a gay, hyper-energetic San Diego talk show host, Carl DeMaio, who is very good at pushing a cause. Pre-election surveys indicated, predictably, that two-thirds of voters were in favor of a proposition rolling back the gas tax. But Prop 6 went down, 45 to 55. Why? Because the Democratic secretary of state entitled and summarized it as an attack on road repair:

ELIMINATES CERTAIN ROAD REPAIR AND TRANSPORTATION FUNDING. REQUIRES CERTAIN FUEL TAXES AND VEHICLE FEES BE APPROVED BY THE ELECTORATE. INITIATIVE CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT.

SUMMARY

Repeals a 2017 transportation law's taxes and fees designated for road repairs and public transportation. Fiscal Impact: Reduced ongoing revenues of $5.1 billion from state fuel and vehicle taxes that mainly would have paid for highway and road maintenance and repairs, as well as transit programs.

Note that telltale “as well as transit programs,” which clearly indicated, to anyone who read that far, that the money, as usual, would be spent on other things than fixin’ the roads. California voters didn’t read that far.

Yet while naïve voters were killing Prop 6, they were also killing Prop 10, which would have permitted and encouraged more than 500 local governments to impose rent control on the helpless population. They voted this one down by 62 to 38.

Large majorities on each side. Why? How? I don’t know. You tell me.

Note that telltale “as well as transit programs,” which clearly indicated, to anyone who read that far, that the money, as usual, would be spent on other things than fixin’ the roads.

Turning now to the nation at large: we’ll see whether there was a blue wave or a red wave when we see some kind of sophisticated, non-axe-grinding study of voters. We may wait a long time for that. In the meantime, we can say that if there was a blue wave, there was a red wave to meet it.

But remember: most congressional races in this country were decided on the yaller-dog principle: “Some people will vote for a yaller dog as long as he’s on the Democratic [or Republican] ticket.” That’s how New Jersey Democratic Senator Robert (“Bob”) Menendez got reelected, 53 to 42, despite his public repute as a crook and not a smart or likable one, either. And that’s how California House District 50 (eastern San Diego County) got decided. The Republican incumbent, Duncan Hunter, to whom nobody ever gave much credit for brains, is under federal indictment for using about $250,000 of campaign money for vacations, eating and drinking, “personal relationships,” and other fun, though basically penny-ante, stuff. His Democratic opponent was Ammar Campa-Najjar, age 29, another one of this year’s handsome young men. Until Hunter’s indictment, Campa-Najjar, a former Obama organizer and scion of a family of Palestinian enragés, was a purely sacrificial candidate for the Republican 50th. Hunter’s indictment united almost everyone in the county, Republican and Democrat, in scorning and deriding Hunter; it dried up his campaign money and unleashed a deluge of funds for Campa-Najjar, who is said to have spent ten times more money than Hunter. But it was all for nothing. Hunter’s district was safe Republican, and remained such. He was reelected 54 to 46.

Nationwide, a lot of electoral activity consisted simply of voters returning to their natural allegiance. Missouri, North Dakota, Indiana, Tennessee — these are Republican states, and it was strange that they should have Democratic senators to begin with, or (in the case of Tennessee) that they should consider having one now. In other states, where there were real contests, the vote could usually have gone either way; the outcome therefore didn’t mean much on the philosophical plane. I’m thinking of the Florida Senate and governor race, the Wisconsin governor race, the Arizona and Nevada Senate races, and even the Montana Senate race. I’m not thinking of the Texas race, where the Republican governor won overwhelmingly, while the Republican senator, Ted Cruz, won merely respectably. Cruz, who was up against another “handsome,” “Kennedyesque,” but also overbearing “young” man, is virtually the only politician in the country who is less likable than Hillary Clinton. His Democratic foe had so much out-of-state money that he couldn’t think of ways to spend it all. But Cruz won — because Texas is Texas and Robert (“Beto”) O’Rourke is not.

Most congressional races in this country were decided on the yaller-dog principle: “Some people will vote for a yaller dog as long as he’s on the Democratic [or Republican] ticket.”

In Massachusetts, voters went overwhelmingly for a politician even less likable than Cruz, Elizabeth Warren; they also went overwhelmingly for the Republican gubernatorial incumbent. Maryland also voted Democrat for almost everything except its governor. The expression “the bland leading the bland” may apply; remember that Mitt Romney is a former governor of the People’s Republic of Massachusetts as well as a former Republican nominee for president. Romney was born in Michigan, has lived mainly in California, was governor of Massachusetts, and has now been elected a senator from Utah — a remarkable career of disaffiliation. Anywhere he hangs his hat is home, for now.

I don’t know enough about the folkways of Massachusetts and Maryland to guess why they elect conservatives to the statehouse and liberals to other offices; maybe the conservatives and the liberals are both members of the Faux Party, and the electorate loves and cherishes them for that reason. I do know that there isn’t any basis for another piece of folk wisdom, just now being uttered ad nauseam — the idea that the American people split their tickets between parties because they want balanced and limited government. Chris Stirewalt, a person who masquerades for Fox News as a political analyst, said on election night that there is “a preference among Americans for divided government.” Stirewalt instanced the coming Democratic House and Republican Senate.

This is so fatuous, it’s hard to find words for it. The completely safe districts that elect 80% of Congress are not populated by people who vote for a Democratic congressman and a Republican senator in order to preserve balanced government. When it comes to Congress — and usually every other office — they vote a straight party line. We have divided government only because other people vote an opposing straight party line. There are exceptions, as in the Republicans elected to the governorships of Massachusetts and Maryland, but they are just that — exceptions. Californians did not vote for big government when they turned down Prop 6 and then vote for little government when they welcomed Prop 10 because they wanted to balance big and little government. They did it because they didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t read beyond the title of Prop 6 but for some unknown reason sensed that Prop 10 was a danger. We don’t have sheep and wolves because someone decides that sheep and wolves need to balance each other; we have sheep and wolves because sheep engender sheep and wolves engender wolves.

Mitt Romney was born in Michigan, has lived mainly in California, was governor of Massachusetts, and has now been elected a senator from Utah — a remarkable career of disaffiliation.

It seems that Trump did marginally better than most other presidents at limiting his midterm losses in Congress; he lost fewer House seats than the average, and he picked up at least one valuable Senate seat. But we can’t assume that “he” was the crucial factor. He had an effect, surely; he “energized” many voters for and against him. It’s my bet that the energized Democrats were going to show up and vote anyway, but many of the energized Republicans would have stayed home, had not Trump inspired them. Yet in some cases, “he” probably “won” races despite himself. Ron DeSantis, the Florida senatorial candidate whom Trump endorsed, probably had a harder time in the general election than his primary opponent would have had. DeSantis seems to have won the general election by only four-tenths of 1%. I doubt, however, that the (failed) Republican senatorial candidate in Montana would have gotten within three percentage points of his incumbent rival without Trump’s efforts.

But speaking of the Montana election, it came within perhaps 1000 votes of being swung by the finally unwilling candidacy of a big-L Libertarian, Rick Breckenridge, who got 2.8% of the vote despite having dropped out, late in the game, in favor of the Republican. The LP guy had been polling at about 4%, but when he left, many votes had already been cast. No one knows for sure, but I assume that LP votes in Montana come mainly out of the Republicans. Some Democrats in Montana assume that too, because they sent out mailers urging “true conservatives” to vote for Breckenridge instead of the Republican — tactics that led Breckenridge to endorse the Republican.

Contrary to constant press reports about the remarkable popularity of the Democratic incumbent, Jon Tester — “a rural Democrat who still connects with the people,” etc. — the Libertarian Party appears to have been responsible for electing him in both 2006 and 2012, years in which Tester’s margin of victory over his Republican opponent was .87 and 3.72%, respectively, and the LP candidate’s vote was 2.6 and 6.56. It is painful to ask this question, but is it the LP’s job to elect members of other parties?

When it comes to Congress — and usually every other office — most people vote a straight party line. We have divided government only because other people vote an opposing straight party line.

Donald Trump may be enjoying the prospect of the next two years. In the Senate, he has achieved a significantly more Trumpian majority — no more Flake, no more McCain (although Mitt Romney will be glad to obstruct any non-RINO programs). In the House, he has gone from a slim Republican majority, out of which he got nothing except the tax cut, to a slimmer Democratic majority. God’s gift to him is the Democrats’ custom of automatically awarding committee chairmanships by seniority, which means that most of the key positions will go to elderly and loquacious men and women elected from extremely safe districts — a recipe for disaster if the election of 2020 is nationalized, which it surely will be. Maxine Waters does not play well on the national stage. She plays a little bit better than Nancy Pelosi.

But certain it is that this election was God’s gift to people who write about politics and enjoy laughing at politicians. The cast is irresistible . . . Trump . . . Waters . . . Pelosi . . . Schiff . . Nadler . . . Warren . . . To paraphrase yet another old saw, “politics is a tragedy for those who think and a comedy for those who feel — that a lot of good jokes are coming.”




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Courting Disaster

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Even before the allegations of sexual misconduct surfaced, even before his prissy, petulant meltdown on live TV, even before he repeatedly perjured himself in response to fairly innocuous questions about juvenile sexual terms and the extent of his youthful drinking, Brett Kavanaugh was unfit to be appointed to the United States Supreme Court. The fact that he will shortly be confirmed to that post anyway says a great deal about the values of both parties at the present moment.

In a number of ways, Kavanaugh might look the part of a Supreme Court justice. He graduated from Yale Law, one of two, maybe three permissible schools for a justice to attend; he clerked for a Supreme Court justice (Anthony Kennedy, whose seat he is attempting to fill); and he did time in the US Circuit Court of Appeals in DC, widely regarded as the second-most powerful court in America. Yet compared to any of his peers with similar attainments, Kavanaugh does not stand out: both Merrick Garland and Neil Gorsuch, to name only the two most recent nominations, had more distinguished careers on the DC Circuit, and there are plenty of other appellate judges on other circuits who are both smarter and younger. So why was he appointed, and why did the GOP stand by him long after it became clear that his nomination was in danger?

The answer to both questions is that, as a party hack, Kavanaugh is without peer. His introduction to public life was as Ken Starr’s sidekick, chasing after feverish conspiracies like the supposed murder of Vince Foster, and writing much of the Starr Report urging impeachment of Bill Clinton as well as aggressive and explicit questioning of the president in the actual trial. (Note that Bill Clinton, like every other American president going back quite a ways, should have been impeached and imprisoned for war crimes, at the very least. But that’s another matter entirely.)

Why was Kavanaugh appointed, and why did the GOP stand by him long after it became clear that his nomination was in danger?

Kavanaugh then joined George W. Bush’s legal team in time to argue against the ballot recount in Florida; eventually he would be made White House Staff Secretary, responsible for all documents going to and returning from President Bush’s desk, as well as for coordinating policy makers and speechwriters. In this capacity, he would have had immense latitude to shape the legal doctrines that made the Bush presidency such a disaster: the prosecution of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, the internment of prisoners without due process in Guantanamo Bay and their torture in Abu Ghraib and a variety of other black sites around the world, the invocation of “national security” to justify warrantless surveillance and a vast expansion of domestic spying operations, the use of signing statements to exempt the president and the Homeland Security apparatus from actually being bound by any laws, et very much cetera.

It is difficult to know exactly how influential he was in his three years on the job because the Republicans controlling the Senate Judiciary Committee refused to request or review more than a tiny fraction of the relevant records; it seems unavoidable though that he was one of the central figures in the development and prosecution of the War on Terror, not to mention such culture-war efforts as those to ban gay marriage and restrict abortion. His service to the party earned him many friends, as well as his appointment to the DC appellate circuit, where he would continue his work to expand the power of the imperial presidency.

However, it took three years for Kavanaugh to get confirmed, because Democrats worried that someone so near the heart of the Bush administration might not aspire to impartiality when it came to questions of executive power or national security. And he set about proving them right, in opinions supporting the government’s vast warrantless surveillance program, defending the use of military tribunals and the removal of what few legal protections were left for Gitmo detainees, and giving the FBI and military free rein to torture even American citizens swept up in terror operations.

As a party hack, Kavanaugh is without peer.

Worse, Kavanaugh established himself quickly as perhaps the most hardline circuit judge with respect to criminal justice. In a speech last year to the American Enterprise Institute, Kavanaugh said he admired William H. Rehnquist’s attempts to eliminate Fourth Amendment protections, in particular the exclusionary rule preventing unlawfully obtained evidence from being admitted in trial, and the established Miranda rights requiring police to inform arrestees of rights including representation. From the bench, Kavanaugh has made his own contributions to this cause, among them a denial that attaching a GPS to a suspect’s vehicle constituted a search, a refusal to consider the lack of probable cause as any barrier to a random search, and a rejection of any limit on the qualified immunity granted to police. Kavanaugh’s preferred world, like Rehnquist’s (and unlike Kennedy’s), is one in which the police would be even more empowered than they are today, where the painfully slow pushback of the last few years against police and prosecutor misconduct, as well as against the wider United States prison gulag system, would effectively be wiped out.

There’s plenty more, but I won’t labor the analysis here; you can read his record as well as I can. The point to be gathered is Kavanaugh’s devotion to Republican Party policy, and in particular to the validation of his work on the greatest blunder in contemporary geopolitical history, the US War on Terror. And that rehabilitation campaign is one in which the Democrats are fully complicit—not just in the reliable bipartisan support for treasury-wrecking outlays on defense, but also in more personally galling ways such as the media airbrushing of George W. Bush, making him a kindly grandfather figure who pals around with Michelle Obama, rather than a war criminal whose conscience obviously isn’t burdened by the hundreds of thousands of people who died and the millions more who continue to suffer because of his decisions.

This is a big part of why the Republicans are so desperate to have Kavanaugh rather than any other nominee: his confirmation will mark another stage in the normalization of our nightmare of endless war. But it’s also why the institutional Democrats, this time around, refused to go after him on policy issues: their future lobbying prospects depend on cozy relations with weapons manufacturers and the thinktanks authoring white papers in support of ever more, and ever more expensive, conflict.

Kavanaugh’s preferred world is one in which the police would be even more empowered than they are today.

(It’s likely also why they refused to inquire further into any sources of funding underlying Kavanaugh; it’d be hard to find a figure in Washington without some source of dark-money funds underwriting them. The mystery of how Kavanaugh had hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt mysteriously wiped out, or how he afforded his country club fees or bought a house beyond his means, is probably attributable to wealthy family members writing him checks. But there’s much larger-scale questions to be asked about the dark money pouring into groups like the Judicial Crisis Network, which banked $28.5 million from one undisclosed donor alone and backed Kavanaugh, like Gorsuch before him, to the hilt. Obviously Kavanaugh wasn’t going to betray any knowledge of the identity of his benefactors, but it would have been good to get him on the record, under oath, denying it.)

