February Excerpt: In Search of a Good Teacher by Jaime O'Neill

In Search of a Good Teacher

Jaime O'Neill

PHOTO: velkr0/Flickr

Not long ago, I stopped at a local bakery for coffee and a bit of pastry, accompanied by my wife and visiting daughters. A woman ahead of me in line said hello, and though I recognized her face, I couldn’t place her. 

“Do you know where you know me from?” I asked.

“I took English from you,” she answered.

That comment is always a little fraught with tension because, when I can’t remember a former student, there’s a possibility that person left my class with bad feelings caused by a bad grade. Sometimes, they just didn’t like me, or they hated the fact they were required to take the course I taught, and they blamed me for that requirement. Over the years, whenever I was at a party where people were making small talk by asking one another what they did for a living, I had grown sheepish about admitting that I taught English because, more often than not, the reply was, “Oh, I hated English when I was in school,” followed by the confession that they weren’t good at it, though they rushed to assure me that they had excelled at other subjects.

In other words, they fell back into the role of being students again, and casting me as the teacher, a person to whom they had to make excuses.

The woman in line at the bakery was kind enough to tell me how much my course had meant to her, and I made the awkwardly appreciative noises one makes at such a time. And, as we talked, I gradually began to remember her, albeit a bit dimly. She was that rare student in community college, one of those who always turns up for class, is always prepared, always does the work. Most probably, her assessment of my skills as a teacher owed as much to her dedication to her studies as anything I did or didn’t do in that class she took from me. Good students are often likely to give the teacher credit for things they did themselves, and poor students are more likely to blame teachers for the things they, themselves, did not do. They would have studied harder if the teacher had been more interesting, or they would have been more conscientious if the teacher had somehow convinced them that this stuff mattered.

I spent most of my working life as a teacher, sharing what I’d learned about language and literature from those who had taught me. I took several dozen classes in order to acquire the degrees that allowed me to presume I had something worth hearing to students who signed up for the courses I taught. By rough estimate, there were 320 of those courses, taught over a span of four decades spent in classrooms at four different colleges. Figuring a low-ball average enrollment of 20 students per class, that figures out to well over 6000 students, nearly all of whom have evaporated from memory. Similarly, the teachers who taught me are mostly forgotten. Those professors who still hold a place in my recollections are a mere handful of truly exceptional people–both exceptionally bad and exceptionally good. The good teachers served as role models for what I should do when I began my own teaching career, and the bad teachers lingered in memory to remind me of what I should avoid doing.

If you would like to read more of this article in Empirical, the February issue is now available at your local bookstore and online at our website.

Picktures and Pieces 8: "Ever Thus to Tyrants?"

Picktures and Pieces 8: "Ever Thus to Tyrants?"

Randall Auxier

This handbill is interesting. I’m reading along in Emma Goldman’s essays, the first time I have done so, and in “Anarchism: What It Stands For,” she says that government and ignorance are linked to each other. It never crossed my mind that every government has at least some motive for keeping its people ignorant of at least some information. Only anarchism, she argues, which opposes government in principle, advocates full education for every person. I had to give that some thought. Like most semi-educated people (I assume I have not achieved a fully clear view of things in the way Goldman favors), I know that anarchism gets a bad rap in the press and in mainstream histories, and that it gets blamed for things it doesn’t advocate and hardly ever gets a full hearing. And I now know that “Red Emma” is not so very red, if by that one means communist or socialist, neither of which describes her views at all. That being said, I want to understand how it is that democracies might benefit from keeping their citizens ignorant, which seems far-fetched. 

But maybe not. 

We are all accustomed to the Jeffersonian democratic cant about our limitless confidence in ordinary people to govern themselves. We tie that confidence to our commitment to educate everyone, since it is the educated citizen who can carry off that self-government task, as well as choose those among the populace who can represent them in the formal governing process. How could a sincere advocate of democracy ever have a motive to keep anyone ignorant? I note that communist and fascist propaganda also tout universal education. But since I am not a fascist or a communist, I must deal with my dismay at being told that democracy, when it creates a government, creates at the same time a motive among those who govern for keeping people ignorant. This motive is not inherent in democracy, per se, it is inherent in the creation of a state, Goldman believes. 

The exercise of power, wherever it is found, of any one person or group of people over any other, is always facilitated by keeping those who are subordinated ignorant of their genuine alternatives, and even of their subordination, if that can be pulled off. In this sense, then, looking around me, asking whether I see ignorance in the American public that is making them easier to “govern,” I must admit that I see it everywhere, including myself. Rather than anger anyone in the present needlessly, I will consider that poster instead. The abolition fight had been building in the US for a long time by 1837, and this poster is an interesting plea to preserve the union and defend the Constitution by silencing (what happened to the First Amendment?) this “revolting character.” His “lecture” is “seditious” because it impugns the rights given to the states by the Constitution, advocating the abolition of slavery (using federal power, presumably, but who knows what that vile abolitionist was saying, or not saying if this poster succeeded). This silencing is to be done peaceably, however. After all, we are not barbarians, here in the land of the Constitution. We are "Fellow Citizens," excepting that seditious fellow whom the Presbyterians have invited to ruin our union. I have a feeling that some minister may have had a hard time holding onto his job after this event. Thinking back to Emma Goldman’s point about governments, I look for the vested interest in ignorance here. Lincoln's birthday is upon us and many of us will have seen Stephen Spielberg’s Lincoln. 

Almost 30 years after this poster was printed, and well over 600,000 deaths (that was just the number of soldiers), the US still couldn’t manage to find the political will to use federal power to abolish slavery by the ordinary Constitutional process. It wasn’t a failure of democracy, it was a failure of government. Looking into an issue as plain as the immorality of slavery, we find powerful forces that are profoundly invested in keeping people ignorant, and not just the slaves themselves, but more importantly the tyranny over the human mind exercised by those with the power to leverage ideology or need or force on people as if it were truth. The poster was written by someone who wants his fellow citizens to remain ignorant, for the sake of the union, although he (and I'm confident it was a he) does not know he is doing that.

