Saturday, January 08, 2022

Men, Women and Money

 In his wonderful book “Sapiens,” Yuval Noah Harari provides explanations for many of the questions about how human societies have evolved over the millennia. But one great mystery he leaves unsolved is why there is universally such a stark difference in the status of women and men.

He explores and rejects explanations based on the theories that men are stronger, or more aggressive, or smarter, or more competitive. Or that is it simply a matter that women the bear children. Women are supposedly more empathetic; if anything in a species that depends on social cooperation that alone should have resulted in their pre-eminence. 

But nothing, according to his analyses, can explain why men have always dominated and still dominate the social, political and economic power in virtually every known human culture in the world.

Or why they have more money.

In addition, historically men have dominated art, writing, music, architecture, sports, entertainment, religion and the academy as well. And just about every other field you can name.

I certainly am not able to answer the question as to why any better than Harari. It makes no sense to me.

But I do know that in our time, that the balance of power between the sexes is shifting, at least in some parts of the world. This is not happening fast enough or widely enough yet, but women are rising to the top of many fields and maybe — just maybe — that is cause for hope.

After all, centuries of patriarchy have gotten us into the current worldwide mess we face so perhaps the reign of male dominance is finally running its course.

But if the questions about the roots of the inequality of the sexes remain unresolved, Harari has no doubt about the role of money in human social development. Without the shared fiction of money there could be no modern civilization — virtually everything depends on it. We need money to be able to exchange any good or service for something else. And money itself doesn’t discriminate on the basis of one’s sex or gender. 

People do that.

Of course, beyond necessities, we don’t really need as much money as most of us have, but we convince ourselves we do, and the habits created by an abundance of money begin to feel like necessities over time. Living in one of the world’s richest regions, those of us in Silicon Valley are well-acquainted with the downsides of a world where a minority have more money than they know what to do with, while the majority have enough to get by, and a desperately poor underclass persists no matter what.

Though we may be making some progress on the issue of the equality of the sexes here and there, I’m not sure we’re making any progress on the obscene disparities of wealth anywhere on the planet. And nobody knows what to do about that.

TODAY’s HEADLINES:

TODAY’S LYRICS:

“For All I Know”

Merle Haggard

For all I know you never cared about me
And chances are I never crossed your mind
Maybe you won't understand me calling
But darling it's been such a long long time.

For all I know there may be someone with you now
But may be he won't mind the friendly call
You've already made it clear that you stopped loving me
And for all I know you never cared at all.

I can't help it if I sound like I've been crying
'Cause darling I've been crying all night long
I just call to let you know just how much I need you
And for all I know you may be there alone.

Surely you must know I'd give the world to see you now
And could be you'd like to have me one more time
You've already made it clear that you stopped loving me
But for all I know I may have lost my mind.

Friday, January 07, 2022

Chamber of Silence

 

On this the seventh day of the new year, we still have a functioning democracy in the U.S. Yesterday, before an almost empty chamber, the Speaker of the House, a Democrat, presided over a moment of silence in remembrance of the violent riot waged by Trump supporters a year and a day ago.

One elected Republican official attended that event — Rep. Liz Cheney. (Her father, the former Vice-President, came too.) Otherwise, from the GOP side of the House, there was silence.

That probably symbolizes as well as anything the state of America’s political democracy. An election in which Joe Biden received over 7 million more votes than Donald Trump, about a 4.5 percent margin, and an Electoral College victory of 306-232, the losing candidate refused to concede.

Instead he stayed in the White House until the morning of Biden’s inauguration, then slivered away to his Florida resort, angry and bitter that the insurrection he incited had failed to overturn the legitimate results of the election.

Accordingly, because he is a bad loser, his party has been unable to move on and move into the role we need from them to embrace and reaffirm the democratic institutions that have held this country together, albeit tenuously at times, for over 245 years.

Democracy is just an idea. The Constitution is just a document, deeply flawed at that, without its Amendments. The original version only guaranteed the vote to white male landowners. It disenfranchised most Americans — all women, Native Americans, black people, and non-landowners.

Although we’ve made progress over the past two-and-a-half centuries extending the vote to those groups, the modern-day Republican Party remains basically committed to the original vision and only reluctantly accepts the formerly disenfranchised into its ranks.

This leaves the Democratic Party as the sole guardian of democracy with a small “d” in the U.S. Much as that half-empty chamber yesterday symbolized.

And that is the sound of silence.