So the Dems were left with his boorish high school and college behavior, which isn’t disqualifying; the accusations of assault, which would be, but which would be near impossible to demonstrate to the point of changing anyone’s mind; and his lies under oath, which should rule him out entirely but clearly won’t. Not many people, certainly not those with congressional voting privileges, were really concerned about him growing up an entitled brat or being generally a dick in his early years; many of them are dicks themselves, and certainly all of them are familiar with the awful DC-suburb prep schools that incubate Kavanaugh’s ilk. If he owned to that, he could even spin it into a narrative that in Catholic circles dates back to Augustine at least: the dissolute youth made good. But he insisted on presenting himself as some kind of goody-two-shoes, too busy studying and playing wholesome team sports to do much partying, and too uncool to be invited to too many parties even if he wasn’t hitting the books. His bizarre insistence on declaring himself a longtime virgin—as if that had any bearing on the commission of sexual assault!—typified the overcorrection; plenty of other people regret who they were in high school, it’s relatable, but he refused to relate it.

The institutional Democrats refused to go after him on policy issues: their future lobbying prospects depend on cozy relations with weapons manufacturers and the support of ever more, and ever more expensive, conflict.

The odder outbursts of his testimony—the ones that lost him the support of former Justice John Paul Stevens, Lawfare blogger Benjamin Wittes, and a few thousand members of the America Bar Association, among others—seemed attached to questions about his drinking, especially his nasty retort to Amy Klobuchar when she asked about him about blacking out. It’s a relevant question: if you drink to blackout point, you might do something and truly believe you didn’t, because you would have no memory of that action. But Kavanaugh, who by the accounts of many had the reputation of a heavy drinker even at a heavy-drinking prep school and college, thought it better to turn around that question, a move recognizable to anyone who’s ever confronted a friend or family member on similar grounds.

Kavanaugh’s performance was so bad—and maybe worse, weird—that it suddenly looked like the 51-seat Republican majority might crack. In play now were Susan Collins (R-ME), who had previously agreed to support any candidate from a list provided by the Federalist Society; Lisa Murkowski (R-AK), whose support usually could be secured by federal monies heading to her state; and above all Jeff Flake (R-AZ), who exemplified the so-called “never Trump” Republican by loudly declaiming against the president’s bearing before voting for almost every one of his policies. Several of the conservative Democrats who crossed party lines for Gorsuch after the Republicans nuked the filibuster rule for the consideration of Supreme Court justices—Heidi Heitkamp (D-ND) and Joe Donnelly (D-IN)—would declare themselves as “No” votes, leaving only Joe Manchin (D-WV) to keep it from the rarity of a purely party-line vote for a Supreme Court nominee.

Flake, for the merest of moments touched by something approaching a conscience (or perhaps just aware of how footage of him callously shutting an elevator door on sexual-assault survivors might play in the 2024 presidential primaries), called for an FBI investigation into the claims. What followed was a brilliant, extremely cynical tactical move by the GOP: after Flake in his original statement called for a week-long span, the White House placed additional restrictions on the investigation (even as the president tweeted lies about there being no restrictions).

What followed may be perhaps most cursory, slapdash FBI investigation ever—not the most unethical, Lord knows, but usually the feds have some sort of standards even when they set out to destroy someone’s life. After three days, the FBI announced they were wrapping up; they had interviewed only 11 people, including neither of the principals—Christine Blasey Ford being set to one side as seemingly irrelevant, and Kavanaugh himself being placed firmly off limits, as were any questions relating to his consumption of alcohol now or decades back. I’m pretty sure I interview more people, and ask harder hitting questions, on an average afternoon at a Libertarian National Convention.

His performance was so bad—and maybe worse, weird—that it suddenly looked like the 51-seat Republican majority might crack.

The resulting report will not be available for any of us to read, not for decades, at least unless some future president declassifies it. In a process demonstrating the weird, cultish protocols that accrue in a cursed place like Congress, any senator wishing to read the report had to descend to the Capitol basement and view it in a room on complete lockdown, no cellphones or recording devices allowed, not even so much as a notebook. The process is a holdover from Obama’s early days, and is yet another example of how that regime’s lack of transparency enables the unapologetic opacity of this one, such that everyone entering the room was enjoined against discussing the contents of the report in any but the most general sense. But since it was merely a theatrical gesture to begin with, it was never going to change any minds. Certainly Flake felt like he now had the cover to do what he had wanted to do all along: vote yet again to support the agenda and nominee of the president he has said is “ruining our country” through “tribalism.” Once Collins was aboard—the supposedly pro-choice, “pro-woman” senator basking in the spotlight, taking almost an hour to justify supporting a candidate who will snap at the chance to restrict abortion in any way that presents itself—the scam was complete.

Throughout all this, at precisely the time (well after it, actually) when he should have been shutting up, Kavanaugh wrote a jaw-droppingly self-serving op-ed in the Wall Street Journal in which he apologized vaguely for “a few things I should not have said.” He didn’t say exactly what those things were, presumably among them the idea that this whole ordeal was “revenge on behalf of the Clintons” or the threatening statement that in US politics “what goes around comes around”—i.e., the precise sort of partisan motivation that the institution of the Supreme Court was designed to avoid. He tried to present these statements as “very emotional” moments—despite the fact that they were part of a prepared statement he had drilled on for days. As genres of apologies go, his fell in the “I’m sorry you made me do that, I won’t do it again (unless I have to)” camp familiar to many unhappy homes across the nation.  But any apology, however vaporous, was beside the point: the column was ultimately a presentation of Brett Kavanaugh’s personal mythology, the way he clearly sees himself and wishes to be seen.

In this statement, you can see why the Republicans are bound to Kavanaugh, why they can’t just jettison him and tap someone like Amy Coney Barrett, who would comparatively breeze through hearings and rule almost exactly the same way on the bench. Kavanaugh, more fully than any other contemporary figure, represents all sides of the Republican Party as presently constituted. He’s the Fox News side that spouts whatever conspiracy theories align with his personal grievances, and he’s the Wall Street Journal side who clings to the shreds of intellectual respectability by publishing in the house organ of the neoconservative thinktank Right. But the thing is, those sides have never really been at odds; they might dislike how the other goes about its business, but that business is one and the same: the expansion of unaccountable executive power, the tacit encouragement for government agents to abuse that power, the removal of any consequences when that power is inevitably abused, and the personal enrichment of everyone making possible all of the above.

As genres of apologies go, his fell in the “I’m sorry you made me do that, I won’t do it again (unless I have to)” camp familiar to many unhappy homes across the nation.

The Democrats share much of this central goal, and what they don’t share they’re too ineffective to actually counter; Chuck Schumer will surely go down as one of the most laughably weak opposition leaders in the congressional annals. Some Dems seem content to vote a tepid “No” and just let Kavanaugh be confirmed, possibly out of a belief it will help their election prospects in the midterms. But the Supreme Court is a lifetime appointment, and we can expect Kavanaugh, at 53, to be bolstering the powerful and blocking reform for two, maybe three decades to come, far beyond any temporary and likely illusory electoral advantage.

Expect to see a lot of handwringing about process in the days and weeks to come, much of it from the Republican side. Ignore the bad-faith invocations of “sexual McCarthyism,” especially from those who have had to pay a lot of money to make accounts of their own abusive behavior disappear. Know that the process they followed was to take a bad candidate, hide most of the documentation of his past, bumble through a crisis that would have sunk almost any previous nominee, put him through (or allow him to put himself through) a series of increasingly embarrassing media moments—any of which could have demonstrated his unfitness for a job requiring gravity and personal reserve—stage the most transparently flimsy of investigations, then ram his nomination home regardless.

This is nothing more than a demonstration of pure power politics, a statement of intent from a group of people who intend to get theirs without any recourse to process, or norms, or any of the other words that politicians use when they’re trying to disguise what they’re actually doing. The Republicans apparently don’t think they have to hide behind that anymore. They are comfortable in showing that this—cruel, cynical, conspiracy-minded operators, united behind a party hack who will do immense and lasting harm to the cause of liberty—is who they are. And, as the saying goes, when people show you who they are, believe them.



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The Kavanaugh Conflict

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Many years ago I was attending a conference where I knew most of the speakers socially. One morning I arrived for breakfast — or perhaps it was lunch or dinner; I remember distinctly that it was a circular booth, and I was the last to arrive. One of my friends asked what I thought about the space station on the moon. I scoffed. “There’s no space station on the moon,” I said.

The others reacted with derision. “Of course there is.” “How do you not know about it? It was a cover story in Time magazine!” Even my husband laughed incredulously at my ignorance. “Don’t you read the news?”

I remember feeling very stressed and very humiliated. I wracked my brain, trying to remember the story. And then I did. It clicked. I said, “Oh yeah, the biosphere experiment. They’ve been there for six months, right?”

The two stories mingled, and the memory felt real. I was certain I had read about a space station on the moon.

And they all began to laugh. “See, everyone lies when they think they’re the only one who doesn’t know something,” one of my friends said to the group.

But I hadn’t lied. Not if a lie is defined as deliberate deception. I thought I was telling the truth. My brain had mixed two stories: the one my friends were telling me now about a space station on the moon, and the articles I had read about a similar event, the biosphere experiment in Arizona. The two stories mingled, and the memory felt real. I was certain I had read about a space station on the moon. I could have passed a polygraph at that moment; that’s how sure I was. Moreover, my “memory” was being confirmed by people I trusted — including my husband, the person I should be able to trust above all others. Yes, I was wrong. But I wasn’t lying.

To them it was just a practical joke in the form of a psychological experiment. And they laughed it off. Maybe, if you asked them today, they wouldn’t remember. But I’ve never forgotten it. How could I have been so certain of something I hadn’t experienced?

In the past week I have been reminded of this repeatedly, as friends, newscasters, and political pundits have used Christine Blasey-Ford’s polygraph as evidence that she is telling the truth.

It is very possible that CBF was pawed and assaulted in the way she described. It’s even possible that it happened more than once.

I recently read of a psychological study demonstrating that under stressful or traumatic circumstances, the brain will scan its memory banks trying to make sense of the unsensible. It might be a protective measure, searching for a way to account for the traumatic event, or find a solution to the problem. In the process, memories can become mixed and details altered.

It is very possible that CBF was pawed and assaulted in the way she described. Based on the culture of partying boasted about in her high school yearbooks (which have been conveniently scrubbed from the school’s website in recent weeks), and confirmed by the fact that two men have come forward to say it might have been them, it’s even possible that it happened more than once, which would intensify her traumatic reaction.

However, there is no corroborating evidence to confirm that Brett Kavanaugh had anything to do with it. Yes, he was a drinker in high school, and yes, he attended parties. But every witness CBF has named has denied seeing any such incident. In fact, more than a hundred women who knew him in high school and college and in their professional lives have said that such an action would be completely out of character for him. No one who has known him since he became an adult has accused him of improprieties, and no one except Senate Democrats has accused him of being an alcoholic — including FBI agents who have conducted extensive background checks.

Now I’m going to say something that can (and probably will) be misconstrued as the “boys will be boys defense.” But that is not what I am about to argue.

No one who has known him since he became an adult has accused him of improprieties, and no one except Senate Democrats has accused him of being an alcoholic.

Events that happened when a person was a minor should expire after the statute of limitations has been reached. (And the assault that CBF described would not have been charged as a felony, even if she had reported it at the time, so yes, the statute has indeed run out on this incident.) There is a reason that minors are not tried as adults. As minors, we’re still malleable, still learning right from wrong and what kind of person we want to be. We’re still heavily influenced by those around us, whether it be teachers, parents, friends, teammates, or siblings. We might be taught to accept and act on values and customs about religion, politics, or gender expectations that, in later years, we will find abhorrent. It’s only in adulthood that we begin to examine the various influences and decide for sure which path we want to follow, which character traits we want to emulate and which values we want to eschew.

No 52-year-old man should be judged by what made him laugh when he was a schoolboy. And that’s what’s happening now. Many people still insist on believing that Judge Kavanaugh did everything he’s been charged with, despite the lack of evidence, despite his vehement denials, despite the emergence of two men who say they did what CBF says Kavanaugh did. Many others who initially opposed him now grudgingly acknowledge the lack of evidence, but still refuse to vindicate him. Instead, I’m hearing and reading that they don’t think someone who could be so “immature” and “emotional” and even “unhinged” should serve on the Supreme Court.

Well of course he was immature. He was 17 years old when the yearbook photos and jokes about flatulence and vomiting were written. He was not yet the 52-year-old man who has been nominated for the court. He is no longer that immature boy against whom so many people are expressing indignation.

As minors, we might be taught to accept and act on values and customs about religion, politics, or gender expectations that, in later years, we will find abhorrent.

And “unhinged”? “Emotional”? Who wouldn’t be emotional in this situation?

Imagine being accused of something heinous — something you are certain you did not do. At least if you’re guilty you can experience remorse and regret, show contrition, and beg for forgiveness. You can be angry at yourself as you watch your world crumble, knowing it was your own fault. But when you’re innocent? How do you express remorse for something you did not do? And how do you find forgiveness and understanding for those who falsely accuse you, and continue to accuse you even when all the evidence is refuted?

Now imagine bringing this attack into your home as your wife and sweet daughters and the girls you coach in basketball and your church family all have to bear the effects of those accusations. Imagine the pain of watching them suffer. It would take a veritable saint not to exhibit some anger and emotion over this situation. Even Jesus lost his temper during his ministry, when his “home” (the temple) was defiled.

The hypocrisy is obvious: if he had not shown emotion, those same people would now accuse him of being cold and uncaring. Why is it that Dr. Ford is deemed “believable” because she cried during her testimony, but Judge Kavanaugh is considered unhinged because he choked up? Is it because he’s a man? Or is it because they’re so set on not having Brett Kavanaugh seated as a Supreme Court Justice that they will grab at any excuse to discredit him?