Emma Goldman speaks of three domains in which ignorance does its work: in the domain of mind, where religion (as an “us vs. them” worldview) closes people’s minds to certain kinds of ideas, even quite obvious ones, such as “slavery is wrong.” Second, in the domain of physical need, in which economic forces may drive people into all sorts of oppressive political arrangements, where people can only choose which group of powerful bullies shall oppress them. And third, in the domain of physical power or force, there is government itself, exercising coercive authority.

There is a barricade to freedom in each of these. Together, they effectively keep people ignorant, frightened and subordinated, and, as in the author of this poster, ignorant of their ignorance. This characterization sounds so radical, but when I look at the poster above, I cannot help thinking that people in our very midst make exactly the same arguments, not about the abolition of slavery, but about other things, and none of them is very eager to have you hear a fair and balanced version from the other side. Good people, well-meaning people struggle with themselves to silence, usually peaceably, those whose words may threaten their religious convictions, their economic well-being, or their tiny shot at influencing government. 

Today’s versions of that poster are believed because the issues are regarded as living ones, which for Emma Goldman generally means that someone is using our ignorance of the full story to control us. Should we wage war pre-emptively? Should abortion be legal? Should the wealthy be more heavily taxed? Should we allow corporations or governments to destroy the environment? Well, I honestly don’t know. I mean that in the sense of “I’m genuinely ignorant” of many of the sources of my own convictions. Like everyone else, I have absorbed billions of images, leading to thousands of opinions. Very few are products of my practical experience. What do I know about slavery, really? What do I know about Arab Spring, really?

The fact that we must rely on others for much of what we learn makes our power arrangements all the more crucial to our happiness, and Goldman was convinced that only the anarchist has a shot at happiness, because only he or she has the courage to refuse the power arrangements that keep us ignorant. Even Thomas Jefferson thought that the tree of liberty must be periodically watered with the blood of patriots and tyrants, and he had in mind that this would happen several times in a century. And even John Wilkes Booth had the temerity to shout “sic semper tyrannis” as he silenced one of the few voices of conscience our system has ever put into actual power. And what did Leon Czoglosz say as he assassinated President McKinley? Was this the act of an anarchist? What actions are justified in the name of happiness and the lifting of human ignorance? That has to be the next question.

Our Pacific Northwest: Portland's Urban Forest Ranked Amongst Top in the Nation

Our Pacific Northwest

Portland's Urban Forest Ranked Amongst Top in the Nation

The Oregonian has reported today the American Forests Report has ranked Portland, Oregon among the top 10 cities for urban forests in the nation. Portland, along with the other top cities, stood out among the 50 most populated cities for its civic engagement in maintaining the urban forest, accessibility to the public, documented knowledge about its urban forest, and its management plans and activities. Infamously known as “Stumptown” in its early history for its over-logged landscape, the report stated Portland now has 1.4 million total trees (1.2 million in parks and roughly 240,000 on the city streets). In 2004 the city set a goal of 33 percent of its surface area to be covered in urban forest; today it is estimated to be at 30 percent according to the report. Empirical magazine would like to take this opportunity to congratulate the city of Portland for its top-ten finish, and for its tremendous dedication in restoring a captivating landscape in our Pacific Northwest.

Photo Via Discover Sherwood Living



From the Empirical Archives: Seattle by Richard Hartwell

Seattle

Richard Hartwell

PHOTO: Bryce Edwards

Originally Published in the August 2012 Issue of Empirical

It would be dissembling to say that Seattle in the 1960s was still a brawling, sprawling frontier town of Canada and Alaska, and yet there is truth in that. Then, the city lay promiscuously just against the coast; sinuously wrapped around Puget Sound to the west and only beginning to slowly reach out to embrace Lake Washington to the east. Her harlot’s arms reached up, past UW, toward Mountlake Terrace and on out to Fort Lawton, while her legs entwined Renton and lazily stretched toward Tacoma. Her curves and breasts and mound were formed by the hills of downtown. She beckoned multitudes, as she had since the Alaskan Gold Rush, but most of those had used her as a casual interlude on their way to something else. By the late mid-century Seattle showed the signs of her abuse. Her trollop’s paint was smearing and faded and her limbs were becoming laced with the varicose veins of freeways and highways and industry. She was no longer the virgin of the Northwest.

I remember Seattle in the '60s, during her late adolescence, when she still struggled to throw off her Gold Rush and fishing-town heritage. The World’s Fair had recently run over her and Interstate 5 was under construction: a double-decked thoroughfare paralleling Alaskan Way and overlooking the Sound. Only occasional cruise ships berthed at the foot of the hills nestling her roundness and the embryos of skyscrapers in her belly were just entering their growth spurt. The aerospace industry caressed her legs while on Lake Washington the yachts of the newly rich tickled the hairs at the small of her back.

PHOTO: Ingrid Taylar

There were still warehouses along the base of the hills, next to the docks, from which you could reach out and almost touch the speeding cars on the upper deck of I-5. Those buildings that were not demolished for the new interstate had been filled with light industry. I worked at night on the fourth floor of one of those old brick structures in what was billed as a plastics’ manufacturing plant. In winter the snow blew in through the broken windows overlooking the new freeway and sometimes the dumb-waiter elevator got stuck. This was more than a mild inconvenience when one of the injection molds failed and blew back superheated plastic, filling the room with nauseous gases and caustic chemicals. Knowing the vagaries of the elevator, we usually ran toward the broken windows and had a cigarette until the air had cleared and a supervisor yelled for us to get back to work.

At eighteen I could get a beer in a downtown bar if I was traveling in the wrong group and stared back belligerently or malevolently at the bartender, daring him to challenge my credentials. There were still fights on the fishing docks in the early morning as the night-boats unloaded their catch. The freight trains still plied Alaskan Way next to the docks and under the new freeway and most of us parked between the tracks. With the rising cost of living, most of us blue-collar types avoided the street parking and used the verge formed by the vee between the track switches. Down there near the docks and warehouses we would share the tracks with the freights and the hoboes in the early mornings, and exchange greetings with the girls at night when we got off work and they went on, leaving their dingy hotels at the bottom of the hill at dusk to strut their stuff and make a buck.

