What I Do (In My Spare Time):

Why We Should Be Talking About Bernie Sanders Instead of How Much We Hate Rick Perry

Sometimes, the power of an argument lies not in the argument itself, but the underlying assumptions that it makes.

Take the case of the now-viral and already historically infamous Rick Perry "Strong" video.

Here's the full text:

"I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a Christian, but you don't need to be in the pew every Sunday to know there's something wrong in this country when gays can serve openly in the military but our kids can't openly celebrate Christmas or pray in school.

As President, I'll end Obama's war on religion. And I'll fight against liberal attacks on our religious heritage.

Faith made America strong. It can make her strong again.


I'm Rick Perry, and I approve this message."

Ah, the Christmas stocking. That universal symbol of
persecution.

Let's, for just a moment, leave aside our horror at the hate imbued in this message and talk about Perry's argumentative strategies (we'll get back to the hate soon, I promise).

This ad is so clear in its message that, at first, it seems to be a shift away from the kind of meaningless mumble-mouth that afflicts many of our politicians. Compare it, for instance, to  this gem from Hillary Clinton, who believes that if we "set big goals and we work together to achieve them, we can restore the American dream."

No wonder I constantly have to tell my students to "be more specific." They've learned that the best way to make an air-tight argument is to fail to make any argument at all.

At least Rick Perry, in all of his awful glory, is making an argument so clear that we can easily like it or hate it. He's coming right out and accusing Obama, and all liberals, of instigating a war on religion; one that includes allowing "gays" to openly serve in the military and that prohibits "our children" from expressing their religious freedom. Love his message or hate it, at least it's a clear, straightforward message.

We can, for instance, point out that children are allowed to "openly" celebrate Christmas and pray in school. We can support the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." If we are Christian, we can say, "I am a Christian, and my beliefs are not the same as Rick Perry's." We can argue that, in fact, Obama has been eloquent about his faith, that he is a good Christian. We can claim that there is no war on religion, that liberals can be religious, etc, etc, etc.

Easy. Right?

Except that what Rick Perry is doing here is setting up (or, more accurately, playing into) a set of assumptions that are so numerous and, in some cases, subtle, that we will almost certainly reinforce some of them even as we vehemently oppose his overall argument.

Here's a list of the assumptions I see:

1. Some Christians are ashamed to admit to their faith.
2. Keeping your beliefs private is akin to being "ashamed" of them.
3. The reason some Christians are ashamed is that Christianity is persecuted in this country.
4. People who don't talk about being Christian probably ARE Christian.
5. It's OK if you don't go to church. If you agree with Rick Perry, you are a good Christian.
6. Being Christian means believing that "gays" shouldn't serve openly in the military and that children should pray in school.
7. People who are gay have no identity outside of their "gayness." Whereas other people in the military are "soldiers," soldiers who are gay are just "gays in the military."
8. It's OK for "gays" to serve in the military, just not to do it openly.
9. Religion = Christianity.
10. Ending the "war on religion" means bringing Christianity back. Hence:
11. There was a time when Christianity was the driving force behind America's policies.
12. When Christianity was the driving force behind our policies, we were a strong nation.
13. We are not currently a strong nation.
14. We will be a strong nation again when we end the war on religion, which means the war on Christianity.
15. "We" are Christian. "They" are something else.

Some of these are more obviously part of Perry's argument than others. Some, you might say, are a stretch. I've been accused more than once of reading too much into things, so it's OK if you don't believe me. But think about this. Assuming you don't support Perry's message, how are you going to argue against it?

You might say that Obama is, in fact, a good Christian. If you do, though, you're supporting the assumption that our President ought to be a Christian, and ought to talk about his faith. That his faith is and should be an integral part of his presidency. Even if you don't believe this, talking about Obama's faith implies that you do.

You might say that "our children" have every opportunity to "openly" celebrate Christmas or pray in school, and point out the many Christmas pageants and carols that are sung by "our" kids across the nation. But if you do, you're inadvertently supporting the assumption that being openly religious in school means being openly Christian in school. That the ability and right to "openly" celebrate Passover or Ramadan in school is either already granted to students, or that it never needs to be granted to students. In fact, you are buying into the assumption that "our" children are all Christian. It's only the children of "others" who are not.

You might say that there is no "war on religion," and point to the openly Christian things Obama has said or done. If you do, you're buying into Perry's equation of Christianity with religion, and potentially also into his assumption that this is, in fact, a faith-based nation.

You could argue that there is nothing about the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" that has anything to do with celebrating Christmas in school. But can you simultaneously refute his reduction of soldiers who are gay to "gays," and his assumption that it is perfectly fine for "them" to fight and die for us, as long as they aren't "open" about it, and his assumption that the closeting of Christian children is analogous to the closeting homosexuality? Can you do all of those things and, in the same argument, refute the rest of his assumptions?

Not easily. Unfortunately, the assumptions he is making are made all the time, in many ways, because Christianity is, in fact, the faith that the majority of Americans identify with, even if they don't go to church*. We may be a nation that prides itself (well, some of us are proud of it) in a separation of church and state, but the very phrase "church and state" reveals our predominantly Christian roots. For many years, homosexuality was not only considered immoral, but was accepted as an "abomination" of god's (Christian) law. Many of us do believe that America is not, currently, at her strongest. It's an easy and somewhat natural leap to feel that, because we were once stronger (who doesn't romanticize the past?) and more unilaterally "Christian," that there is some connection there. That, in fact, the ways we are now "weak" has more to do with our morality than with our economy, our unemployment rates, our lack of affordable health care, or any of the other huge, increasingly non-partisan problems that we face.