TODAY’S NEWS:

TODAY’s LYRICS:

“The Sound of Silence”

Paul Simon

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams, I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light, I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
Then the sign said, "The words on the prophets are written on the subway walls
In tenement halls"
And whispered in the sound of silence

Thursday, January 06, 2022

Just Another Love Story (That's the Way It Goes)

 

This January 6th there is plenty of news. 

I could write about the threats to democracy, or Covid, climate change, the economy, web.3, NFTs, blockchain, bitcoin, Congress, the midterms, the crises in Kazakhstan, Turkey, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Iran, or any number of other topics. 

But I think that I won’t. Instead I think I’ll write about love.

Over the months I’ve been publishing excerpts of my conversations with my young friend in Afghanistan, I’ve often reassured him that people here on the other side of the world really do care about what is happening to the Afghan people — or at least they would care if they knew.

That is my presumption and why I’ve devoted 22 essays to telling the stories he witnesses on a daily basis since the heartless Taliban guerrilla army took over his country. 

But I also know it is very difficult for my fellow Americans to think too much about those in a distant land they’ve never visited when there are much more immediate concerns closer at hand.

So the truth of the matter is I don’t know whether beyond a few stalwarts if my fellow citizens actually have the bandwidth to focus on the plight of the Afghan people. 

But I do know that Americans care about love. And I know enough about the young couple (Musa and Shirin) my friend wrote about yesterday to confirm that their love is as precious and vulnerable as that shared by any two Americans.

Their situation is complicated by the strictures of Afghan society, including outmoded concepts of a woman’s freedom to love whomever she chooses. But otherwise their love story is familiar.

For many of us, anywhere on the planet, it is not uncommon to feel attracted to somebody when we meet them, but rare that the attraction proves mutual and circumstances converge to make a romance possible.

But when that does happen, it’s like the whole world goes off in a fireworks show — colorful lights streak through the sky and beautiful music fills the world around us.

In the early days of love, when anticipation about what might happen rules our conscious and unconscious thoughts and feelings, every fiber of our being feels like it is on edge.

A lot can and usually does happen after that — some good, some bad. The wonderful highs and joys have to be measured ultimately against the terrible pain of loss and disappointment. And few pains are as distinctly unbearable as a broken heart.

Nevertheless, we all know that some love stories have happy endings and we wish for that for Musa and Shirin. 

And that is the way of love all over the planet.

TODAY’s HEADLINES:

TODAY’s LYRICS (of course)

“That's the Way Love Goes”

Merle Haggard

Songwriters: Lefty Frizzell / Sanger D. Shafer

I've been throwing horseshoes
Over my left shoulder
I've spent most all my life
Searching for that four-leaf clover

Yet you ran with me
Chasing my rainbows
Honey, I love you too
That's the way love goes

That's the way love goes, babe
That's the music God made
For all the world to sing
It's never old, it grows
Losing makes me sorry
You say, "Honey, now don't worry
Don't you know I love you too?"
And that's the way love goes

That's the way love goes, babe
That's the music God made
For all the world to sing
It's never old, it grows
Losing makes me sorry
And you say, "Honey, don't worry
Don't you know I love you too?"
And that's the way love goes

Wednesday, January 05, 2022

A Love Story (Afghan Conversation 22)


The following is a true story as relayed by an Afghan friend who has been corresponding with me about life in his country since the Taliban took power last August. The names have been changed.

***

Dear David:

I know a young man, Musa, and a young woman, Shirin, who live in Kabul. They both come from Bamyan, where they met at school and fell in love in the 9th grade. At first, they were very happy just to be able to see each other in class. During vacation week, they met surreptitiously beneath the trees or next to the raceway in the village. When they couldn’t do that, Musa walked close to Shirin’s home, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Just looking at each other was enough for them to feel good for the rest of the week apart. 

As they grew older, their attraction grew. But when their relationship became known at the school their classmates made fun of them and Shirin’s family told her she was forbidden to see Musa any longer. 

In Afghan society, what is considered an illicit relationship brings shame for the girl and her family. If a parent finds out their daughter has a relationship with any boy, the girl will be blamed, beaten or even killed, because they believe their daughter has disgraced them. Therefore, if a girl should fall in love with someone, she tries to keep it secret. 

This is especially true with the Taliban in control of the country. Sharia law dictates that if a man and a woman have such a relationship, they will be killed by stones thrown at their heads. 

Shirin and Musa were too much in love to stay apart despite the scandal and they continued seeing each other, including after they finished high school two years ago. Then, one year ago, Musa decided he had to end their relationship because he was a college student and couldn't provide for their expenses if they got married. After hearing this news, Shirin became despondent and tried to commit suicide by ingesting a packet of tablets. Her family took her to the hospital and she survived. 