For most of us that’s what downtown represented: making a buck. At that time very few lived there. There were no high-rise apartments yet; no luxury hotels with resident suites overlooking Puget Sound. You worked in the city and lived elsewhere; the more money, the farther out; the poorer, the closer. Most university professors lived around Lake Washington; most street girls lived downtown. I lived in the middle, beyond the naval yards, maybe two, three miles out.

It was a two-room basement apartment with a fireplace, a pull-down bed, kitchen, and bathroom. It was paneled in knotty pine, not plywood, but tongue-and-groove boards lovingly constructed by a professor at the University of Washington. It had obviously been a project of love at one time and he had even put in an exterior door leading down the backside of the house and into the next street. Such are the hills of Seattle. But as love waned for the professor and the need to propel his wife up in the university hierarchy became more pressing and apparent, he sublet his basement apartment to students and pretenders from the university. My pretense was probably better than my attendance and I was able to rent the apartment while I cast into the city from job to job.

It wasn’t so much that I bounced from job to job as that I tried to accommodate my college schedule. The vagaries of employment with Boeing would often flood the work force and anyone asking for favor or change was easily dismissed and replaced. I don’t recall ever being overly resentful of this practice at the time. It was just a natural element of the environment, like rain. If you paid it any attention, it would gain the upper hand on your psyche. If you ignored it, life went on. This accommodation worked most of the time, for most of the people.

It worked for me, too, at least until late 1965 when I received a governmental direction to report to Oakland for a preinduction physical. I had failed to carry sufficient units to maintain a college deferment and mere marriage was insufficient grounds to postpone what seemed to be the inevitable, as the '60s menstruated into

the war.

Perhaps if I had been older, or smarter, or richer, I would have gone north to Canada. Perhaps if I had been younger or dumber or poorer, I wouldn’t have played by the rules and even registered for school and thus for the draft. As it was, I was one of the malleable middle. I stopped attending classes, canceled the rent, quit my job, loaded my beat-up Bug-Eyed Sprite with everything I owned, and started retracing my way back south.

PHOTO: Christian Gonzales Veron

It’s true, I was focused on the immediate future, but even setting that aside, I don’t think I was sad to leave. Seattle had been good to me. As Tina Turner croons and rasps, “. . . sometimes nice and gentle and sometimes nice and rough.” It’s not a great revelation, but it rained the day I left Seattle. It was a nice, soft rain, not too cold. It was the kind of rain you soon grew to ignore if you lived there, or the kind that quickly chased you away. The rain lathered her body, and the hills and mounds of Seattle glistened in my rearview mirror. Then the mists of her shower descended again and shrouded her from view for more than fifty years.

I was soon to climb other hills and be washed by other rains, but nothing with the sensual allure of Seattle. I’ve never been back. But what would two old whores have to talk about anyway?

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Our Pacific Nothwest: Tsunami Debris Continue to Invade PNW

Our Pacific Northwest

Tsunami Debris Continue to Invade PNW

Picture Via NPR



Last month, Empirical brought to light a Seattle Times report about scientists discovering a dock which landed on the shores of Olympic National Park believed to be floating remains of the calamitous earthquake which devastated Japan in 2011. Today, NPR has reported Alaskan beaches are also receiving debris from the tsunami, creating a headache for environmentalists in the region. According to the report, the debris spans across roughly 80 miles of Alaskan coastline, turning pristine coast into eye sores and creating hazards for wildlife. Among the debris are refrigerators, pieces of foam, and containers of kerosene, petroleum, and other chemicals. Cleanup efforts are stymied because funding for the clean up was recently re-directed to the bill for Hurricane Sandy relief, according to NPR. The debris lacks the immediate impact of other ecological disasters the region has endured in the past, but if the remains are neglected, it will eventually have a detrimental impact on one of the most sensitive regions of our Pacific Northwest.

A Different Super Bowl Perspective

A Different Super Bowl Perspective

Gina Sue Erle

There are three different types of people who watch the Super Bowl. There’s the people who watch to make it a social event with their friends, the people who watch because of the commercials, and then there are the actual sports fans. Why did I watch the Super Bowl? One word, three syllables: Beyonce. While most people who write about the Super Bowl would give you a play by play of every touchdown, field goal, and penalty, I’d rather give a play by play of Beyonce's amazing performance during the half-time show.

It began with flashing lights and people running onto the field and then BOOM! An explosion of fire lit up the stage revealing the portraits of two women's faces in fire. And then with another burst of light, Beyonce is there, in all her glory, surrounded by spouts of fire. Smoke and noise surrounds her as she stands there hip-popped and ready to rock the audience. Then it goes quiet except for the sounds of the crowd. As Beyonce raises her microphone I felt the chill of anticipation run down my spine. “B”stands there, cloaked in shadow as she belts out, “baby it’s you” from “Love on Top” and the she proceeds to strut her stuff across the stage. Waiting for the dramatic pause she stops and then she is finally revealed, looking extraordinary in her black leather leotard. She acknowledges the crowd and then lights flash as she starts singing, “Crazy in Love.” Although I was a bit disappointed her hubby Jay-Z wasn’t there to sing with her, she still rocked the song and hit every dance move with sass and passion. Then a guitarist comes with a sparkling guitar solo and not just because it was a well-played part, but because there were literally sparklers shooting off from the guitar. 

She then transitioned into “End of Time,” which to me lacked a little luster as it isn’t one of her best songs. But Beyonce and her back-up dancers didn’t even seem to break a sweat as they performed the number. Beyonce then rocked the crowd to “Baby Boy,” where she danced in front of a screen with an infinite number of Beyonces. It was a beautiful visual that must have taken hours to perfect and left every girl who has no rhythm wishing they had 1/100th of the talent Beyonce has.