Assault does matter. And it’s possible that Ford did experience what she described, although I don’t think Judge Kavanaugh is the one who did it. But there are two kinds of assault in this story: the physical assault CBF described, and the accusation Kavanaugh has endured. Each has its own traumatic consequences. A person who has been physically assaulted bears no blame in the incident; she can hold her head up as a victim or survivor or whatever she wants to call herself and go forward. But a person who has been falsely accused receives no such sympathy or support. Judge Kavanaugh will bear the consequences of this accusation for the rest of his life. Even if he is exonerated, it will stay with him. So in that sense, bearing false witness is a more serious crime than groping a girl at a party. It has ruined his reputation, his family, and his career. It will forever taint him, even if it isn’t true, because so many people will continue to believe he did it.

There are two kinds of assault in this story: the physical assault Ford described, and the accusation Kavanaugh has endured.

It didn’t have to be this way. Senator Feinstein could have brought it up in the private questioning and the other senators could have asked their questions without the public circus. The accusation is so flimsy, the accuser’s memory so hazy, that it should never have become the main issue in Kavanaugh’s nomination. I’m convinced that the Democratic senators expected, once the first accusation was made, that several other women would say “Me too” with more recent stories and stronger evidence. Ford would not even have had to testify, because Kavanaugh would have been forced to withdraw in shame. That, I believe, was the game plan. And it might have worked if Judge Kavanaugh weren’t such an honorable gentleman regarding women.

Because CBF is the “aggrieved plaintiff” in this case, we can’t impugn her character. We can’t examine her own drinking and partying habits, or her high school yearbook’s glorification of drinking and sex, as they did with Kavanaugh. We can’t wonder about her “fear of flying,” which never seems to have kept her from flying, or the fortune she has accrued in her GoFundMe account as a result of her claim. } We can’t bring up her political activism or other possible motivations. We have to treat her with kid gloves, because she is considered the victim.

This is a very unusual case in that the accused is adamant that it never happened. He is one of the few men recently accused of sexual misconduct not to use the excuse that “I thought it was consensual” or “she misunderstood my actions” or “it was a long time ago.” He said it never happened. And then doubled down with “I was a virgin.” That took a lot of confidence, because it meant that even consensual sex with a willing girlfriend would have made him guilty of perjury. I believe him.

None of what I have said here has any bearing on whether Kavanaugh would be a good Supreme Court justice. I like some of what I’ve heard, and I have reservations about other things. But at this point, I don’t care about the reservations. If the minority party — or either party — can get away with this kind of smutty tactic, then no man of character who cares about his reputation will ever be willing to run for office or serve on the court. And that would be a great loss to the goal of freedom and honor in this nation.




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A Visit to Noah’s Ark

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The tourist season is almost over, but I’m making plans. I’m also thinking about last year’s acts of tourism. I’m remembering the sunny day in September when I visited Noah’s Ark.

The Ark is the central feature of a sort-of-theme-park called Ark Encounter, in Grant County, Kentucky. It’s a wooden structure — possibly the largest wooden structure on earth — built to the dimensions prescribed in the sixth chapter of Genesis. There aren’t any live animals inside (at least I can’t remember any); they’re in the zoo next door. But there are full-scale models of animals in various kinds of enclosures. There are also models of Noah and his family, going about their lives on the Ark: caring for the animals, fixing meals for themselves, relaxing in their comfortable onboard cabins. Ramps lead from level to level, where one finds “scientific” exhibits, restrooms, and two theaters with continuous showings of movies. In the first theater, Noah is interviewed by a skeptical antediluvian reporter and explains how and why you would build an ark. In the second theater, a 21st-century ark advocate is interviewed by a reporter who is (I think) played by the same actress who played the ancient one. She also is skeptical and needs to be converted to the idea that the biblical account is literally true. I assume the conversion happens, although I left before the movie was over. Her snarky postmodern attitude was less congenial to me than the religious credulity of the rest of the Ark.

But “credulity” isn’t exactly the right word. For me, a charming aspect of the place was the scores of exhibits providing ingenious answers both to obvious questions and to questions that, I’m embarrassed to say, had never occurred to me.

  • How did all those animals fit into the Ark? Well, they didn’t represent species; they represented “kinds,” which are fewer and are capable of developing (not evolving) into more than one species.
  • How did all those really big animals fit inside? Well, Noah probably took the young, small ones. I hadn’t thought of that.
  • How could you carry food to all those animals? You could use lots of pulleys and dumbwaiters.
  • How could you remove all the dung from those animals? You could use lots of pulleys and dumbwaiters.
  • How could a family of eight take care of thousands of animals? It’s not too hard, when you figure how much work a normal man or woman can do in X number of hours . . . .

The continuous display of cleverness delighted me. It went a long way toward illustrating Chesterton’s observation that the last thing a crazy person has left is his logic. But the builders of the Ark aren’t crazy; their ideas are just naïve and innocuous, and the Ark lets you see how far naiveté and innocuousness can get you in America, and how much charm you can gather along the way.

The reporter's snarky postmodern attitude was less congenial to me than the religious credulity of the rest of the Ark.

The Arkists optimistically predicted that they would be visited by 2.4 million people during their first full season, which was 2017. When I visited, they’d gotten only about 1.5 million, maybe, and it was late in the season. I was concerned that their great enterprise might have a short life, despite a (to me) very regrettable but somewhat shaky subsidy from a neighboring town. But there’s a wall inside the Ark that shows the names of people who have contributed various amounts for its construction, and it’s a very long wall. The Ark came to rest within easy driving distance of Louisville, Lexington, Dayton, and Cincinnati, and that’s a church belt. Visitors to the Ark whom I saw were very “diverse” — whites, blacks, Asians, beards, bikers, families of nine. The only solo visitor was me. So the audience is large, and just when I was thinking that a lot more people could be packed into the Ark, I went to the restaurant outside, and there were hundreds more of them in there. More than in the Ark itself. They may not be museumgoers, but they are sure as hell good eaters.

I hope they eat their way to heaven. Their idea of Christianity isn’t mine, but their spirit of voluntarism enchants me. You want to build a giant ark? You want to make it pay? I’m with you — see if you can. And this is an American thing; you can’t imagine it happening in France. Maybe I’ll visit again this year.

The visitors may not be museumgoers, but they are sure as hell good eaters.

My pilgrimage to the Ark last year began with a visit to my ancestral homeland, a county in Southern Illinois where my family has lived since 1816. I myself have never lived there; my parents left before I was born. But I’m related to all the old families, and I like to see what’s going on. In the early 1890s my father’s father built a house on the main street of one of the county’s little towns. That house passed out of the family a few years ago, after the death of my beloved aunt, the last of my grandparents’ eight children. Next to her house are (going south on Main Street) two other big old houses and then the Methodist church, where my grandparents taught Sunday school. The church seems to be doing all right, despite its fluctuating congregation, but much of the rest of Main Street has been torn down, hideously altered, or left derelict. The town’s population has been declining since 1910, and the working population has been declining still more disastrously. The old families, who were poor, by the world’s standards (my grandparents never owned a car), are being replaced by people on welfare, many of whom have no standards. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. If you want to see used up sofas stashed in the yard, I can show you where to go.

Whenever I visit, I brace ourselves for some more sad social and architectural news, especially about those two houses next to my grandparents’ place. They’ve been empty for years, and before that they were subjected to destructive attempts to “modernize.” If you’re brave enough to step onto the sagging wooden porches and look in the windows, what you see is broken glass, naked lath, once-friendly rooms returning to a state of unfriendly nature.

Their idea of Christianity isn’t mine, but their spirit of voluntarism enchants me. You want to build a giant ark? You want to make it pay? I’m with you — see if you can.

But this time, I saw a truck out back, and a man walking toward me: “Can I help you?” I explained myself, we shook hands, and I learned that this man was there to help the houses. A 50ish gentleman from an even smaller town about ten miles up the road, he had purchased both properties from the bank (or some other entity on which possession had devolved), because he liked them and wanted to restore them. More important, he had the skills to restore them. He had learned those skills decades ago, when the local high school actually taught students how to do things. It offered courses — excellent courses — in all the construction trades. Every year, students built a house from scratch, and sold it. If anybody can do something for old family homes, a graduate of those courses can do it.

I don’t know whether this man will succeed. I don’t know whether the Ark Encounter will succeed. Both seem romantic and quixotic to me. Nothing could be more different from America’s Towers of Tech or its Mordor of urban “housing” than these vernacular architectural enterprises. They are the creations of individuals, not of the state or the lackeys of the state.

I live in coastal California, and I’m often surprised to discover that no one here ever goes to the Midwest, the real Midwest, or any portion of California that isn’t built of concrete and steel. I know I could say something similar about the travel habits of people from New York or Boston or Washington, or even Chicago. But the Midwest I’m thinking about has nothing to do with physical geography. It has to do with the geography of the mind. There are places in the mind where everything that is done has to be done by some enormous, statelike thing. And there are places in the mind where individual people still do things, because they want to. Those places I call America.




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The Return of Malthusian Equilibrium

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After the departure of Europeans from their colonies following the end of World War II, the Third World rapidly became tyrannical, and their economies began a long decline. The institutional collapse of the Third World has continued over all these years, except that in the past two decades, from an extremely low base, its economies have improved. This economic growth did not happen because the Third World liberalized its economies or adopted any fundamental cultural change in its societies. What enabled synchronous economic progress over the past two decades in the Third World was the internet and the emergence of China.

Cheap telephony and the internet came into existence in the late ’80s. The internet provided pipelines for the transfer of technology and enabled wage-arbitrage to be exploited. Also, many countries — particularly in Latin America and sub-Saharan Arica — benefited from the export of resources to gluttonous-for-resources China, the only emerging market I know of, and to the developed world, which contrary to propaganda is economically still by far the fastest growing part of the world.

Cherry-picking countries of subsistence farmers and cattle-herders for propaganda purposes tells you nothing about the sustainability of their growth.

It is hard to believe, but many countries in the Middle East and North Africa peaked economically in the 1970s. Their competitive advantage was oil, not human resources. The per capita real GDPs of Saudi Arabia and the UAE, despite the fact that they have had a relatively peaceful existence, are about half as large as they were in the ’70s. The situation is similar in Venezuela and to a large extent in Nigeria. Except for the personal use of cellphones, the information technology revolution has simply bypassed these and many other countries.

According to the propaganda — steeped in political correctness — of the international organizations, all the fastest growing economies are in the Third World. But simple primary school mathematics helps cut through this propaganda. Ethiopia is claimed to be among the fastest growing large economies. This is quite a lie. An 8.5% growth rate of Ethiopia on GDP per capita of US$846 translates into growth of a mere US$72 per capita per year. The US economy, with GDP per capita of US$62,152, is 73 times larger, and despite its growth at a seemingly low rate of 2.2%, it currently adds US$1,367 to its per capita GDP — 19 times more than Ethiopia. The situation looks even more unfavorable for Ethiopia if its population explosion of 2.5% per year is considered.

Cherry-picking countries of subsistence farmers and cattle-herders for propaganda purposes tells you nothing about the sustainability of their growth, and certainly does not in any way enable comparison with the developed world.

The developed world is growing much, much faster than the Third World. The only exception is China.

Over the past two decades, the low hanging fruit of economic growth has been plucked in the Third World. South Asia, Southeast Asia, West Asia, Africa, and Latin America are now starting to stagnate. As the tide of the economic growth rate recedes, institutional collapse will become more visible. It will be seen on the streets as civic strife. What is happening in Venezuela, Syria, Turkey, Nicaragua, Honduras, Pakistan, Congo, and South Africa — where institutions are collapsing, social fabric is falling apart, and tyranny is raising its ugly head — are not isolated events but part of the evolving Third World pattern. Once its institutions have been destroyed, there will be no going back. They simply cannot be rebuilt.

When one looks at the world map, one realizes that all colonized countries were created in European boardrooms.

On a simplistic organizational chart, institutions in the Third World may look the same as they looked when European colonizers departed, but without reliance on the rule of law, respect for individual rights, and a rational approach to problem solving — all foundational concepts propagated by the West. They have been swamped by tribalism, magical thinking, and arbitrary dogmas and rituals.

Without the foundation of rational, critical thinking, formal education merely burdens the mind. The result is that stress among the so-called educated people in the Third World is growing, and no wonder: formal education, unassimilated, can work only in narrow areas, where all you want is cogs that can do repetitive jobs in corner cubicles, without encouragement or reward for creativity. This is not a future-oriented environment; it is a merely pleasure-centric one, in which people become easy victims of cultural Marxism. Democratic politics devolved into the politics of anti-meritocratic mass rule, destroying any institutions of true self-government.

During my recent visit to Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea, a young Western girl working for a Western embassy told me that she once went out without her security force. The police stopped her car, and she was fortunate that her security arrived before the police could take her away. The negotiation between police and security was about how much it would take not to rape her. Rape is common in Papua New Guinea, as it is in the rest of the Third World; but because this was a girl working for the embassy, rapists would have had their bones broken the day after. But their bones would have been broken the day after, “too far in the future” to be of much concern.

Without institutions of liberty and protection of private property, financial and intellectual capital does not accumulate.

When one looks at the world map, one realizes that all colonized countries were created in European boardrooms. There was no country of South Africa, Zimbabwe, Congo, or even India before the arrival of Europeans. The people who now run these countries simply do not have the ability or impetus to manage such large societies. They have tribal mentalities, unable to process information outside the visible space. The rulers of modern tribes continuously increase the size of their bureaucracies, but this merely creates overcentralization, the ossification of institutions, and massive, though unseen, systemic risks. Of course, tribalism is irrational, and internecine rivalry a fact of existence that is experienced only on a moment-to-moment basis.

Before the arrival of the Europeans, most of sub-Saharan Africa had no written language and few tools, contrary to popular perception of a pre-colonial utopia. Warfare was the order of the day. Eating flesh and brains of an enemy killed in conflict was practiced from Papua New Guinea, to Africa, to the Americas. Cannibalism is not unknown even today. Contrary to politically correct versions of history, 19th-century colonization was a massive, sudden improvement for many colonized peoples, and a paradigm shifting event for the Third World.

Europeans of the 1940s clearly knew that if they left the Third World, entropy would rapidly ensue, the locals would fail to run their countries, and those countries would implode into tribal units. These wouldn’t be self-managed societies that libertarians dream of, but tribal ones afflicted with internecine warfare. That is indeed where the Third World is heading, and much of it has arrived.

Africa’s population is growing at a faster rate now than it was in 1950.

Without institutions of liberty and protection of private property, financial and intellectual capital does not accumulate. Indeed, the Third World actively destroys or dissipates any material benefit that accrue to it. This happens through war, overconsumption, expansion of the exploiting (ordinarily the governing) class, and the active destruction of capital that one sees in the crime, vandalism, riot, and other means of destroying property that characterize the Third World. Despite their extreme possessiveness, people who destroy the capital of other people fail to maintain their own. In many Third World cities, when there is a day of celebration it is easy to assume that it is the day when employees got their salaries — which disappear by the next morning, drunk away. Capital fails to be protected or accumulated; the rational structure of a productive, thrifty, and prudent culture is not there.