[I don't meant that it's unfortunate that the majority of people in this country are Christian. I mean that it's unfortunate that some of the assumptions he's making are easy to miss, because the majority of us aren't the target of the hate. It's simply harder to see it because we're so used to hearing it.]

In fact, the greatest strength of this ad, which will never succeed in making him President and almost doesn't seem designed to, may be in its ability to convince us, without ever seeming even to make the argument, that our problems are primarily ethical in nature, and can be fixed with a "return" to morality.

In some ways, granting any airtime to this issue is a win for Perry--or, really, for the status quo (ask yourself who paid for the thing)-- because it takes airtime away from the far greater problem of the massive financial inequalities we currently face.

And by "we," I mean 99+% of us. Not just the Christian ones.

Which is why I close this post with a link to Bernie Sander's new proposal of an amendment to the U.S. Constitution that would make it illegal to grant the rights of personhood to corporations. THIS is the issue we should be arguing. THIS is what we need to talk about.

Not some hate-filled moron in a barn jacket acting like he has a direct line to god.

The Saving American Democracy Amendment (click link for full text) states that:

• Corporations are not persons with constitutional rights equal to real people.
• Corporations are subject to regulation by the people.
• Corporations may not make campaign contributions.
• Congress and states have the power to regulate campaign finances.

 Sign the petition supporting it here.

Thank You, #OWS

I believe that we are standing on the edge of change. I believe the outcome of the change is still undetermined, and the length of the arc is still unknown. This means we live in a time of both opportunity and instability. Things can go either way. Both outcomes are scary.

Given the current ecologic and economic realities of the world, there is no way that change is not upon us. The earth simply cannot sustain 7 billion people in the manner most Americans are accustomed to. Our carbon footprint is too big, our waste too excessive.

And so we have a choice. We can continue to believe that every human life is valuable, that everyone is born with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That these rights are self-evident. That they are god-given, and that no man can tear them asunder. Making this choice means choosing community, for better or for worse. In sickness and in health. It means not turning our backs on people just because we decide they are unworthy, either because they are poor, or sick, or lazy. It means asking hard questions about personal freedom, the role of government, and the rights of the individual.

Or, we can hoard our wealth, our food, and our oil, and protect it with guns.

By every measure I can think of, the Occupy movement has made the first choice. The protesters are remarkably dedicated to peaceful gatherings, despite the strong human inclination to give way to violence in the face of violence. Community is both the goal and the approach of the movement, and those in the center of the organization(s) are working without benefit of gaining high-profile individual attention. They are asking hard questions--questions that, because they don't seem to have an answer, often go unasked and un-discussed:

Are we anti-capitalism? If so, does that make us pro-Communism? And is Communism a synonym for fascism? Can we be pro-community and still be pro-individual? Can we sustain a movement or a society that makes food, books, and health care available to all? Can we even maintain a "we" without a clear leader? Can we resist corruption, hypocrisy, and the siren call of fame and glory?

At the center is one all-encompassing question: Can we live in peace?

Before you roll your eyes at the dopey idealism of that question, ask yourself: Do you really want to live without it?

The now-famous picture of Scott Olsen, the ex-marine who
suffered a "fractured skull and brain swelling" due to actions
taken by the police to break up a peaceful protest.

So thank you, Occupy Wall Street. Thank you, students of UC Davis. Thank you, everyone and anyone who has been arrested, maced, or pepper-sprayed and has not responded with violence. Thank you for reminding me that critical thinking does happen, that it is valuable, and that we have not yet resigned ourselves to apathy.

Thank you.

Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease

Please, Mama. Please, it hurts. 

My sweet and lovely baby girl has a disease. Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease, to be specific.

Talk about the importance of a name. Yikes. Does that not sound like the worst thing ever? In truth, it IS pretty bad, at least in terms of discomfort and ick factor (I won't post a picture, and google it at your own risk, but suffice it to say that, in her case at least, it looks like a cross between poison ivy of the mouth and disintegration of the tongue.)

The poor kid can't eat anything without crying. Worse, for the first day and a half of the illness, she complained that her hand and her mouth hurt, and I, her mother, umm... how do I put this?

I ignored her.

In fact, I pooh-poohed her.

But now that her disease has a name (and now that I can see physical evidence of it), we've moved from maternal neglect to maternal love-smothering.  To whit, she had ice cream for breakfast.

Because when you have a disease that has an entry on the CDC website, you get ice cream for breakfast.

I forgive myself because I come from a long line of unsympathetic moms. When I was in college and contracted mono (I'm still angry about that. I would have accepted it if I'd been in the habit of kissing people, but to be dateless, alone, and THEN get mono? Totes unfair, y'all), my first symptoms were horrible insomnia, day-time exhaustion, and, worst of all, the tendency to break out in such extreme sweat that I left puddles of it all over campus.

Lovely, yes?

The first night all this happened, I called my mom. I was a bit freaked and was, I admit, also looking for permission/an excuse to cut work and class. I listed my symptoms, making sure to dramatize them in the extreme.

Her reaction?

"Well, you don't sound sick. You'd better fake it better than that when you call in to work, or they'll get pissed."

The untrained eye might see grief in the mother and dignified
suffering on the part of the child. But no. The mother is dying
of guilt and the child is pouring salt in the wound.
I'm pretty sure.  

So I went to work, and my poor writing student (I was a tutor) was very polite as I reduced her paper to a soggy mess and zoned in and out of consciousness.

You can bet my mom has heard that story more than once.

And so the cycle continues. My poor, diseased daughter can begin marking on her bedpost the number of times she's succeeded in making her mom feel like the most evil being on the planet.

Meanwhile, I'll rejoice that I'm giving her good material for her memoir. After all, every artist needs to suffer, fight, and, finally, overcome.

I'll know I've succeeded in raising a future artist
if she dyes her hair red when she's a freshman in high school.