And then it happened. The moment people had spread rumors about. The moment people had been dreaming of for years. In came the tempo of the oh-so familiar “Bootylicious.” Then boom, Kelly popped up and then Michelle. Destiny’s Child had re-united for the Super Bowl and it was like I was eleven again. Every girl watching squealed in delight remembering how amazing Destiny’s Child was. It was a wonderful blast from the past as they began singing “Independent Women” surrounded by fire and flashing lights. Then the past caught up with the future and the three ladies collaborated on Beyonce's hit, “Single Ladies.” And then in an instant Michelle and Kelly were gone as Beyonce waved them off the stage and continued dancing with a plethora of background dancers surrounding the stage.

Beyonce then took it down a notch for a stunning rendition of “Halo.” I personally try to avoid listening to this song, not because it’s bad, but because I tend to cry every time I hear it; that’s how much emotion is put into this song. So there I sat crying watching Beyonce sing “Halo” surrounded by people deeply concerned for my emotional response. Wiping away my tears, I watched Beyonce finish her performance on her knees, belting the last notes with lights going just as crazy as the crowd and smoke danced in the background along with the music. 

Beyonce cannot be a real human. She danced and sang for a solid 12 minutes while wearing high heels. I can’t even run five minutes at the gym without needing to take a break. Beyonce definitely brought her A-game and had one of the best Super Bowl performances of all time.

February Excerpt: Second-Time Foster Child by Toni Hoy

Second-Time Foster Child

Toni Hoy

PHOTO: US Army Africa

A child is bruised and battered. He is hungry and cold, lacking such basic necessities as safety and nurturing. However, all is not lost. Hope lurks around the corner when a loving foster family feels a connection to one such child. The family brings the child home, first as a foster child, and some time after, makes a forever commitment to the child through adoption. Years later, generally at or just before the onset of puberty, the same child is once again facing foster care re-entry. If it was bad enough being a “first time foster child,” it really stinks to be a “second time foster child.”

During the early 90s, state child welfare agencies were taking children away from parents in alarming numbers. Once a child received the foster care sentence, he never seemed to get out, at least until he became an adult. Foster care rolls swelled to the highest levels in history shorty before President Clinton signed the Adoption and Safe Families Act (ASFA) into law in 1997. How did so many children end up in the foster care system anyway?

The feminist movement, widespread drug abuse, health hazards, and media pressure contributed to increasing foster care rolls. The role of women in society changed drastically during the 1970s. Women spent less time at home and more in the workplace. The crack cocaine epidemic created a population of addicted mothers who were unable to properly care for their children, landing their children in foster care. The crack cocaine epidemic was followed by the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s, landing even more children in foster care, as mothers became severely ill or deceased. About the same time, several children “known to the system” died at the hands of their birth parents due to severe neglect and abuse. Across the nation, child protective services caved to media pressure to remove children from their families. State agencies agreed to “err on the side of the child.” In Illinois, the foster care rolls ballooned to 52,000 state wards, while parents were haphazardly blasted with false allegations. 

Teachers and other professionals involved in childcare-related careers lost their jobs over rampant false allegations. In 1994, in an Illinois class action suit, 150,000 parents filed DuPuy v. Samuels, alleging that child protective services were taking too many children away from their parents for too little reason. The landmark case, which settled in favor of the parents, resulted in new rules that expedite hearings for parents and workers in childcare-related fields. Judge Rebecca Pallmeyer referred to it as “…a staggering risk of error…” What were states to do with tens of thousands of children languishing in foster care?

If you would like to read more of this article in Empirical, the February issue is now available at your local bookstore and online at our website.

Picktures and Pieces 7: The Courage of Our Convictions

Picktures and Pieces 7: The Courage of Our Convictions

Randall E. Auxier

“Commitment” probably isn’t the first word that would come to your mind looking at this image. Or if it does, perhaps only in the way we think of older married people. Things are not always as they seem. These two are lovers alright, but it’s not what you think, unless you are among those who would happen to recognize this photograph. In fact, the government regarded these two as quite committed to something apart from one another, but let’s keep things light for another few moments.

Hard to believe, but we have on the left one of the early advocates of “free love.” One thing that seems ironic to me about that odd phrase is that sex without lasting commitment, while it may not be immoral by present day standards, definitely seems to fall short of “love.” There is more to say about this (and I’ll talk about it three blogs hence), but it pricks my mind, as I consider the virtue of commitment. In a recent book, Crispin Sartwell gives a loose field of connotation for the word. To be committed, as a public virtue, is to have a sort of calling to serve something larger than oneself, and it involves overcoming resistance and facing risk and loss in that service. People who are committed to something, Sartwell says, will work tirelessly and become emotionally involved in whatever they serve. The claim exerted by the cause upon its servant makes the situation feel almost involuntary --something must be done and I must do it. The ancient idea of “calling” (ekklesia, vocatio, etc.) seems implied, which, in the archaic sense, meant to ring a bell in the public square to call the people from their private dwellings for collective action or decision-making.

Commitment, then, is whatever calls us out of the privacy of our lives and subjective ruminations and into action –irrevocable action that cannot be undone once it has been done. The image above depicts Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman, famous anarchists of a generation long gone. The picture was taken in 1917. They were on their way to prison that year for conspiracy to resist the draft during the First World War. Upon release in 1919, both will be permanently deported from the United States. Both were born in Lithuania, under Czarist Russia, and immigrated to the United States in the 1880s, which is to say, they weren’t exactly new to the country when “deported,” so the term seems a strained choice. “Expelled” would be closer to the truth.

I do not wag a finger at the US government here, however. A convincing case could be made that Berkman and Goldman had been shown both leniency and forbearance, given their commitments and their actions in service of those commitments. These folks had an alternate vision of society, contrary to the status quo, or even the progressive version of the so-called “American dream.” I will talk about Goldman’s philosophical ideas in a few subsequent blog posts, but for now, just thinking about their level of commitment, I am led to wonder about two things.

First, we all know human limitation, frailty, fallibility, and the like. But the self-righteous indignation of ordinary folks, individual people working up a lather over the “way things are” or “the way people are treated” is surely a part of what brings changes, both good and bad, to our collective lives. People do get mad as hell and they "won't take it anymore, whatever "it" is. Since no situation is ideal, some kind of change might always be an improvement. Goldman and Berkman were living in a time when things weren’t just a little bit bad, they were perfectly horrendous: big business was raging out of control, ordinary people were being crushed, literally, under the feet of a privileged few who couldn’t have produced even a modest justification for their habits or means or aims. Today we read the thinking of the captains of industry, from Commodore Vanderbilt to Henry Ford and we find their social Darwinism (really Spencerian reductionism) appalling.