While people in the West are blamed for being materialistic, Third World people are often much more focused on their possessions. The great fleet of servants in India, who are destined to forever remain servants, may earn a mere $100 dollars or less a month, but must have the latest smartphone. For me it is impossible to comprehend how they pay their rent, buy food, and still have some money left to buy a phone; but I remind myself that actually they take loans to buy smartphones and are forever in debt.

And now — the population problem is becoming worse.

Consider Africa alone. Africa’s population in 1950 represented a mere 10% of the world population. By the end of this century Africa, the poorest continent, is predicted to have at least 40% of the world’s people. Africa’s population is growing at a faster rate now than it was in 1950. Given that this rate begins from a much higher base, Africa adds six times more people today than it did in 1950.

More important: in the Third World countries, population control has mostly happened within the relatively more educated, intellectually sophisticated part of society. In Northern India, to cite another example, the unstable, uneducated, chaotic, and backward part of the population is exploding in size. Southern India, which is relatively stable and better off, is falling in population.

With ease of mobility, segregation is picking up its pace. The economically best people of the Third World find it much easier to emigrate than to stay home and fight to make society better, or maintain it in its current state. In 2017 alone, 12% of Turkish millionaires and 16% of Venezuelan millionaires emigrated. So great has been the emigration from India that it is virtually impossible to find a decent plumber or electrician. Forget about finding a good doctor. In a survey, only 30% of Indian doctors could diagnose a simple ailment. Everywhere educated people move to cities, while the rest stay on in rural places. Segregation is real, leaving the underclass with a huge deficit in leaders.

There is also segregation by sector of the economy. As the private sector has evolved in the Third World, government institutions have increasingly become brain-dead, for the best brains now want to work for high salaries in the private sector, leaving state power in the hands of the worst brains. Naturally, people have become very stressed and unsure. As an emotional escape, superstitious rituals and religious-nationalism are increasing exponentially, contributing to the elevation of exploitive, sociopathic elements to positions of power.

Perhaps, payments made to people for having children must stop; instead people should get money not to have children.

It is possible that some parts of the Third World simply cannot be “governed.” A couple of years back I undertook what I consider the most dangerous trip of my life. I went to Goma in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) on my own. Even for DRC, Goma is a lawless part. The Swedish police I was staying with told me one day that a pregnant woman had been raped, her fetus removed, cooked, and fed to other women of the tribe, who had all been raped. Listening to the stories of celebration of such brutalities in the Congo and elsewhere in Africa, I couldn’t but imagine what I would do if I were forced to run the DRC. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to bring it back to relative sanity without imposing the tyranny — for fear is the only restraint available in the absence of reason — for which Leopold II of Belgium is infamous.

This brings us to the terrible predicament of the Third World. Except for China, the countries of the Third World have failed to develop inner competencies and hence internal reasons to accumulate financial and intellectual capital. They have failed to maintain their institutions, which have continued to decay after the departure of European colonizers. The crumbs of economic benefits — the gifts of western technology — have been dissipated. What can be done? How would you deal with the predicament?

There is no hope unless the vast size of the underclass, who are statistically unable to participate economically, particularly in the age of AI, is reduced. Perhaps, payments made to people for having children must stop; instead people should get money not to have children. Even this first step can only happen if the Third World institutions are changed and rational leaders are imposed. But who will impose them?

The end result is obvious. With time — slowly and then rapidly — the Third World will continue to fall apart institutionally. The Third World will implode. This two-thirds of the world population will fall into tribes that, being irrational, will have no way to resolve disputes. They will enter a phase of neverending warfare, with other tribes and within their own tribes. If there is any surplus left, it will be dissipated through population growth and overconsumption. Ahead there is only entropy and a Malthusian future, mimicking the sad Malthusian equilibrium that existed before the colonizers came.




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President Corleone

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In late November 2016, less than a month after Donald Trump’s unexpected victory, President Obama was in Peru for the APEC Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation summit. Riding in the back of the US presidential limousine with a few of his closest aides, he turned to his longtime advisor, Ben Rhodes, and said, “I feel like Michael Corleone. I almost got out.”

This struck me as an odd thing for the president to say.

Michael Corleone and Barack Obama would seem to have little in common. To begin with, one is fictitious, the other is not.

It is from Rhodes’ new book, The World as It Is, which I have not yet read. I found it in Peter Baker’s review of the book in The New York Times.

In the following, I will explain why I thought it odd and then mull over why he said it. The purpose of the exercise is to amuse.

* * *

At first glance, Michael Corleone and Barack Obama would seem to have little in common. To begin with, one is fictitious, the other is not. More to the point, the life experiences of Corleone seem to bear little resemblance to those of Obama.

Michael Corleone, as every film buff knows, was not keen to join the Mafia. In his mid-20s, however, he murdered both the drug kingpin and the NYPD captain who had tried to kill his father, Don Vito Corleone, and, badabing, he was in.

Michael has his sister poison a rival don. Michael’s daughter is shot to death. Even the Pope gets whacked.

A few years later, when he became the head of the Corleone crime family, he orchestrated the murders of all his family’s rivals in New York City. Francis Ford Coppola’s masterful baptism montage in The Godfather tells the tale. Then, for decades, Michael Corleone controlled the bribery, blackmail, extortion, and murder that are the Mafia’s bread and butter. He was cold, cunning, and absolutely ruthless. He even had his brother Fredo murdered.

The scene Obama referenced in his comment to Rhodes is in the final film of the series, The Godfather, Part III. In it, Michael, who had been trying to extricate himself and his immediate family from the world of organized crime by transferring his ill-gotten gains from the rackets to legitimate businesses, has just survived a machine-gun attack from a helicopter arranged by Joey Zaza, who he had personally chosen to take over the Corleone family’s criminal interests. Michael, now about 60 years old and in ill health, stands in his kitchen and wails, “Every time I try to get out . . .they pull me back in.”

The rest of the movie is a series of betrayals, counter-betrayals, and murders. Michael has his sister poison a rival don. Michael’s daughter is shot to death. Even the Pope gets whacked. The trail of corpses only ends when, much later, Michael, broken, forgotten, and alone, falls off his chair, dead.

Obama has no haunting spectre trailing him, no litany of sins hanging over his head.

Now, it is pretty clear what Michael Corleone meant by his comment. He was trying to morph from a shady mafioso into a legitimate businessman, but his criminal past had created underworld entanglements so deeply rooted, so strong, that try as he might, he was never able to break free.

But what did President Obama mean? In what sense did he identify with this tragic figure, Michael Corleone?

President Obama is fit, rich, and relatively young, with a loving wife and family. He can choose from among the endless opportunities available to former presidents, or choose to do nothing at all. He can stay out of the political arena and Washington forever, if he wants to. Hollywood would welcome him. In fact, it already has.

He stepped down from the presidency with his head high, unbowed by scandal. He has no haunting spectre trailing him, no litany of sins hanging over his head. There is no Watergate, no Teheran Hostages, no Iran-Contra, no Monica Lewinsky, no missing WMDs, no Special Counsel to dog his footsteps for the rest of his days. There is no helicopter circling. In fact, some argue that his was an untainted, if not exemplary, presidency. Some even say that his has been a charmed life.

Likening his disappointment with the 2016 election results to Michael Corleone’s torment brings to mind the little boy whose ice cream falls from the cone and splats on the sidewalk. The boy looks at the sky and says, “Why me, God?” OK, that probably goes a little too far, but you get the point.

The remark seems odder because there was a more apt comparison much closer at hand.

In the runup to the election in November of 2000, Bill Clinton’s hand-picked successor, Al Gore, was thought by many to be the favorite. But while Gore won the popular vote, he lost in the Electoral College, some say because of an unfair assist by the Supreme Court. As a result, Bill Clinton had to give the keys to the White House not to his chosen successor but to George W. Bush, who opposed his policies in many areas, among them: taxes, gay rights, energy, abortion, education, the environment, and foreign affairs.

Bill Clinton really did get out, his wife’s career ambitions and the occasional tarmac meeting notwithstanding.

Before the 2016 election, Barack Obama’s chosen successor, Hillary Clinton, was the clear favorite. But while Clinton won the popular vote, she lost in the Electoral College, some say because of Russian help. As a result, Barack Obama had to give the keys to the White House to Donald Trump, who opposed his policies in many areas, among them: taxes, immigrant rights, energy, women’s health, education, the environment, and foreign affairs.

Now, had President Obama said to Rhodes, “I feel like Bill Clinton must have felt when Bush beat Gore,” it would have made perfect sense. True, the bit about “almost getting out” doesn’t quite fit here, in that Bill Clinton really did get out, his wife’s career ambitions and the occasional tarmac meeting notwithstanding. Still, the circumstances are remarkably similar.

But when Obama sought to explain himself to Rhodes, what popped into his mind was not the face of the charming former president whose liberal, if triangulated, legacy had suddenly been put in jeopardy by a more conservative successor. No. When he gazed deeply into the mirror of his consciousness what he saw staring back at him was the tortured face of Michael Corleone.

Go figure.

* * *

While the above should help clarify why I found the president’s comment odd, it does not explain why he made it. Three possible explanations follow.

Peter Baker suggested the first possibility in the NYT review of Rhodes’ book. Here’s the complete line that includes the comment: “In handing over power to someone determined to tear down all he had accomplished, Mr. Obama alluded to The Godfather mafia movie, ‘I feel like Michael Corleone. I almost got out.’

When Obama gazed deeply into the mirror of his consciousness what he saw staring back at him was the tortured face of Michael Corleone.

But in The Godfather, Michael was handing over power to Joey Zaza, his chosen successor. Joey wasn’t trying to tear down anything the Corleone family had built; he just wanted it all for himself, and Michael dead. That’s why Michael couldn’t get out. Am I missing something here? Hillary Clinton was Obama’s hand-picked successor. Is she supposed to be out to get him? Is Donald Trump or some other rival that I’m unaware of trying to keep President Obama from “getting out” of politics? Is there some opponent who’s trying either to assassinate him or to “pull him back” into the political arena? No. This explanation of Obama’s comment just isn’t working.

More importantly, is Baker suggesting that President Obama was equating his own life’s work, fostering peace, justice, and sustainability, with Michael Corleone’s, committing bribery, blackmail, extortion, and murder? That doesn’t sound like the kind of analogy that President Obama would encourage, not if he’s proud of his accomplishments. It certainly wouldn’t do much to burnish his legacy. No, Baker’s explanation just doesn’t fit. It lacks verisimilitude.

The second possibility is hypothetical. Given that bending the arc of the moral universe can be very hard work, let’s say that President Obama sometimes resorted to means that ever so slightly trimmed ethical or legal corners in order to achieve the precise curvature that the moral universe seemed to call for at the moment. By employing this hypothetical, we may be able to find a context in which the words that the president uttered in the back of “the Beast” that day in Lima make sense.

Is Baker suggesting that the president was equating his own life’s work, fostering peace, justice, and sustainability, with Michael Corleone’s, committing bribery, blackmail, extortion, and murder?

Let’s say that President Obama quietly approved the fix of Hillary Clinton’s illegal handling of classified documents, and her hamhanded attempt to cover it up in order to keep her candidacy alive. Let’s say that he put the desired end, a Democratic successor, on one side of the scale and the means proposed to achieve that end, a political decision not to indict, on the other side, and decided that the greater good would be served by putting the fix in, cut corners and all. When, in spite of the fix, the public’s confidence in Hillary Clinton’s trustworthiness plummeted, let’s say that President Obama became more eager than ever that his successor be a fellow Democrat. Let’s say that he approved of an effort to discredit Donald Trump by, among other means, using the fishy DNC-funded Steele dossier to manipulate a judge into allowing surveillance of the Trump campaign. Let’s say that when Donald Trump won the election despite this effort to derail his candidacy the president was concerned.

Let us now imagine how President Obama’s comment might sound in this hypothetical scenario.

A few weeks after the election, President Obama, wearing an immaculately tailored dark suit, was riding in the back of his armored black Cadillac Escalade with a few of his closest aides. He was looking through the five-inch thick bulletproof window. He knew that in order to get Hillary Clinton off the hook and to put Donald Trump on it he had done things worse than the Watergate break in. He also knew that, at that very moment, the effort to conceal those deeds was growing a web of semi-transparent lies that was threatening to ensnare him.

If only Hillary Clinton had won, as everyone had expected, he could have ridden the wave that had elected him twice all the way to the beach. He could have stepped off the board directly onto the sand, a free man. The new president would have had his back and her administration would have been composed of the very people who had helped him to put her in office. He would have been out, scot-free.

He closed his eyes and pressed his right temple to the glass. He realized that he was in a war. He would have to fight or he would end up like Nixon, disgraced. Sitting next to him was his long-time advisor, Ben Rhodes. The president turned to him, sighed, and said, “I feel like Michael Corleone. I almost got out.”

If only Hillary Clinton had won, as everyone had expected, he could have ridden the wave that had elected him twice all the way to the beach.

The third possibility is not as illogical as the first or as far-fetched as the second. It is this: the president was joking.

Frankly, this is my favorite explanation, in part because it is the least disheartening. No one wants to think ill of the president, do they? And all of that abusing of presidential power for personal gain and self-preservation in the second explanation would make the president seem so grubby, so small. No one wants to believe that possible. People want to think the best of the president, not the worst. Right? I mean, only Vladimir Putin would want the American people to think of their president as a Mafia don.

OK, then. So no one laughed. Maybe Ben Rhodes didn’t get the joke. That’s OK. Apparently, Peter Baker didn’t get it either. But I suspect that if President Obama were asked about it, and he was being perfectly honest, he would admit that he had just been trying to be funny.

Let’s just say.

“Politicians have always lied, but it used to be if you caught them lying they’d be like, ‘Oh man.’ Now they just keep on lying.” — Barack Obama, Nelson Mandela Annual Lecture, July 17, 2018




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A FreedomFest Report

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FreedomFest, LasVegas, July 2018: Fewer breakout sessions. Shorter hours. Only one special-event luncheon. What’s going on at FreedomFest? Are we losing it?

Actually, it’s quite the opposite. Too much choice can be daunting. As first timer Walter Block of the Mises Institute and Loyola University told us, “I attended FreedomFest for the first time in 2018. It was a magnificent experience. Rarely have so many lovers of liberty gathered under one roof. The only ‘problem’ I had with the event was the concurrent sessions. I wanted to attend ALL of them!”