After this, Musa and Shirin again resumed their relationship and got engaged. But he still cannot afford to marry her. 

Recently, Shirin left her parents’ home after a family quarrel and asked Musa’s mother what she should do. Her future mother-in-law said there was no choice – she had to go back to her own parents’ house. (This has been the steadfast position of both families throughout their relationship.)

For now Shirin has returned to her parents’ home, where she suffers their constant rebukes, and Musa is continuing with his university studies. Their story does not yet have an ending.

***

Thank you to the small group of people who have helped me from time to time with various aspects of my Afghan friend’s situation. This is 22nd conversation I have published.

TODAY’S NEWS:

TODAY’S LYRICS

“In Dreams”

Roy Orbison

A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
Go to sleep, everything is alright

I close my eyes then I drift away
Into the magic night, I softly say
A silent prayer like dreamers do
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you

In dreams I walk with you
In dreams I talk to you
In dreams you're mine all of the time
We're together in dreams, in dreams

But just before the dawn
I awake and find you gone
I can't help it
I can't help it
If I cry
I remember that you said goodbye

It's too bad that all these things
Can only happen in my dreams
Only in dreams

In beautiful dreams 

Tuesday, January 04, 2022

Starting Time

 Maybe it’s just me but this so-called “2022” feels like it is having a bit of trouble getting started. It reminds me of my old 2004 Saturn, which I owned for 17 years and which in its declining years initially refused to respond when I turned the ignition key to “on.” 

When this failure to launch started to happen, I usually called my road service number for help. After a guy arrived and started up the car, I dutifully drove it around for 30 minutes as instructed until the battery was fully charged.

Those 30-minute drives to nowhere were strange experiences. Sometimes I just cornered around the city, repeating familiar routes to schools, offices and stores I used to visit. Occasionally, I got on a freeway and headed south to some point in Silicon Valley before turning around and heading back home.

The car performed as instructed and then, for a week or so, it would start up properly whenever I needed to go somewhere for real.

But then another morning would come, usually a chilly or wet morning, when it refused to start again.

This became such a chronic condition that I consulted several mechanics seeking a solution. They tested the car, replaced this or that, pronounced it fixed and returned it to me, but then the reluctance to launch problem came back again.

This might not have bothered me as much as it did if my own body didn’t seem to be following a similar trajectory, preferring as it were to remain stationary when I tried to get it going each morning.

Luckily, I rarely needed to call road service (aka 911) for my body’s sake although that occasionally did prove necessary. But my car proved to be another matter.

Then I learned a trick. If I tried and failed to start it, then waited ten minutes, the old engine would fire up just like it was new, and I could drive away successfully to wherever I desired to go.

This continued to be the case for over a year (no more emergency road service calls!) until I reluctantly parted with the old thing, mainly because I didn’t really much need it anymore — or so I thought at the time. 

Anyway, enough about old cars and old bodies and back to the new year. It most definitely is 2022, because both my iPhone and my laptop say it is. Here’s hoping that the world wakes up and starts acting like it one of these days soon.

TODAY’S NEWS:

TODAY’s LYRICS:

“Love Minus Zero/No Limit”

Bob Dylan

My love she speaks like silence,
Without ideals or violence,
She doesn't have to say she's faithful,
Yet she's true, like ice, like fire.
People carry roses,
Make promises by the hours,
My love she laughs like the flowers,
Valentines can't buy her.

In the dime stores and bus stations,
People talk of situations,
Read books, repeat quotations,
Draw conclusions on the wall.
Some speak of the future,
My love she speaks softly,
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all.

The cloak and dagger dangles,
Madams light the candles.
In ceremonies of the horsemen,
Even the pawn must hold a grudge.
Statues made of match sticks,
Crumble into one another,
My love winks, she does not bother,
She knows too much to argue or to judge.

The bridge at midnight trembles,
The country doctor rambles,
Bankers' nieces seek perfection,
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring.
The wind howls like a hammer,
The night blows cold and rainy,
My love she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing.

Monday, January 03, 2022

Democracy, the Myth That Barely Survived

 Coming up on the anniversary of the January 6th riot, we may wish to believe that the U.S. is still the place we thought it was, and that the riot was a mere aberration. But I fear it’s time to face the fact that America has changed for the worse in fundamental ways we haven’t yet fully grasped.

Democracy is a myth, albeit one of the most useful myths humans have ever constructed, and I for one believe in it wholeheartedly. But it doesn’t exist independently apart from our shared imaginations. It doesn’t exist in nature — there is no democracy in the web of life. Therefore, for it to work, the great majority of people who live within the myth need to want it to work.