How far would any of us go, today, to remedy this exploitation? These powerful people scrupled not in the least at the idea of risking the lives and safety of their employees or even their customers in pursuit of the Dollar Almighty. There just was no government oversight of industry, transportation, mining, the rape of the land, up to and including the wide scale violent slaughter of indigenous people, and the list goes on. We speak of America, land of the free, home of the brave. As I consider what was being done in those days, and in whose name and for whose sake, I begin to believe that I might have been able to generate some commitment of my own. I feel myself becoming physically angry, my sober thoughts being crowded out by the vilest recriminations I can manufacture.

But hold for a moment. Would I really have felt these things had I lived in that generation? Would you? Or would I have reserved that passion for hatred of these foreign Jews, Goldman and Berkman, who were making trouble throughout what I might have arrogantly called "my native land"? How can I know which side I would have taken? Or would I have even cared? Almost no one today, even the most reactionary fascist, would advocate a return to the conditions that Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman were fighting. No one. If anyone so much as attempted to re-instate the system under which the USA operated between 1875 and 1900, that tyrant would be treated with the kind of contempt we, in the West, reserve for Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. And yet, Emma Goldman, who confronted these bullies and mass murderers, is not celebrated for having the wherewithal to take a stand and say “there must be something better.” Why?

Sartwell says that commitment as a public virtue, involves a certain kind of courage, and this is the second thing I am wondering about. What kind of courage? He says: “Commitment cannot be manifested without courage, but the courage is derivative from the commitment.” (Extreme Virtue, p. 9). When we say that a person is courageous, we usually mean that he or she can face fear and accomplish something important anyway. But one of the interesting things about commitment, as a public virtue, is that it backs us into a corner sometimes and we find ourselves doing, and able to do, things for which we would not normally have the courage. We get beyond ourselves, and it is a core of belief and an emotional attachment to that belief which drives us into the breach, according to Sartwell. He is remarkably even-handed in his willingness to find commitment admirable, but I confess that I struggle with it. In pondering this last point, I recently came upon the following image. Is this commitment? Is it courage?

Our Pacific Northwest: UW Aims to Restore Sight to the Blind

Our Pacific Northwest

UW Aims to Restore Sight to the Blind

NWCN  reported this week findings made by a research team at the University of Washington last year will be published in the July 26, 2013 issue of Neuron journal. According to the report, medical researchers at UW, with the help of fellow researchers at the University of California and the University of Munich, discovered a chemical which temporarily restores partial vision to blind mice. The researchers are now determined to develop an enhanced version with the goal of helping humans with degenerative blindness improve or even restore their sight. Although the chemical didn’t have a permanent effect on the mice, the report indicated the researchers hope it will someday grant those suffering from blindness an alternative to other procedures like gene or stem cell therapies which permanently alters the iris. Although the researchers have a long road ahead, they are on the right track of potentially curing degenerative blindness as well as retinitis pigmentosa, the most common form of inherited blindness.

Photo Via UW Medicine



From the Empirical Archives: A Japanese Garden in a French Mind by Stephanie Sears

A Japanese Garden in a French Mind  

Stephanie Sears

Originally Published in the August 2012 Issue of Empirical

Stylization intended for a wall tells none

where earth ends and heaven begins.

A flat landscape, in fact, so the eye

can make up any joyous prospect

though the garden hides nothing

and revels in its own integrity

blinding me to any other,

terrestrial or oftentimes invoked.

This has a boundless season of powdery mimosa

emitting warmth in long-haired breezes,

of imperial silk of which the embroideries

wandered off beyond their hem

–blue nymphs, orange sea stars–

into a pearly extinction of darkness.

Unalloyed yellow from which gold was extracted

left hanging on a few branches in a corner

the gilt mood of divinity against a haze of faith

where bright flowers odorously orbit.

The blossoming air plays the eternal Spring

pumping sun into my lungs.

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Our Pacific Northwest

Our Pacific Northwest

Wolverines Struggle to Weather Climate Change

This week federal wildlife officials will begin considering placing wolverines under protection of the Endangered Species Act according to a report by The Columbian. According to the report, there are roughly 200 to 300 wolverines remaining in the contiguous United States, surviving in small pockets in Washington, Wyoming, Idaho, the Northern Rockies and larger populations in Alaska and Canada. Although these tenacious 40-pound creatures fear no apex predators, their species has declined over the years due to a drop in heavy snow falls. The heavy snow is critical for wolverine mothers to build sufficient dens for their newborns. Many environmentalists within the region are pointing to the effects of climate change as the leading cause of the wolverine’s demise. Despite this dire news, the report did indicate there is still time to save the species by introducing them to the tall peaks of the Rockies in Colorado. Only time will tell if more efforts will be made to save a unique species in our Pacific Northwest.

 

Photo Via The Nature of Travel

 

To learn more about climate change, read Fiddling While Rome Burns

 

 

February Excerpt: Trees by Sayuri Yamada

Wollaton Park, Nottingham, England
PHOTO: Duncan Harris

Trees 

Sayuri Yamada

Somebody is coming at last.

It has been a long time. Who is it? Is it a man or a woman? Young or old? It is still too far to see it clearly. The trees have been hungry for people. They have been alone for a long time, because of the incessant rain. How long has it been? A week? Ten days? A month? They aren’t sure. Time passes without touching the trees.

They stand there without consciousness.

A week ago or two, a girl carrying a blue umbrella with a dog came in through the gate. The sodden dog with the water dripping from its long fur trudged after her, with its head down. When she’d walked to almost the center, she slipped and fell into a puddle, splashing muddy water into the moisture-heavy air. She shrieked. The dog whined. They soon left the park.