We wanted this year’s event to involve our attendees more directly — not just sitting in chairs listening to speakers, but participating actively in the discussion.

History professor Barry Strauss of Cornell University concurred, saying, “FreedomFest was one of the few conferences that I’ve attended in my professional career of which I could say, ‘I only wish that I could have attended more sessions.’ From start to finish, it was an inspiration.”Imagine the frustration of previous years, when we offered 30% more sessions from which to choose!

Sometimes “less” really is “more.” When presentations are tightened, only the best remain. That’s what we decided to do at FreedomFest this year, reducing the number of concurrent breakout session from 13 to ten and ending each day at 6:30 instead of 8.

We wanted this year’s event to involve our attendees more directly — not just sitting in chairs listening to speakers, but participating actively in the discussion. So we lengthened our Q&A times, reduced the number of breakout sessions, created a scavenger hunt that brought attendees more actively into the exhibit hall, and added “conversation circles” in the evenings where attendees and speakers could discuss thematic topics. We expanded our “FreedomFest after Dark” activities with Karaoke led by “Lady of Liberty” Avens O’Brien and clubbing at a local night spot. The result was a more vibrant, engaged experience for everyone.

The Mock Trial was back too, this year charging the Public School System with fraud. We even had a hint of scandal in the jury box.

Of course, not everything was brand new. Perennial favorite Judge Napolitano was back, reporting on the Constitution and the significance of President Trump’s choice of Brett Kavanaugh to replace retiring Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy. And we followed his speech with a special-event luncheon moderated by Steve Forbes. But most attendees enjoyed the break time by visiting the exhibit hall, viewing one of our lunchtime movies, or buying a sandwich and visiting with other attendees in our lounge areas.

The Mock Trial was back too, this year charging the Public School System with fraud. We even had a hint of scandal in the jury box, when the foreman announced a tie of 6–6, even though the collected ballots were clearly marked 7 to convict, 4 to acquit, and one with both options marked. Was this an example of the New Math? Or the “everybody wins a trophy” mindset? We promise Price Waterhouse wasn’t tabulating the results!

Of course, FreedomFest is never without controversy. Our panel on “The Rise and Triumph of the Angry Voter” led to some testy anger among the panelists, and the debate between Newsmax contributor Wayne Allyn Root and New York Times columnist Ross Douthat over whether Trump is more like Reagan or Mussolini became predictably (for Root) loud. The debate between Douthat and Hugh Hefner biographer Steve Watts on whether FreedomFest should dedicate a room to the late Hugh Hefner was controversial as well — was Hefner a hero who liberated women from Victorian sexual mores, or a lecher who objectified women by turning them into sexual playthings? Interestingly, the debate on “Faith and Reason” between Dan Peterson and Michael Shermer was more popular than the Playboy debate, with standing room only.

Eli Whitney, John Deere, Alexander Graham Bell, and even Ray Kroc drastically changed the face and future of America, “and it did not begin at the ballot box."

First-timer George Will was another keynote speaker, delivering an inspiring speech about the power of entrepreneurship and innovation. Referencing Ted Kennedy’s declaration that “change begins at the ballot box,“ Will offered several examples refuting the claim; he reminded the audience that Eli Whitney, John Deere, Alexander Graham Bell, and even Ray Kroc drastically changed the face and future of America, “and it did not begin at the ballot box. It began with the spark of entrepreneurial genius. . . . It began in individualism, which is important to everyone in this audience.”

Financial speakers have always been part of our faculty, and this year attendees enjoyed the new “Fast Money Summit” sponsored by Eagle Publishing, with its shortened 25-minute breakout sessions featuring top financial experts such as Steve Forbes, Mark Skousen, Doug Casey, Jim Rogers, Gena Lofton, Alex Green, Peter Schiff, Keith Fitz-Gerald, Marin Katusa, Jim Woods, and many more. At FreedomFest we believe that financial freedom is just as important as political freedom; money makes it possible to support causes and live a fuller personal life. “One good tip is worth the price of your admission,” was Eagle’s promise.

Others found their way to the Anthem Libertarian Film Festival — and some never left. “I can buy the recordings of the speeches,” one woman told me. “Where else can I watch these great films and meet the directors afterward?” In all modesty, as the director of the world’s only fully juried libertarian film festival — I couldn’t agree more. We had the best films and the best attendance in our eight-year history, with four world premiere films, five SRO screenings, 11 hard-hitting panels, and films that inspired us even as they told stories that outraged us. Libertarian films can be depressing when they’re set in dystopian futures or focus entirely on the hopelessness of big government; what I loved about this year’s lineup is that they offered hope for a brighter future through greater freedom, greater courage, greater understanding, and greater technology. And the production values of our films this year were top notch.

Storytelling can be more powerful than a lecture because of the emotional connection it creates with the audience.

Our films focused on themes such as immigration, escape from communism, criminal justice reform, and technology. Their messages were often indirect and compelling. One of my favorites was the Best Comedy winner The Inconsiderate Houseguest (Rob and Letitia Capili), which offers a subtle (Rob claims “unintended”) and unexpected theme about immigration beneath its quirky story about an uptight, rule-oriented roommate. “Subtle” is the key here; messages don’t need to shout if they are presented well. Storytelling can be more powerful than a lecture because of the emotional connection it creates with the audience. In fact, at our Thursday night Master Class for filmmakers, one of the panelists credited the television show Modern Family with changing public opinion, and thus public law, regarding gay marriage because of its likeable gay couple and its reluctantly tolerant and loving family patriarch. “Everyone knows the message of a Michael Moore movie, but almost no one watches his documentaries. They just hear about it on the news,” another panelist observed. Engaging stories with nuanced messages have the power to move hearts and change minds. That’s the main reason we started the Anthem Libertarian Film Festival.

The $2,500 Anthem Grand Prize went to Skid Row Marathon (Mark Hayes, director), an inspiring documentary about L.A. Judge Craig Mitchell who, troubled by the outrageous mandatory sentencing he was forced to impose, started a running club to help former felons regain their self-confidence and restart their lives. Mitchell has taken the club to marathon competitions throughout the world. The club is financed through private donations and teaches the principles of choice and accountability. Club member Rafael Cabrera was on hand for the Q&A following the screening. The film also won the $500 AnthemVault Prize for Best Original Score, featuring music composed by club member Ben Shirley. I defy you to watch this film with a dry eye.

Saber Rock (Matt and Thomas Locastro, directors), about a young Afghan interpreter for the American military who was targeted for assassination by the Taliban when he began teaching children about the principles of freedom, won the Anthem award for Best Short Documentary. The real Saber Rock attended the festival and gave an impassioned opening night speech to the FreedomFest crowd. Rock was a festival favorite, taking selfies with numerous fans throughout the week. He was awarded Anthem’s Special Jury Prize for heroism and received a standing ovation from the audience.

The room was so packed that we had to bring in 50 more chairs, while many leaned against the walls or sat on the floor and at least 20 more brought chairs to sit five-deep in the doorway.

Festival judge Gary Alexander argued at the judges’ meeting that America Under Siege: Antifa was one of the most important films at the festival because it reveals the truth behind the rising violence against free speech. Meanwhile, the gentle tone of Off the Grid with Thomas Massie won the hearts of festival attendees, who awarded it the Audience Choice trophy. Director Matt Battaglia follows the brilliant MIT graduate and inventor around the Kentucky farm that he built and maintains with his own hands as he talks about the priorities in his life and why he went to Congress. In one memorable segment he describes his congressional lapel pin, which garners him deferential treatment wherever he goes in Washington, as “Precious” and describes how difficult it can be to keep “Precious” from corrupting one’s focus and integrity.

A second Audience Choice trophy was awarded to Jimmy Morrison for his film The Housing Bubble, which features interviews with FreedomFest regulars Doug Casey, Peter Schiff, Jim Rogers, Gene Epstein, Tom Palmer, and others. It offers a cogent history of money, interest rates, inflation, and how they affect each one of us. The room was so packed that we had to bring in 50 more chairs, while many leaned against the walls or sat on the floor and at least 20 more brought chairs to sit five-deep in the doorway. The post-screening panel included all of the speakers who were featured in the film. Said director Morrison of the experience, “After all the delays with my movie, I really needed to make a statement with my premiere. I can't thank you enough for all that you did to make last week so successful!” That’s why we do what we do. These libertarian films need a venue. We provide it.

The Anthem Libertarian Film Festival is one of the fastest-growing features of FreedomFest, and also the best kept secret. Film aficionados can purchase a FilmLovers Pass for all four days for just $149, less than a third of the FreedomFest retail price. It includes all the films, plus film panels featuring top FreedomFest speakers and entrance to the exhibit hall. You can’t attend the FreedomFest general sessions or breakout sessions with it, but come on — with films and panels like these, who needs FreedomFest?

Members of the Reason crew presented the libertarian position on drug policy, gun control, biotechnology, pensions, prison reform, Bitcoin, transportation, and more. It was a libertarian feast.

My husband, Mark Skousen, who produces FreedomFest, completely disagrees with me on this, of course! “Why would anyone go to a movie when they can hear these great speakers in person?” he often asks me. And he has a point. With nearly 250 speakers and over 200 sessions, it’s hard to choose. A good point, but only one point.

This year, in honor of the 50th anniversary of Reason magazine, FreedomFest hosted six Reason Day breakout sessions, plus the Reason Media Awards at our Saturday night banquet. Reason notables Katherine Mangu-Ward, Nick Gillespie, Matt Welch, Bob Poole, Ronald Bailey, Jacob Sullum, Lisa Snell and others presented the libertarian position on drug policy, gun control, biotechnology, pensions, prison reform, Bitcoin, transportation, and more. It was a libertarian feast, culminating in presenting the Friedlander Prize to Steve Forbes at the Saturday night banquet.

But don’t just take me word for the success of FreedomFest 2018; here’s what Marc Beauchamp, former west coast bureau chief for Forbes Magazine, foreign correspondent in Tokyo, and trade association executive director in Washington DC, said about FreedomFest this year:

“For me . . . FreedomFest is where you hear things you don’t hear anywhere else.

“Like the foreign policy panel where it was pointed out that Russia’s economy is smaller than that of Italy or South Korea and Doug Casey said, ‘Russia is a gas station in a wheat field attached to a gun store.’

“You can get pretty glum watching talking heads on cable TV. The antidote is David Boaz’s optimism — that there’s never been a better time to be alive in the United States, and in almost any other country on the planet.

FreedomFest is an individualist’s dream (though admittedly, for those who arrange it, it can have its nightmare moments).

“FreedomFest is a movable feast. You never know what’s on the menu. I enjoyed Skeptic magazine’s Michael Shermer’s breakout session on the scientific search for evidence of an afterlife, and his conclusion that we should focus on living a full meaningful life rather than worrying about what might or might not happen in the afterlife.”

In sum, FreedomFest is an individualist’s dream (though admittedly, for those who arrange it, it can have its nightmare moments). As in those old “Choose Your Own Adventure” novels of the ’70s and ’80s, you can create your own conference as you circle your favorite sessions and decide what you’re going to hear and do.

We can’t wait to see all of our friends at FreedomFest 2019 where our theme is “The Wild West.” Escape the Deep State to Live Free! Come choose your own adventure in Las Vegas July 17–20. Hats and boots optional. Leave your horse at home.




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When Nobody Knew What a Dollar Would Be

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The Caxton Press has just published my book, The Panic of 1893, and I can now write for Liberty about it. Its topic is the final economic downturn of the 19th century. For more than three years, my head was in the 1890s — in books, articles, personal and official papers, lawsuits, and, especially, old newspapers, chiefly from my home state. The book’s subtitle is, The Untold Story of Washington State’s First Depression.

It is a popular history, not a libertarian book as such. But I have a few thoughts for a libertarian audience.

Many libertarians espouse the Austrian theory of the trade cycle, in which the central bank sets interest rates lower than the market rate, leading to a speculative boom, bad investments, and a collapse. In the 1890s the United States had no central bank. Interest rates before the Panic of 1893 were not low, at least not in Washington. The common rate on a business loan was 10%, in gold, during a period in which the general price level had been gently falling. Washington was a frontier state then, and it needed to pay high interest rates to attract capital from the East and from Europe. Credit standards, however, were low, sometimes appallingly low. Many of Washington’s banks had been founded by pioneers — optimistic patriarchs who lent freely to their neighbors, associates, relatives, and themselves. By a different road from the Austrians’ theory, the economy was led to the place it describes: a Hallowe’en house of bad investments.

The Sherman Silver Purchase Act was a sop to the inflationists, who wanted an increase in the money supply, and to the silver mining interests, who wanted the government to continue buying their silver.

The dollar was backed by gold, with the US Treasury intending to keep at least $100 million of gold on hand. But in 1890, at the peak of the boom period, Congress passed the Sherman Silver Purchase Act, obligating the Treasury to buy up the nation’s silver output with newly printed paper money. It was a sop to the inflationists, who wanted an increase in the money supply, and to the silver mining interests, who wanted the government to continue buying their silver, which it had been doing to create silver dollars. Politically the Sherman Silver Purchase Act was also part of a deal to pass the McKinley Tariff, which raised America’s already high tariff rates even higher.

The problem with the Sherman Silver Purchase Act was that the new paper money being paid to the silver miners could be redeemed in gold. The prospect of an increase every year in paper claims against the Treasury’s gold alarmed foreign investors, and they began to pull gold out. Two crises abroad also shifted the psychology of lenders and borrowers worldwide: Argentina defaulted on a gold loan from the Baring Brothers in 1890 and a real estate boom in Australia collapsed in 1893. These crises shifted the thoughts of financial men from putting money out to getting it back, from a preference for holding promises to a preference for cash.

By the time Grover Cleveland took office in March 1893, the Treasury’s gold cover had shrunk to $101 million. A run began on the Treasury’s gold — and that triggered the Panic of 1893.

In the Pacific Northwest, the four-year-old state of Washington (pop. 350,000 then) had 80 bank failures in the following four years.

Two crises abroad also shifted the psychology of lenders and borrowers worldwide: Argentina defaulted on a gold loan from the Baring Brothers in 1890 and a real estate boom in Australia collapsed in 1893.