The truth is it has been a very good myth for most of us. It is flawed, deeply flawed, but not as flawed as every other human social order — autocracy for example. And democracy won’t survive if millions of our fellow citizens don’t believe our elections are fair and are willing to instead to try to install someone else by force.

Unfortunately, this week there will be some who celebrate Jan. 6, 2021 as a positive memory and perhaps a few who will even try to replicate some form of the attack on democracy again. Congress continues its exhaustive probe of the attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 election and the evidence is horrifying but it will take a great writer to compile a report anyone will read, let alone believe.

And I’m not sure Congress contains that great writer. 

What is the story? That the world’s strongest democracy came close to collapse? Even after a year of considering what happened, those words sound unreal, nightmarish. Yet hordes of our fellow citizens, some armed, all angry, rushed the Capitol seeking to disrupt the Electoral College from certifying the election of President Joe Biden.

The man who lost the election, Donald Trump, sat in the White House watching events unfold on TV after inciting the crowd to do exactly what they did. Remember how they chanted “Hang Mike Pence” and “Kill Nancy Pelosi” — were those empty threats?

I don’t think so.

From the Congressional investigation, we know Trump and his co-conspirators were plotting various options to keep him in power and subvert the vote of the people. That they were too ignorant and naive about the electoral process and how to successfully subvert it is what small, small comfort we have now.

Yes, we escaped disaster, barely, but Trump and his ilk know more about how the system works now, and some of the checks and balances that saved our system of government are more vulnerable now than they were a year ago.

Many of the county officials in swing states who refused to falsify returns under the pressure generated by Trump supporters have resigned or have been removed from office. The same with some of the Electors. Those replacing them may not act as ethically or as honestly should another closely contested election come down to the type of contested late counts as it did in 2020.

And given how deeply divided the country appears to be, it’s likely that the 2024 Presidential election will be very close again, even though we don’t yet even know who the candidates will be.

None of this is comforting. All those of us who care about such things can do for now is to remain vigilant and speak out whenever we can, which is what I’m doing today.

Of course, remaining silent is an option. It’s another way of saying you don’t think your opinion matters. Which is equivalent to thinking your vote doesn't matter.

Which is one step away from ensuring that democracy will die.

MONDAY’s HEADLINES:

Sunday, January 02, 2022

Which Brings Us To Now


“Time is an illusion.” — Albert Einstein

If turning the calendar over represents a time for reflection, it’s also a time for confusion. And what is “time” anyway? 

When I woke up for the first time in 2022 after going to sleep for the last time in 2021, we’d crossed a threshold I normally would have been awake for — only this time I wasn’t.

Either there’s been a marked decrease in fireworks around here or I was too deeply asleep, but the old year didn’t go out for a bang in my case. As if to punctuate that absence, a loud display of fireworks did break out in the area a couple hours later.

Maybe someone had lit an overly long fuse or was too lit himself to remember to light it on time.

Anyway, the main way we keep track of what we call “time” is by dividing it up into segments — work hours, meals, appointments, deadlines. We have to agree on these things to make our lives synchronize with those around us.

But then again it’s a different time at the same time depending where you happen to be in the world. So that requires additional coordination.

Maybe the hardest thing for modern humans to do is to float independent of time, waking and sleeping at arbitrary intervals, shaking up the clock everybody else is attentive to.

But that happens when you are very ill, or heavily medicated, or both, and it truly disrupts your consciousness. If you happen to be in an ICU, which is brightly lit, you also also don’t have the reference of natural light through a window to help you discern between night and day.

At that point you are truly lost to time.

When I was in ICUs, pretty much every other reference point that normally helps me trust my grip on reality faltered as well — the doctors and nurses who came and went became fantasy figures, dressed strangely and making odd sounds.

Images came and went — I saw things that are not there and mistook other objects for things they weren’t.

Sort of like one unending dream where I just kept trying to wake up but couldn’t.

I’m not saying this was all bad or all good but it was a state of suspension without a beginning or ending.

All of this came back to me in flashes as I slept, awoke, slept some more and awoke again as Friday became Saturday, December became January, and 2021 turned into 2022.

In the process I guess I missed the big moment.

Or I was just lost in time.

***

Betty White was an extra grandma to a whole lot of people, me included. I loved her part in “The Proposal” and will never forget her on SNL. She almost made it to 100. May she R.I.P.

SUNDAY HEADLINES:

  • How We Make Sense of Time — January 2022 arrives as our methods of keeping time feel like they are breaking. Calendar pages turn, yet time feels lost. In this year of all years, what does it mean for a year to be new? (NYT)