Two days ago or three, the rain stopped for a while. The sun shyly peeked from the grey clouds. A mother with a baby on a pushchair came in and went to a bench by the gate. She jumped up as soon as she sat there. The bench must’ve been still wet. She wiped the bottom of her skirt and left.

The rain started again soon after that.

It has been good for the trees and underbrush.

The birch tree leaves shine with the water. They have been growing so much. The pass from a clearing to a clearing has been almost disappeared, covered with the long boisterous leaves. But nobody has come. The leaves are curled with sorrow. Their barks have splintered with misery. The dead leaves on the ground are rotting with loneliness.

The person who is coming now is whistling with his/her hands in the trousers pockets. S/he kicks a pebble on the ground along with some dead leaves. S/he must be relaxed with no worries. It is good. The leaves on the trees shiver with anticipation. A person is coming, a person is coming. The information has spread rapidly from a tree to a tree through the leaves.

If you would like to read more of this article in Empirical, the February issue is now available at your local bookstore and online at our website.

Through My Empirical Lens

Through My Empirical Lens

Nick Dobis

The Changing of the Guard

Photo Via Sporting Universe

Linebackers can be incredible creatures.

The best ones appear to be half human, half beast. On the field their eyes need to pierce their prey. A heart-stopping stare with the ability to waiver a tailback’s determination and shake the confidence of a quarterback. They need the prudence of a predator, stalking their prey with precision. Then, in that moment of truth, they must unleash their tempered intensity in a spectacle of controlled violence. They must rile up the pack before the fight, and steady its nerves in times of doubt with their actions. Instead of fearing danger, they must have an insatiable thirst for it. Pain for them is an afterthought reflected upon long after the fight is complete.

They are athletes who mesmerize us with their speed, strength, and cunning instincts. But what separates the good linebackers from the incredible? The heart of a lion. A a fitting analogy for Ray Lewis and Patrick Willis. According to a Yahoo Sports report, Willis has often endearingly referred to Lewis as “Mufasa”, The Lion King.

There will be no shortage of incredible linebackers when the San Francisco 49ers and the Baltimore Ravens step foot under the brightest lights in all of American sports tomorrow, but number 52 will be the player to watch for both teams. The question is which lion will lead their pride to victory, the young up and coming Simba, or Mufasa, who in his final game has nothing left to lose?  

Ray’s Last Ride

Photo Via Injoymint

I was too young to remember an NFL in which Lawrence Taylor laid waste to offenses, but ever since I first became truly infatuated with the game, Ray Lewis has had as much of an impact on the game. Since entering the league as a first round draft pick out of the University of Miami in 1996, Lewis has been the physical and emotional cornerstone of the Ravens. In his hall of fame career, Lewis has registered 2,061 tackles (1,567 solo), 42 sacks (his first ever was against Jim Harbaugh, current 49ers head coach), 31 interceptions and 13 Pro Bowl selections. The last time he led the Ravens to a Super Bowl in 2001, they blew out the New York Giants 34-7 and was awarded MVP of the game. After tearing one of his triceps in October, Lewis returned to field in the Wild Card round against the Indianapolis Colts, vowing this season would be his last. It is that emotional momentum the Ravens have ridden all the way to the Super bowl.

Although he is beloved by the city of Baltimore, and many others around the league, there are those who cannot separate the extremely vocal and passionate player from the man with the off-field controversies. He is often marred for by his murder case and its misconceptions, along with the most recent allegations of his use of a banned substance. Despite the uncertainty of his overall legacy, two things do remain certain. One, The Raven’s need a lights-out, disciplined performance from Lewis and the defensive front-seven in order to stop a dynamic 49ers offense from being victorious. Two, the NFL will not be quite the same once he steps off the field for good Sunday. 

The Heir Has Risen

Photo Via Opinionsfordays

There are two specific plays from the linebacker’s days at Ole Miss which revealed Patrick Willis' potential as the chosen one to fulfill Lewis’ legacy. The first is this one against the Arkansas Razorbacks. If you don’t recognize the young man taking the snap in the Wildcat formation, that is Darren McFadden, future first round draft pick and current starting NFL tailback :




Still not impressed? This next one against LSU should do the trick:

Satisfied? Since entering the NFL as a first round draft pick in 2007, Willis has registered 812 tackles (622 solo), 18 Sacks, and seven interceptions. He was named the Defensive Rookie of the Year in 2007 and has received six Pro Bowl nods in his young career. Despite having led the 49ers to the post season only twice, Willis transferred his regular season excellence when its mattered most, registering 35 tackles and two sacks in four playoff games. Though not as vocal or emotional as Lewis, Willis is the glue which holds together a stout 49er defense. Not only does he have the speed to chase down the league's best running backs, but he matches up nicely with almost every tight end. If the 49ers wish to hoist the Lombardi trophy in New Orleans, Patrick Willis must help bottle up a dangerous Ray Rice, and be a constant nuisance for Raven’s tight end Dennis Pitta. 

The Edge?

I usually love favoring the salty veteran, especially since he’s likely to play with reckless abandon in his final game. But I expect the young lion to help his team claim a 6th super bowl title for the red and gold. This is a 49er defense which has played arguably the toughest schedule in the NFL against its premier quarterbacks this season, largely proving their worth in those games. No matter the outcome, The NFL will see the torch be passed on to Willis, and shall hear Baltimore's favorite Raven say, "nevermore."

A Tale of Two Brothers: The Harbowl

Examining Jim and John Harbaugh

Dan O'Brien

Photo Credit: theshadowleague.com

Let's face it: the NFL has lost a bit of its luster. Perhaps it is the ridiculous contracts or just the slowing down of the game to make it safer, but there is something about it that lacks the energy it had more than a decade ago. When the only thing we can point to for drama in the game is a late field goal for a win, I think it is time to reevaluate what it is about the game that makes it so enticing. Frothing-at-the-mouth fans tune into the NFL to watch a game that challenges the perseverance and the strength of the human condition, both physically and mentally. I am not going to turn this into a tirade about why distilling the game to a final kick in the final seconds has damaged the league (I will leave that to Skip Bayless), but instead talk about what drew fans to football in the first place: smash-mouth football. 