Economists have listed the ensuing depression as the second-deepest in U.S. history. (One estimate: 18% unemployment.) But they don’t know. The government didn’t measure unemployment in the 1890s. And the rate of unemployment may not be the best comparison. America was less wealthy in the 1890s than in the 1930s, and living conditions were harsher. In absolute terms, the bottom of the depression of the 1890s was clearly lower than that of the 1930s.

The Left of the 1890s, the Populists and silverites, wanted cheap money. They blamed the depression on the gold standard. And gold is not an easy taskmaster; libertarians have to admit that.

The silverites wanted a silver standard. Most of them were “bimetallists,” claiming to favor a gold standard and a silver standard at the same time, with 16 ounces of silver equal to one ounce of gold. Their idea was that by using gold and silver the people would have more money to spend.

Free silver was a policy well beyond the Sherman Silver Purchase Act, which compelled the Treasury to buy silver at the market price. In the mid-1890s, silver fell as low as 68 cents an ounce. At that price, a silver dollar had 53 cents’ worth of silver in it and the silver-gold ratio was 30-to-1.

In absolute terms, the bottom of the depression of the 1890s was clearly lower than that of the 1930s.

The bimetallists wanted 16-to-1. That was the ratio for U.S. currency set in the late 1700s when the market was at 16-to-1. Later the market shifted and Congress changed the ratio to 15 1/2-to-1. Then came the Civil War, and the U.S. government suspended the gold standard, and printed up its first “greenbacks,” the United States Notes.

The United States Notes were effectively a new currency, and traded at a discount from metallic dollars. In September 1896, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer reminded readers of those times:

There never was a time from the beginning of the first issue of greenbacks down to the resumption of specie payments when the greenback dollar was ever accepted on the Pacific Coast for anything more than its market price in terms of gold.

The greenback was discounted, sometimes by 50 to 60%.

In 1873, Congress decided to define the dollar as a certain weight of gold, but not silver. The silver people in the 1890s called this “The Crime of ’73.”

Redemption of paper money under the gold standard began in 1879. To placate the silver interests, Congress had passed a law requiring the government to buy silver at the market price and coin it into dollars — the Morgan dollars prized by collectors today. At the beginning, the silver in a Morgan dollar was worth about a dollar, but by the 1890s, the value of silver had fallen.

In 1890, the silver-dollar law was replaced by the Sherman Silver Purchase Act, which created paper money. The government still coined silver dollars, and by 1896 had more than 400 million of them in circulation.

To placate the silver interests, Congress had passed a law requiring the government to buy silver at the market price and coin it into dollars.

The law did not require the Treasury to pay out gold for silver dollars, and it hadn’t. But the law declared all the different kinds of dollars (and there were five different kinds of paper money, at that point) to be equally good for everyday use except for taxes on imports. At the amounts an individual was ever likely to have, a silver dollar was as good as a gold dollar.

If you ask why a sane person would have designed a monetary system with gold dollars, silver dollars, Gold Certificates, Silver Certificates, National Currency, Treasury Notes, and United States Notes — Congress had designed it, one variety at a time.

Under the proposal for “free silver,” gold would be kept at the official price of $20.67 and silver set at one-sixteenth that price, or $1.29. Just as the world was free to bring an ounce of gold to the Treasury and take away $20.67 — “free gold” — the world would be free to bring an ounce of silver to the Treasury and take away $1.29. Free silver! The advocates called this the “unlimited coinage” of silver, but the aim was to create dollars, not coins. Most of the silver could pile up in the Treasury and be represented by crisp new pieces of paper.

The gold people argued that for the United States to set up a 16-to-1 currency standard in a 30-to-1 world was nuts. Essentially, the Treasury would be offering to pay out one ounce of gold for 16 ounces of silver. It would be a grand blowout sale on gold, and the world would come and get it until the gold was gone. The Treasury would be left with a Fort Knox full of silver, and the U.S. dollar would become a silver currency like the Mexican peso.

Surely the gold people were right about that. (And today’s ratio is 78 to 1.)

Milton Friedman argues in his book Money Mischief that two standards, with the cheapest metal defining the dollar in current use, would have worked all right. If the cheap metal got too expensive, the system would flip and the dollar would be defined by the other metal. In theory it makes sense, and apparently before the Civil War it had worked that way. But the financial people didn’t want a system like that.

The Treasury would be left with a Fort Knox full of silver, and the U.S. dollar would become a silver currency like the Mexican peso.

In 1896, America had a watershed election, with the silver people for Bryan, the Democrat, and the gold people for McKinley, the Republican. A third party, the People’s Party, endorsed Bryan. Its followers, the Populists, didn’t want a silver standard. They were fiat-money people. But Bryan was against the gold standard, and that was enough.

In that contest, the silver people were derided as inflationists. They were, to a point. They wanted to inflate the dollar until the value of the silver in dollars, halves, quarters, and dimes covered the full value of the coin. The silver people were not for fiat money.

Here is the Spokane Spokesman-Review of October 1, 1894, distinguishing its silver-Republicanism from Populism:

Fiat money is the cornerstone of the Populist faith . . . Silver money is hard money, and the fiatist is essentially opposed to hard money . . . He wants irredeemable paper money, and his heart goes out to the printing press rather than the mint.

The Populists and silverites argued in 1896 that the gold standard had caused the depression, and that as long as gold ruled, the nation would never recover. History proved them wrong. They lost, and the nation recovered. It began a recovery after the election settled the monetary question. Investors and lenders knew what kind of money they’d be paid with.

Milton Friedman makes a monetarist point in Money Mischief that starting in about 1890, gold miners had begun to use the cyanide process, which allowed gold to be profitably extracted from lower-grade ore. The result was an increase in gold production all through the decade. I came across a different story in my research. The increase in the supply of gold (about which Friedman was correct) was outstripped by the increase in the demand for gold. Prices in gold dollars declined sharply during the depression of the 1890s, including the prices of labor and materials used in gold mining. It became more profitable to dig for gold. Deflation helped spur a gold-mining boom — in the Yukon, famously, but also in British Columbia, in Colorado, and in South Africa.

The US began a recovery after the election settled the monetary question. Investors and lenders knew what kind of money they’d be paid with.

Under a gold standard, a deflation sets in motion the forces that can reverse it. This is a useful feature, but it can take a long time.

The recovery from the depression of the 1890s began not with a burst of new money but with a quickening of the existing money. What changed after the election was the psychology of the people. They knew what sort of money they held and could expect. The important point wasn’t that it was gold, but that it was certain. If Bryan had been elected and the dollar became a silver currency, people would have adjusted. With gold, they didn’t have to adjust, because it was what they already had.

The writers of the 1890s had a less mechanistic view of the economy than people have today. People then didn’t even use the term, “the economy.” They might say “business” or even “times,” as if they were talking of weather conditions. They talked less of mechanisms (except the silver thing) and more of the thoughts and feelings of the people. People today are cynical about politicians who try to manipulate their thoughts and feelings, and think that it’s the mechanisms that matter. And sometimes mechanisms matter, but the thoughts and feelings always matter.

Prices in gold dollars declined sharply during the depression of the 1890s, including the prices of labor and materials used in gold mining. It became more profitable to dig for gold.

Now some observations about the ideas of the 1890s.

The Populists, called by the conservative papers “Pops,” were much like the Occupy Wall Street rabblerousers of a decade ago: anti-corporate, anti-banker, anti-bondholder, anti-Wall Street, and anti-bourgeois, but more in a peasant, almost medieval way than a New Left, university student way. Many of the Pops were farmers, with full beards at a time when urban men were shaving theirs off or sporting a mustache only. More than anti-Wall Street, the Pops were anti-debt, always looking for reasons for borrowers not to pay what they owed. On Wikipedia, Populism is labeled left-wing, which it was mainly. It was also rural, Southern, Western, anti-immigrant, and often racist. In Washington state it was anti-Chinese.

In the 1890s traditional American libertarianism was in the mainstream. In the newspapers this is very striking, with the Republican papers championing self-reliance and the Democratic papers championing limited government. Democrats, for example, argued against the McKinley Tariff — which imposed an average rate of more than 50% — as an impingement on individual freedom. Here is Seattle’s gold-Democrat daily, the Telegraph, of September 10, 1893:

If it be abstractly right that the government shall say that a man shall buy his shoes in the United States, why is it not equally right for it to say that he shall buy them in Seattle? . . . Where shall we draw the line when we start out from the position that it is the legitimate and natural function of government to regulate the affairs of individuals . . .

Our idea is that the least government we can get along with and yet enjoy the advantages of organized society, the better.

Here is the silver-Republican Tacoma Ledger of Dec. 3, 1895:

Thoughtful men must perceive that our whole system of civilization is undergoing a revolution in its ideas; and we are in danger of gradually supplanting the old, distinctive idea of the Anglo-Saxon civilization — the ideas of the individualism of the man, his house as his castle, and the family as his little state, which he represents in the confederation of families in the state — by the Jacobinical ideas of . . . continental republicanism . . . The continental republican theory contemplates the individual man as an atom of the great machine called the nation. The Anglo-Saxon considers every man a complete machine, with a young steam engine inside to run it. The continental republican must have a government that will find him work and give him bread. The Anglo-Saxon wants a government only to keep loafers off while every man finds his own work and earns his own bread.

Contrast that with today’s editorial pages.

The Populists were anti-debt, always looking for reasons for borrowers not to pay what they owed.

Here’s a final one I particularly liked. Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary — the same gent whose assassination 21 years later would touch off World War I — came through Spokane on the train in 1893. Americans, fascinated with him just as they would be a century later with Princess Diana, stood in the rain for hours to get a glimpse of the famous archduke — and they were sore because he never showed himself. On October 9, 1893, here is what the Seattle Telegraph had to say about that:

Why in the name of common sense should the people of this country go out of their way to honor a man simply because he happens to be in the line of succession to a throne . . . The correct thing is to let their highnesses and their lordships and all the rest of them come and go like other people. To the titled aristocracy of Europe there is no social distinction in America.

The America of the 1890s had some unlovely aspects. But in my view, the Telegraph’s attitude toward princes is exactly right. I recalled the Telegraph’s patriotic comment during all the blather over the wedding of Princess Diana’s son.

The 1890s had its blather, but after 125 years, sorting out facts from nonsense is easier. Silly statements, especially wrong predictions, don’t weather well. It makes me wonder what of today’s rhetoric will seem utterly preposterous in the 2100s.




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Hip Replacement: Lesson One

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“In a soldier’s stance, I aimed my hand
at the mongrel dogs who teach . . .”
                                      — Bob Dylan, My Back Pages (1964)

English, like every other living language, constantly evolves. Every utterance holds the promise of change: a new take, a fresh twist, an old word with a new meaning, or a neatly turned phrase that nudges the language, and the people who speak it, in a new direction. This is Donald Trump in the ’80s: “You have to think anyway, so why not think big?”

New words are created all the time. The verb “mansplain,” coined less than a decade ago, describes a practice at least twice as old: when a man explains something, a new word, say, to a woman in a condescending manner. And, of course, words just disappear. I haven’t heard “tergiversation” since William Safire died. Some words are like mayflies, here and gone. A word used only once is called an “onanym,” which, appropriately, is one.

As changes accumulate, the distance between the old and new versions of the language grows and the older version gradually becomes dated, then archaic, and, eventually, incomprehensible. Read Beowulf. (Or consider that less than 60 years ago we elected a president named “Dick.”)

And, of course, words just disappear. I haven’t heard “tergiversation” since William Safire died.

The sound of English changes, too. Its phonological components, such as tone, pitch, timbre, and even melody, change. If you learned American English, the North American dialect of Modern English, scores of years ago, as I did, you have heard many such changes and, while you can probably understand the current version, provided the slang isn’t too dense, you probably cannot reproduce its sound.

This, then, is a music lesson of sorts, designed to help you, my fellow older American, replicate the sounds of what we will call Post-Modern English, or PME, the successor to American English. Not the slang, mind you, but the sound of it, the music. If you are wondering why you should bother, reflect on this: you wouldn’t parade around in public wearing the same clothes that you wore as a child, would you? Of course not, because fashion changes and we should change with it, provided that we do it in an unaffected way. Choosing to update the sound of your English is as sensible as hanging up your coonskin cap. One must make an effort to ensure that one’s outfit looks snatched, after all.

The lesson includes a short passage from a radio broadcast I heard that contains many of the phonological changes that American English has undergone during the past several decades. While I managed to jot it down, I couldn’t get a copy of the audio. No matter. You can tune into any pop radio station and listen to the banter of the DJs. They are first-rate role models for Post-Modern English. (Dakota Fanning is not. I heard her interviewed on NPR, and to my ear she sounded like nothing so much as the valedictorian at a finishing school graduation, circa 1940. To be fair, NPR features many guests, and hosts, for that matter, whose mastery of PME is just totally awesome.)

Choosing to update the sound of your English is as sensible as hanging up your coonskin cap.

Ready? There are five parts. The first reveals the essence of Post-Modern English, so that you will know how to comport yourself when speaking it. The second will help you adjust your vocal cords to the proper register. The third comprises ten exercises drawn from the transcript of that radio broadcast. The fourth alerts you to a few problems you may encounter once you have mastered PME, and suggests practical solutions. The fifth and final part will put American English where it belongs: in the rear-view mirror. Just as Professor Higgins taught Miss Eliza Doolittle to drop the cockney and pass as posh, so I will teach you to drop your stodgy American English and sound cool. By the end of this linguistic makeover you will sound like a real hep cat. (The spellchecker just underlined “hep.” Bastards.)

* * *

Part One: The Essence

As French is the language of love and German is the language of Nietzsche, Post-Modern English is the language of wimps.

(Just now, you may have jumped to the conclusion that the word “wimps” was deployed in the previous sentence as a pejorative. It was not. It was chosen because it is the word that best embodies the defining characteristics of Post-Modern English. If you’ll bear with me, I think you’ll come to agree.)

When a French woman explains a line from Also Sprach Zarathustra,she sounds as if she were flirting. When a German man puts the moves on a fräulein in a dimly lit hotel bar, he sounds as if he were explaining how to change the oil in a diesel engine. Let us stipulate that the French woman is not a flirt and the German man is not a mechanic. It doesn’t matter; their languages make them sound that way. And when a fluent speaker of Post-Modern English asks you to move your car because he’s been boxed in, he sounds like a puppy that has just peed on your white carpet. He may not be a wimp, but he sure does sounds like one. It is simply the case that each of these languages, at least when heard by Americans of a certain age, creates a vivid impression of the speaker. It is no more complicated than that. So why does the American guy sound like such a wimp?

Post-Modern English is the language of wimps.