The Harbowl, as it is affectionately being called, is a return to a much older time in football, better times in the opinion of many fans and analysts .Strong defenses unwilling to give up an inch and a run game that keeps linebackers and defensive backs honest. The Baltimore Ravens have been this kind of team with Ray Lewis as an emotional and physically impressive centerpiece since he walked on the field. Over the past two seasons, the 49ers have emerged from the ashes to become a defensive stalwart and a truly impressive offensive presence. This Brother's Bowl has rejuvenated a love of football for many fans, creating a dramatic stage that has been painfully absent over the past couple of seasons. My inclination is that the threat of a Brother Bowl might lurk long after the final moments tick off the clock in New Orleans this Sunday. 

John Harbaugh

Photo Credit: fox59.com

Following nearly a decade in Philadelphia as a Special Teams coordinator and then working with the secondary and safeties in his final year (2007), John's coaching career really started at Western Michigan University in 1984 as the running backs and outside linebacker's coach in 1984. From 1988 until 2006, John was the man behind the Special Teams, an interesting career path of a coach in the Super Bowl. There has been a lot of talk recently of NFL head coaches who spent time as Special Teams coordinators and the value that front offices might place on that in the head coaching selection process. Looking at John's record, there might be something to that. 

As coach of the Baltimore Ravens, his all-time record of 80-54 (a .675 winning percentage) is quite impressive. The worst record he has carried as head coach was 9-7 in 2009, which was the last time they did not win their division. Going into the Super Bowl, he is 8-4 in playoff games, though he has yet to hoist the coveted Lombardi trophy. 

Jim Harbaugh

Photo Credit: usatoday.com

The turnaround in San Francisco was intense and dramatic and is due to the personality of its coaching staff heralded most prominently by Jim Harbaugh. He has been referred to as a player's coach and I imagine this comes from his time spent on the field doing precisely what he expects of his player's every time they step on the field. There is a mantra that I live by and it has served me pretty well: do not demand something of someone else that you are unwilling to do. Jim Harbaugh has stood in the pocket and taken a hit from Ray Lewis and can demand that toughness of his own players. 

Drafted by the Chicago Bears in 1987 (26th overall), Jim would spend the next 13 years as a quarterback in the NFL. He would not remain with Chicago, spending time in Indianapolis, Baltimore, and San Diego before retiring in 2000. He only posted two winning seasons as a pro quarterback and that was with the Chicago Bears in 1990 and 1991. His journey as a coach began at Western Kentucky in 1994 and then was highlighted by his time at Stanford. It is the radical change in philosophy that we saw transitioning from Mike Singletary to Harbaugh that speaks to his tenacity on and off the field. In only two years as head coach of the San Francisco 49ers, Jim was one game away from a Super Bowl and now coaching in one. He has helped create a football culture in San Francisco that is reminiscent of the Bill Walsh days. San Franciscans have a team to cheer for once again, and they have Jim Harbaugh to thank for it. 

Opinion Time

Who do I think is the better coach? 

This is a tough call. What I would look to in determining this is an upward trajectory in terms of team play. John  made a risky move in bringing on Jim Caldwell to call the offense and it helped propel the Ravens into the Super Bowl. Jim created a stir in San Francisco by benching Alex Smith and starting Colin Kaepernick in his place: this turned out pretty well. If I had to choose one, then I would go with Jim because of the sudden transformation of the 49ers without changing any other piece other than him taking the helm. Jim Harbaugh essentially used the pieces that had been left behind from a sub .500 team the year before and made them a team to be feared in a division that was roundly dismissed until the 49ers started crushing teams and the Seahawks became the upstarts of the league. 

The larger point that looms is that one Harbaugh brother is going to win a Super Bowl and one of them is going to have to watch his brother lift the Lombardi trophy above his head. The novelty of a Harbaugh winning a Super Bowl regardless of who wins is a special moment in NFL history. A conference for Jim and John's parents best illustrates what it means to experience crushing defeat and overwhelming joy in the same breath. 

More about the author: A psychologist, author, philosopher, freelance editor, and skeptic, Dan O’Brien has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: The End of the World Playlist, Bitten, The Journey, The Ocean and the Hourglass, The Portent, The Path of the Fallen, Book of Seth, and Cerulean Dreams.

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Our Pacific Northwest: Estuary Decreed Sanctuary

Our Pacific Northwest

Estuary Decreed Sanctuary

 Photo Via San Francisco Bay Book

The Oakland Tribune announced today the San Francisco Bay estuary has officially been included to an international list of protected wetlands. The move was part of an agreement under a 1971 treaty signed by 163 countries with the aim of limiting development which would destroy ecologically critical waterways. According to the Tribune report, the San Francisco Bay estuary is the largest on the US Pacific coast, containing 77 percent of California’s surviving wetlands and a refuge to over 1,000 species. If you wish to learn more about the estuary itself, you can visit their site at http://www.sfei.org/. The addition of this estuary makes it the nation’s 35th wetland of significant importance, and protects an ecological gem of our Pacific Northwest.

A Week in Our Pacific Northwest

Dupre is Down from Denali, But Not Out

Crocket Owner Fined for Tarnishing Frontier

Ticketmaster Helps Make a Fan's Super Dreams Come True 

 Second Hand Store Makes First Rate Discovery

Flash Fiction Friday: Billy Wants To Return His Gift

Billy Wants To Return His Gift

Bill Dock

For sale: One glass Christmas plat for santa. We put cookys on it. He ate sum but not all. Caruts too, for Rudolf. He forgot to give me the pikahcu game I wanted. I told him twice, at the mall and on the corner when he was in disguise in black skin and had a sine. Ether hes dumb or what daddy calls a sumbich. I sell the plat then I buy the game. If not, I break the plate and leave peeces in the fireplace for nect year. Then hell remember me. Evin with boots.