At the core of Post-Modern English are two directives that determine not just the attitude but also the moral stance that its speakers assume as they turn to face the oncoming challenges of the modern world. These two directives, sometimes called the Twin Primes, preempt both the laws enacted by governments and the commandments handed down by ancient religions. (Practically, this means that in the event of a conflict between any of those laws or commandments and either of these two directives, it is the latter that will be adhered to, not the laws of God and man, all other things being equal.) You may have heard one or both of the Twin Primes invoked when a speaker of Post-Modern English suspects a violation has occurred in the vicinity.

The First Directive is “Don’t judge.” The Second is “Don’t be a dick.”

How, you may be asking yourself, could two such sensible and straightforward prohibitions make millions of people sound wimpy? Enforced separately, they probably couldn’t, but enforced together, they lay a paradoxical trap that can make even the straightest spine go all wobbly.

When a fluent speaker of Post-Modern English asks you to move your car because he’s been boxed in, he sounds like a puppy that has just peed on your white carpet.

Step by step, now. To judge others is considered rude in Post-Modern English, especially if the judgment is thought to be harsh. A person who judges others in this way and then communicates that judgment to those being judged is often referred to as a dick. If, for example, you saw someone who was judging others and, in a completely sincere attempt to be helpful, you said to that person, “Don’t be a dick,” you would have, in effect, not only made a judgment about that person’s behavior, but also communicated it to that person in a harsh way. By definition, then, by telling this person that he has behaved badly, you yourself would have strayed off the reservation to which PME speakers have agreed to confine themselves, and would have become the very thing that you have judged so harshly: a dick.

Now, Post-Modern English speakers are not stupid. They are aware of this trap and, not wishing to be hoist with their own petards, do what any reasonable person would do. Not only do they rarely call other people “dicks,” but they fall all over themselves to avoid any communication that can be interpreted as passing judgment on others. Simple statements about mundane matters are qualified and watered down so that the likelihood of giving offense is minimized. Explanations are inflected to sound like questions, apologies, or cries for help. Commonplace opinions are framed semi-ironically, often attached to the word “like,” so that they can be retracted at the first sign of disagreement. This feature of the language is called “ironic deniability.” It also allows one to blame irony when the real culprit is stupidity.

As a result, fluent PME speakers, when compared with speakers of earlier forms of American English, sound more uncertain, unassertive, and nonjudgmental. To put it bluntly, they sound more sheepish. Not because they are, you understand, any more than the French woman was flirtatious. It is just that the rules of the language have prodded them, bleating, into the chute that leads inescapably to the waiting tub of dip. In short, to avoid being dicks, they end up being wimps.

By telling this person that he has behaved badly, you yourself would have become the very thing that you have judged so harshly: a dick.

Wake up, old son, and smell the nitro coffee. In this brave new world, wimpiness is cool.

And that, my crusty-but-benign student, is all you need to know. You don’t need a dissertation on the cultural and historical forces that forged this pained linguistic posture; all you need is to imitate its cringe as you complete the lesson ahead and go on to achieve fluency in Post-Modern English. Here’s an aspirational commandment: “Thou shalt be cool.” You can do this. It’s goals.

Part Two: The Vocal Register

Please say, “So, that’s pretty much it, right?” in your normal 20th century voice. OK? Now say it again, but make the pitch of your voice as low as you can.

How’d it go? When you lowered the pitch, did you hear a sizzle, a popping sound, like bacon frying? No? Try again, as low as it will go. Once you’ve achieved this effect, I’ll give you the backstory.

Ready? That sizzle is the sound of liquid burbling around your slackened vocal cords. As you may have noticed, this register, often called vocal fry, has been growing in popularity during the past few decades.

Fluent PME speakers, when compared with speakers of earlier forms of American English, sound more uncertain, unassertive, and nonjudgmental. To put it bluntly, they sound more sheepish.

In the 1987 movie Made in Heaven, Debra Winger played the archangel Emmett, God’s right-hand man, who was supposed to be a chain-smoker. As Ms. Winger was not, she had to simulate a smoker’s voice for the part, serendipitously producing a pitch-perfect proto-vocal fry. While this early mutation event does not appear to have lodged in the inheritable DNA of the language, it is fascinating in the same way that the Lost Colony of Roanoke is.

Vocal fry’s current run on the linguistic hit parade is more likely to have begun when Britney Spears croaked “Baby One More Time” in 1998, although it is occasionally said that the real patient zero was someone named Kardashian. Whatever.

Women tend to use vocal fry more than men. A wag on TV once said that women are trying to usurp the authority of the patriarchy by imitating the vocal register of the male. This would be in stark contrast to the southern belle or transvestite, both of whom artificially raise the pitch of their voices, sometimes into falsetto, to enhance the appearance of femininity.

Isn’t the theory that these bubbling vocal cords were repeatedly sautéed and baked less likely than the much simpler explanation of demonic possession?

Another theory holds that the phenomenon is simply the result of too much booze and marijuana. For this “Animal House Hypothesis” to be taken seriously, however, it must account for the fact that vocal fry did not present in the ’60s (except briefly in Clarence “Frogman” Henry’s 1956 recording of “Ain’t Got No Home”). Considering that the sound more nearly resembles an audition for the next installment of the Exorcist franchise, isn’t the theory that these bubbling vocal cords were repeatedly sautéed and baked less likely than the much simpler explanation of demonic possession? The smoker’s rasp sounds much drier, anyway.

There has been an effort to dismiss the bubbling as a mere affectation. But ask yourself: what are the odds that a vocalization nearly indistinguishable from Mongolian throat singing will be adopted by millions of young people, simply to strike a pose? I’m just not buying it. The simplest explanation may be best: it was an innocently adopted, thoroughly harmless preteen fad that unexpectedly took root in adolescence and grew into a well-established, widespread adult habit, like picking one’s nose.

Don’t sizzle when you uptalk. You’ll frighten the children.

We may not know where it came from, and we may not know why it came, but we do know that vocal fry, while not quite the sine qua non of Post-Modern English, sends the loud and clear message, to anyone who happens to be within earshot, that standing here is a proud master of the 21st-century version of American English, gargling spit while speaking. (I seem to recall once seeing something similar being done by a ventriloquist.)

Learn the sounds in the lesson below; sing them with the sizzle above, while acting like a sick toy poodle at the vet’s, and your quest will be over. The Holy Grail of this Elders’ Crusade will be yours: PME fluency. (Oh, and remember: don’t sizzle when you uptalk. You’ll frighten the children.)

Part Three: The Exercises

So, in the 2016 election, Clinton was really sure she would sort of capture the states in the rust belt, but she didn’t. I mean, the turnout there was pretty much deplorable, right?

1. Discourse markers, sometimes called fillers, such as those used above (so, really, sort of, I mean, pretty much, and right), while not integral to either the meaning or the music of Post-Modern English, enhance its aesthetics, signal that the speaker is part of the linguistic in-crowd, and help the speaker sound as if his grip on what he’s saying is less than firm. It gives him wiggle room and makes him seem all squirmy: the Daily Double. Placing fillers in a phrase to best effect calls for a keen ear, rigorous practice, and a constant monitoring of how it is being done by the cool kids.

Beginning immediately, insert at least one filler into each sentence you speak. Yes, it requires self-discipline, but don’t worry; in time, it will become habitual and you will be able to dispense with self-discipline entirely.

There are fillers galore. To gain perspective, note that like, actually, and dude, while still heard, have grown slightly stale.

Yes, it requires self-discipline, but don’t worry; in time, it will become habitual and you will be able to dispense with self-discipline entirely.

About ten years ago, like was like ubiquitous. Like it was in like every sentence like three or four times. I mean, it had like metastasized. Then, over the next few years, its rate of use fell by 73%, as though it had gone into remission. Often, when a word or fad becomes a pandemic, it burns itself out. There was a sign on a Mississippi country store: “Live Bait – Nitecrawlers – Cappuccino.” It could be that the overuse of like was deemed uncool by some shadowy teen language tribunal and labeled a bad habit, like smoking tobacco. But as with that addiction, many found it impossible to go cold turkey. You’ve probably heard of Nicorette,a gum used by smokers trying to ease withdrawal. Well, the discourse markers sort of, kind of, you know, I mean, and pretty much have been the linguistic Nicorette to millions of like addicts trying to kick the habit. Some former addicts have resorted to saying kinda-sorta. They are sincere in their belief that this constitutes an evolutionary step forward.

Actually, which often sounds a trifle pompous, has largely been replaced by so in the initial position and right in the final position, as demonstrated in the lesson. It can still be used, but sparingly. Once per minute ought to do it, actually; twice, at most.

In place of dude, try bro, or brah, or bruh, or perhaps you could consider using nothing at all.

In summary, “Actually, I like know what I’m talking about, dude,” compares unfavorably to, “So, that’s pretty much, you know, how it sort of is, brah — I mean, right?” While both sets of words still appear in the lexicon of New English, the latter reflects the more gracile stage of linguistic evolution that has been achieved, and is, therefore, preferred. It sounds more woke, too, doesn’t it, or is that just me?

They are sincere in their belief that this constitutes an evolutionary step forward.

2. The first two syllables in the word “election” should be mid-range in pitch, and clearly and crisply enunciated, while the final syllable should be lower pitched and slightly drawn out: “shuuun.” (In other applications, the terminal syllable must be uptalked. This will be covered in Lesson Two.) The increase in duration for the final “shun” is mandatory for all words ending in “-tion.” God knows why. But try it again, with a little sizzle: “elek- shuuun.” Nice.

3. “Clinton” should be pronounced “Cli/en” with a glottal stop entirely replacing the medial “nt” consonant blend. Glottal stops are a thing right now. “Mountain” is “mow/en,” and “important” is “impor/ent,” not to be confused with the mid-Atlantic pronunciation “impordent.” (Note that in the go-to example for glottal stops in American English, “mitten” becoming “mi/en,” it is only the “t” sound that is replaced, as it is in “impor/ent.” Replacing the “nt” seems to be the more recent, bolder approach, and is thus more worthy of imitation.) Practice these glottal stops in front of a mirror. To avoid embarrassment, it’s better to practice when you’re alone than to try them out in public before they’ve been thoroughly polished.

4. The word “sure” should not be pronounced like “shirt” without the “t” but rather as “shore,” rhyming with “snore,” with the long “o” and a strongly vocalized “r.” This pronunciation probably hails from Brooklyn, where it had been successfully detained for decades. Similarly, don’t say “toorist,” say, “toarist.” (By George, you’ve got it.) Again, practice. This is hot stuff. Cutting edge. Hundo P.

To avoid embarrassment, it’s better to practice when you’re alone than to try things out in public before they’ve been thoroughly polished.

5. In the word “capture,” the first syllable, “cap,” should be mid-range in pitch and clipped at the end, with a fraction of a second pause before dropping down to the second syllable, “chur,” which must be at a low pitch and slightly drawn out, so that it sounds like the endearing growl of a small dog.

This rule, first promulgated by anonymous Valley Girls back in the eighties, applies to all multi-syllabic words that end in “-ture” and most words of more than one syllable that end in “r.” The amount of fry used in this application has varied over time, and the appropriate level has been the subject of a lively but inconclusive debate. I take the view that it is a matter of personal taste. Experiment with the sizzle; go ahead. Practice with this list: rapture, juncture, fracture, puncture, rupture. Remember: Start high, go low, go long. Grrrr.

6. In “the rust belt,” “the” should be at mid-register pitch, while both “rust” and “belt” should be about five full notes higher. Yes, this is the famous sound of uptalk. The higher pitch of “rust” and “belt” suggests that a question is being asked. The goal is to create the impression that you are checking to see if the listener knows, as you are pretending to know, exactly what the rust belt is. What is desired is the illusion of a simultaneous, unspoken, empathetic interaction of mutual insecurity, something like, “Are you still with me? Am I doing OK?”, evoking at most an instant, tiny nod from the listener and a silent “Yes, I’m still with you, and you’re doing just fine, I think.” Try not to sound too needy. Aim for a subtle patina of clingy insecurity. It’s more credible. No need to ham it up.

Again, it is the legendary Valley Girls who are credited with this classic innovation. Australia recently filed a suit with the International Court of Justice disputing this claim. As if!

Aim for a subtle patina of clingy insecurity. It’s more credible.

Uptalk, like vocal fry, is used by women more than men, and is frowned upon by some, especially when it is “overused” and “exaggerated.” What crap. When it’s used once or twice per sentence, and the high-pitched words don’t pierce the falsetto barrier too often, uptalk reliably contributes to an authentic-sounding PME fluency. While I’ll grant that it may be something of an acquired taste, with practice and patience you’ll come to find its chirping high notes as precious as I do. Uptalk is cool and is likely to remain so. (I suspect that some men avoid uptalk because it makes their mansplaining hilarious.)

7. Then, after “rust belt,” comes a pause, as though the speaker were waiting for some confirmation of comprehension. This is a faux pause. The pause should not be so long that it gives the listener sufficient time to formulate and initiate an inquiry — in this instance, into the actual membership roster of states or cities in the rust belt. The duration of the pause will vary according to the speaker’s assessment of the listener’s level of expertise. Here, the assessment would involve the fields of (a) voter behavior in 2016 and (b) the deindustrialization of the non-Canadian area around the Great Lakes during the past half-century. To use the faux pause correctly, then, refer to this rule of thumb: Low expertise? Short pause. High expertise? Shorter pause. As always, the primary concern should be style, not substance.

8. The words “but she” should be two full steps lower than “belt” (from the fifth to the third), but “didn’t” should be right back at the same pitch as “belt.” That’s right, another dose of uptalk.

To master the technique, the novice should start by uptalking at least 50 times a day. When I was starting out, I kept a pencil stub and a little note pad in my shirt pocket to tally up my uses of uptalk during the course of the day with neatly crosshatched bundles of five. You might want to give it a try, as it keeps your shoulder to the wheel. I am proud to say that I uptalk effortlessly all the time now, and the surprise and sheer delight on the faces of young people when they hear an older gentleman “talking up” makes all the hours of practice worthwhile. I feel like I’m really making a difference.

While I’ll grant that it may be something of an acquired taste, with practice and patience you’ll come to find its chirping high notes as precious as I do.

A word of caution. When uptalk is employed at a very high frequency, volume, and pitch, and the whole sampler of fillers is tossed in, a critical mass can be achieved that has been known to set off a chain reaction. First your dog, then the neighbors’, then their neighbors’ — before you know it, the whole neighborhood is filled with the sound of a howling canine chorus. Once, when I overdid it, the damned coyotes even joined in. So mix fillers into your uptalk carefully. I’m just saying.

9. The word “didn’t” should be pronounced as a crisp, two-syllable “dident.” The short “e” sound should be clearly heard as in “Polident.” (Think “prissy.”) This same rule applies to “doesn’t,” which becomes “duhzent,” emphasis again on the short “e.” While “couldn’t” and “shouldn’t” also sometimes become “couldent” and “shouldent,” as one might expect, just as frequently they come out as, “coont” and “shoont,” utilizing the short “oo” of “schnook.” (Thinking back, the guys I heard using this pronunciation may have been lit.) Either of these modern variants is acceptable, but eschew the fuddy-duddy standard pronunciations of the original contractions, “could/nt” and “should/nt,” which, oddly, feature glottal stops. (Yesterday, I heard “coo/ent.” Very chill.) Oh, and don’t say “did/nt.” (With all due respect, you’d sound like a cave man.)

10. The final word, “right,” should be pronounced in a way that places it at an equal distance from (a) assuring the listener that what you just said was not only correct, but cool, and (b) seeking assurance from the listener that what you just said was not only correct, but cool. In order to achieve this effect, the coloration of “right” must be subtly blended so as to become a creature of the twilight world between the declarative and the interrogative: not falling, not rising, not whining, and never, ever abrupt. With the proper inflection, “right” will hit this sweet spot, where the listener will wonder, “Wait. What? Is he asking me or telling me?”

Practice these ten exercises. Practice hard, then get out there and commence pussyfooting.

Part Four: Problems and Solutions

As you gain fluency in Post-Modern English, what you seem to lose in self-confidence, you will more than make up for with an increased capacity to appear empathetic. Your use of PME will lower the walls and build new bridges between you and the people around you. Your sacrifice of the ability to assert your will and pass judgment on others will help create a more open, tolerant, and nonjudgmental human community. You will contribute to a world in which nobody will feel the need to say “Don’t judge me,” or “Don’t be a dick,” because there will be no one judging them and no one will be acting like a dick. That’s right: no more judges and no more dicks. It will be a world of greater respect, warmth, and, yes, love.

The bad news is that you’ll have to keep an eye out for three problems that may rear their ugly little heads.

What you seem to lose in self-confidence, you will more than make up for with an increased capacity to appear empathetic.

First, there is backsliding. Although you now sound hip, as you approach your dotage you may find among your life’s baggage a few truths that you feel should be self-evident to everyone. You may even feel a need to share these truths with the people who, sad to say, have not had the pleasure of reading the self-published revisions to your personal Boy Scout Handbook. (You may also feel a constant pain in your lower back. These symptoms often occur together.) Pretending to be wimpy may have grown so taxing that, as therapy, you decide to briefly drop the Post-Modern English charade and revert to your former pre-PME self. But how do you safely remount your high horse?

To avoid unjust accusations of hypocrisy, it is best to choose the venue and target of these code-switching episodes carefully. I’ve heard that a marvelous place to engage in them is on urban motorways. I am told that it is easy to find drivers who are unaware of your exhaustive personal list of driving dos and don’ts. What next?

You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile. Some knucklehead in a little Kia cuts in front of you without even signaling, missing you by mere yards. Gunning it, you pull up next to him. You lower your window. He lowers his. Then you let him have it with both barrels — figuratively, of course. You tell him, in stark Anglo-Saxon terms, in as loud and clear a voice as you can muster, the obscene fate that awaits him and his mother before their imminent and humiliating deaths. After that, spleen thoroughly vented, you brake and swerve onto the exit ramp, switch back to PME,and reassume your Oprah-like pose of nonjudgmental equanimity.

Here are a few tips. Before you switch codes, make absolutely sure that the knucklehead in your crosshairs doesn’t know who you are. Anonymity is crucial. And avoid the rush hour, when traffic sometimes grinds to a halt. Offended knuckleheads have been known to leap from their cars, screaming obscenities and brandishing revolvers. They are, after all, knuckleheads. (Good thing it’s illegal to use a wireless telephone while driving. No one will be able to post your outburst on the internet.)

The best way to keep from backsliding is, obviously, to get a grip on yourself.

Before you switch codes, make absolutely sure that the knucklehead in your crosshairs doesn’t know who you are. Anonymity is crucial.

Second, should you choose to “just say no” to the temptation to backslide, beware of unsuccessful repression. If, in order to achieve PME fluency, you have to repress the wish to lord it up over everybody, and the repression fails to keep that wish contained, you may catch it sneaking out of that darkened back room of your consciousness, where you’ve been keeping it out of public view, and exposing itself in what is popularly known as a “Freudian slip.”

Attending a lovely garden party, you might intend to say, “Oh, You’re so kind. Thank you so much,” only to find yourself saying, “Why don’t you just go fuck yourself.” Remember, you could have said this to the knucklehead who cut you off, but you didn’t want to be seen as a hypocrite.

What then? The best way to avoid Freudian slips is to keep a civil tongue in your head. If you think that you might need professional help to accomplish this, weekly sessions with a competent therapist for a year or two should do the trick. And don't be put off if the hourly fee is hundreds of dollars. Medicare covers it.

Third, and finally: As bad as that slip would be, there is the possibility of something even more embarrassing. Freud himself believed that a sufficiently strong unfulfilled wish, if locked away in some dark dungeon of the subconscious, could create intolerable internal feelings that were then projected onto an external object in the form of a paranoid delusion of the kind that motivates such modern political extremists as white supremacists and their mirror-twins, the antifas. You may find yourself on the campus of a large university, waiving simplistic placards, shouting incoherent platitudes, and trading ineffectual blows with someone very much like yourself, a person who speaks Post-Modern English fluently but finds it difficult to express his opinions nonviolently. Why, he may even lack the most basic linguistic tools that are needed to engage in civil discourse.

You might intend to say, “Oh, You’re so kind. Thank you so much,” only to find yourself saying, “Why don’t you just go fuck yourself.”

The solution? Just pull yourself together, man. Snap out of it, for the love of God.

Given your age, maturity, and ability in archaic English, spotting these pitfalls early on and avoiding them should not be difficult. If, however, you find that you’re experiencing uncontrollable urges to play the pontiff, convert the heathen, or some such, and you feel the need for relief, there is a category of medications called anti-androgens that lower the testosterone levels often associated with judgmentalism. Most of the side effects are limited to the secondary sexual characteristics and are not life threatening. If this sounds right for you, you should consult your health care provider.

Should the medication prove ineffective and your symptoms persist, there is a growing body of evidence indicating that immediate and lasting relief can be achieved through gender reassignment surgery, provided that you are a male. While this has become a relatively safe and routine procedure, boasting a single-digit mortality rate, a small percentage of otherwise qualified candidates hesitate to “go under the knife.” But if you count yourself among these reluctant few, take heart. There is one more glimmer of hope: the experimental treatment protocol called “strategic relocation.” While there is insufficient data to conclusively prove the treatment’s therapeutic efficacy, the available anecdotal evidence suggests that, at the very least, more research is warranted.

Ferris T. Pranz, a postdoctoral fellow in the Department of Applied Metaphysics of Eastern Montana State University at Purdie, has been observing a band of people living with judgmentalism. These people were individually tagged and released over the past decade by the Montana Department of Behavior Management (MDBM) outside Fertin, a farming town near Lake Gombay, just south of the Missouri River. In his unpublished 2017 field notebook, Pranz records his painstaking efforts to gain the trust of this strategically relocated band at their watering hole, a smoke-filled bar called “Grumpy’s.”

There is one more glimmer of hope: the experimental treatment protocol called “strategic relocation.”

Pranz’s observations have raised some eyebrows in the judgmentalism community in Montana. Despite the Fertin band’s characteristically opinionated and aggressive communicational style and constant abuse of both alcohol and tobacco, they seem to share a gruff good humor while playing at pool, darts, and cards. Interestingly, they often refer to themselves as “blowhards,” apparently without shame or irony, and then laugh loudly. When Pranz would ask the group to explain the laughter, they would invariably laugh again, more loudly. Pranz has recommended that further research be conducted to discern the motives behind this laughter, possibly utilizing a double-blind design.

More broadly, Pranz and his colleagues at EMSUP have proposed a major longtitudinal study to explore the incongruity of the seemingly upbeat ambience in “Grumpy’s” by designing instruments to quantify (1) the specific characteristics of these Fertin people and the effect that such characteristics may have on their communicational dynamics; (2) the effects of the complete absence of treatment by means of any of the experimentally proven therapies for people living with late-stage degenerative judgmentalism. These effects can then be compared with therapeutic outcomes in matched groups receiving such treatments. Pranz has also recommended that the proposed longtitudinal study be completed prior to authorization of an expanded “strategic relocation” program to include areas beyond Fertin. In October of 2017, the Board of Directors of the Friends of Judgmentalism in Bozeman passed a resolution in support of Pranz’s proposal. Pranz plans to apply for a grant through the MDBM in June of 2018.

Part Five: Looking Backward

American English is the language of our past, already dated and quickly becoming archaic. As will be shown, the impression that it makes when spoken is not good. More importantly, it conveys an aggressive smugness that is out of step with today’s world. Even the founding documents of the United States, written in American English, sound absolutist, judgmental, and harsh.

By now, you must have asked yourself: “If French is the language of love, and German is the language of Nietzsche, and Post-Modern English is the language of wimps, then what the heck is American English?” Well?

American English is the language of our past, already dated and quickly becoming archaic. It conveys an aggressive smugness that is out of step with today’s world.

As a native speaker of American English, I am not qualified to answer. To find a place to sit somewhere outside of one’s own language and culture, and then to sit there and listen to one’s language being spoken in order to gather an impression of the speaker, using only the sound of the language, not its meaning, is like trying to street-park a Class A RV on the Upper East Side: while it may be possible, I’ve never seen it done. No, this question should be answered by people who don’t speak the language.

American English began in 1607, when the first British colonist stepped on the shore of the James River. How do you suppose American English sounds to British ears today? I’m told there are three main impressions. First, it is spoken more slowly than British English, giving the impression that the speaker is also a little slow. Second, it is spoken more loudly than British English, and with more emotion. As both of these characteristics are associated with children, the impression is that the speaker is somewhat immature. Third, American English is rhotic, meaning that “r” is pronounced both at the end of a word and before another consonant. As this pronunciation is normally associated with Scotland, Ireland, and remote rural areas, the impression is that the speaker is a bit rustic.

Taken together, then, to British ears American English is the language of dim-witted, childish yokels. One might call it the language of knuckleheads. That is not to say that Americans are knuckleheads. It simply means that our language makes us seem that way.

Post-Modern English, while less given to the glacial John Wayne drawl or the grating Jerry Lewis bray of American English, retains the rhotic accent, even doubling down on it with the vocal fry. Still, in two of the three categories, it constitutes an evolutionary step beyond its parent language. Even British children have begun to pick up Post-Modern English from Netflix, much to the delight and amusement of their parents.

To British ears American English is the language of dim-witted, childish yokels. One might call it the language of knuckleheads.

I was once told by a friend who spoke only the Arabic of the Nejd that French sounded like someone saying, “Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo,” and English sounded like someone saying, “Raw, raw, raw, raw, raw.” That was just one Bedouin’s opinion, of course. It seemed funnier in Arabic, somehow. “Loo, loo, loo.” We had a good laugh.

In 1776, less than 200 years after that first colonist was beached, Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence. What a marvelous symbolic moment in the evolution of English! He had to write it in American English, of course, because the Post-Modern branch wouldn’t emerge for two centuries. While this does not excuse him, it reduces his level of culpability. Listen:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.

Can you hear his certainty? Why, the phrase simply drips with self-confidence. To assert that a truth is self-evident is an act of rhetorical bravado that positively swaggers. (“Because I said so.”) Note the absence of fillers to dull the sharp edges. He seems to have missed the lesson that explains how “you have your truths and I have mine.” He seems to be saying that “all truths are not created equal,” pardon my French. And what is this nonsense about “men”?

So Jefferson was sure of himself, and assertive. But was he judgmental? Ask yourself: What is this Declaration of Independence, at its core? Is it a celebratory birth announcement, like a Hallmark card? (“Please welcome…”)

It seemed funnier in Arabic, somehow. “Loo, loo, loo.” We had a good laugh.

Far from it. This is Thomas Jefferson leveling a public and harsh judgment against one King George III. It spells out George’s crimes, like a rap sheet or an indictment. It is clear: Tom is judging George. Tommy is calling Georgie a dick. Listen:

A prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

This white, male, rich, privileged, powerful, slaveholding “founder” of America is writing in the scathingly self-righteous tones of archaic American English. The sound of Jefferson’s voice is clear. He is cocksure and in-your-face. He is your judge, jury, and executioner. The music of his American English is a march being played by a big brass band oompahing down Main Street on the Fourth of July, snare drums rattling like assault rifles. Courage is needed to follow the facts, no matter where they lead. It pains me to have to say it, but Thomas Jefferson was a dick.

Your final assignment is to translate the first of the two fragments above (the one with the “self-evident truths”) from American English into Post-Modern English. You have five minutes. Begin.

OK, time’s up. Answers will vary, of course, but it might be useful to compare your translation with the following:

So, some of us were sorta thinking? that a coupla of these like, ideas? or whatever? we had were, oh, I don’t know, kind of, you know, well, not so bad? I guess, right? And, uh, oh yeah, that all men, I mean, like women, too, kind of like, everybody? I mean, are pretty much, I’m gonna say, created? you know, like, equal? right. or whatever, so...”

It sounds vaguely Canadian, eh?

Yes, it is time to put American English out to pasture. Post-Modern English is not just cooler; it is more in keeping with the zeitgeist. It is the language best suited to the more equitable, inclusive, and nonjudgmental world that we are building together.

It pains me to have to say it, but Thomas Jefferson was a dick.

It is time to hang up that coonskin cap.

* * *

All living languages are continuously evolving — as are we, the species that speaks those languages. Do these two forms of evolution influence each other? Of course they do. Through millennia, the evolutionary pas de deux of our species on this earth has been and continues to be shaped by, and to shape, the words and music of our languages. To the extent that there is intent in this choreography, it is ours. We are making ourselves. The changes we make to our languages have consequences beyond the merely aesthetic. They affect the choices we make that determine our destiny. We should, therefore, make changes to our languages with the same caution we exercise in rearranging the molecules of our genome. Are we good?

“. . . Fearing not that I’d become my enemy
in the instant that I preach.”
                          — Bob Dylan, My Back Pages (1964)




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