February Excerpt: Aldous Huxley Revisited by Hugh Mercer Curtler

Aldous Huxley Revisited

Hugh Mercer Curtler

Disney World, Orlando, Florida
PHOTO: Lee Bailey

A few years before I retired from college teaching, I was asked to direct a freshman course designed to introduce new students to the university. It was a one-credit course that met for one hour each week. I was especially excited about the academic portion of the course which focused on Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. I have always thought the novel was a great book–not great literature, as Huxley himself admitted, but remarkable for its prescience and the well-told tale that holds the reader’s attention and raises so many provocative questions. My plan was to have a professor from English, biology, psychology, and philosophy each talk about the novel from the perspective of their particular disciplines. I thought this would not only give the students insights into the novel itself, but also give them an idea how different academic disciplines approach problems: killing two birds with one stone.

Well, like a stone tossed into the air, the plan fell with a thud. An astonishing number of the students couldn’t read the novel: they couldn’t understand the words. Many of them bought “Cliff Notes” and some of them complained they couldn’t understand those either. Others simply didn’t bother to buy the book at all; many students just dropped the course. Very few actually seemed to enjoy the experiment. We started with over two hundred students and ended up with a little over one hundred. The course evaluations filled out by the remaining students were nearly unanimous: what does this have to do with me?

I would like to take the opportunity in this short essay to answer that question. I think Huxley’s novel has everything to do with not only those students, members of what some like to call the “millennial” age, but also about all of us and, more to the point, about our culture. The book is set in the future in London, but it applies to all of Western culture and, increasingly, many Eastern cultures as well.

If you would like to read more of this article in Empirical, the February issue is now available at your local bookstore and online at our website.

Picktures and Pieces 6: The Watergate Syndrome

Picktures and Pieces 6: The Watergate Syndrome

Randall Auxier

Some of you will recognize this picture. It’s famous in some circles. But for those who don’t, please think along with me for a few hundred words. I am reading through a book on virtue by Crispin Sartwell. He wanted to talk about five virtues that are not often discussed: commitment, self-reflection, integrity, connectedness, and what might broadly be called truth as related to leadership.

Part of the reason Sartwell wrote this particular book has to do with the general absence of these virtues in our recent past in American politics. We might think of it as the “Watergate Syndrome.” Being roughly the same age as I am (and the same as Barack Obama), Sartwell grew up in a world in which one of the lessons of our youth was that politicians lie. To folks born later, that may provoke a guffaw and a “duh.” But you do not realize, ’twas not ever so. Oh sure, maybe politicians have always lied, but the generation who raised us, the same generation that fought the Second World War, did not tell us that. They painted a picture in which we (the Americans) were always the good guys, and our leaders, in both parties, were charitable and decent and honest, and our mission in God’s world was justice for all. We believed them, for the formative years at least.

But I suppose the truth will out. After Watergate it was just as hard to know what to believe as it was to give up the mythology we were taught –that is, this must be Nixon’s fault, personally, a failure of his personal . . . well, commitment, self-reflection, integrity, connectedness, and truthfulness. Taken together, these virtues might be called the elements of the moral failure that has given us Watergate Syndrome, which is an inability to believe that our leaders possess any of these virtues. For the next 15 weeks I am going to blog about these elements, about twice a week. Following the pattern of my blog, I will begin each installment with the same picture with which I ended the previous entry. I believe a good picture is worth more than a thousand words, but I’ll stop with a thousand anyway.

Some will that Viet Nam was the real cause of the decline in those five virtues, but I don’t think so. Lyndon Johnson believed that the war Viet Nam was absolutely necessary to our security and to the world’s future. He was wrong, probably, but no one can credibly claim he didn’t believe it. We were not lied to about the reasons for that war. Yes, we were lied to later, by Nixon, about the expansion of the war into Cambodia and Laos, but that was Nixon. I am one of those who believes the old saw that Nixon did the same thing as everyone else, but he got caught –and actually, when it came to issues that haunted many presidents, such as sexual morality, Nixon seems to have done a bit better than most. The point, however, is that Watergate left us with nowhere to hide, while Viet Nam remains at least slightly debatable.

The effect of Watergate on the Baby Boomers seems to have destroyed the realistic expectation that the public virtues Sartwell specified genuinely could be a ground floor requirement for serving in public office. Looking around in the present for people who exemplify these virtues absolutely forces one to look beyond the holders of public office. Interestingly, if we were to categorize the strategies employed by political attack ads, we really might divide them in to ads attacking commitment, self-reflection, integrity, connectedness, and truthfulness. Almost no one attacks another person’s drinking problem, or sexual fidelity, or intelligence in a sponsored political ad. That sort of grime is left mainly for the rumor mills and low-brow press. No, the politicians themselves know Watergate Syndrome well, but as the Baby Boom ages and begins to disappear, these ads attacking public virtues become ever less effective. I suppose this is because such ads prey upon the expectations of those who once believed that leaders were required to exemplify these virtues.

These virtues are well known to people born after 1965, but not as public virtues. One finds plenty of commitment, and integrity, etc., among these latter generations. But these are now private virtues –one is committed one’s family, one’s friends, perhaps one’s job. There is a sense of calling to serve these things, but it seems not just difficult but impossible to take that kind of virtue into a political career, or even into a career that leads to CEO or CFO of a corporation. Nay, it seems absurd, since the political and corporate arenas are so intent upon knocking over any such pretension to sincerity. A person who feels called to serve others had best stay away from elected offices and corporate ladders, and if he or she does not, well, naïveté is too gentle a word to describe the poor fool. We have so configured our society, and our expectations, as to preclude from these public walks of life any features of character apart from the vices of self-serving ambition.

I think something has to be done to change this, and it isn’t a public relations campaign we need. Whatever changes our expectations will not be spoon fed to us by some media outlet, including this one, but I doubt that an effective change can come without our finding a way to influence one another on a wide scale. A part of that process is surely to look at times in the past when collective expectations were different –perhaps not better, but different. Much that we live on a daily basis was unimaginable fifty years ago, but much of what animated the lives of people in the past is difficult for us to imagine as well. We have the advantage that we can know it was real at some time.

Right now, the world in which these virtues were public virtues is still within reach of living memory. This inquiry is not wholly reconstructed from documents. I want to look at these people next. Consider some questions about commitment as you take in the image. The main question is: could this possibly be a picture of a conspiracy? If so, to what end?