I've been getting a lot of phone calls lately. Never fear; there's been no bad news. On the contrary, I have lately reconnected with many old friends and I hope to see them over the next couple weeks. Additionally, I have received a few offers to do some "paying" work from home, and with my finances as critical as they are, I am loath to turn them down.
Against that background, I am going to do my absolute best to keep up my writing schedule. But in the coming weeks, I may have to without a post for a few more days than usual. I apologize for that. On the other hand, I am grateful that I am starting to spend more time out of the house. For the first time in over a year, my partner is feeling well enough for me to reasonably start pursuing some additional interests, seeing more people and rekindling a social life that has been dormant for quite some time now. To put this all in perspective, I have not been able to leave the house for more than a few hours at a time since late 2008. That is changing now.
My life is getting richer every day. I know that richness will aid my writing. This is certainly not to say that I am going to stop writing. In fact, I am committed to this blog more now than I have ever been. I am grateful for my readers and I always look forward to hearing from you. I am proud to have amassed so much writing about so many subjects.
Having said all this, I will be branching out a bit more in the coming weeks. If that means two and three posts per week rather than the customary five, I am willing to pay that price. It is simply a question of free time. When I have it, I will write. When I have something else going on, I won't. But all in all, I think time off the blog will be my exception, not my rule. I just want to keep the option open. And I wanted to let you all know about it.
Thanks again to all who stop by for Reason, Commerce, Justice and Free Beer! I am excited about the future. And even when I don't write, I experience, observe and analyze my surroundings. Experience always delivers me onto fertile creative grounds; life is never really dull when you dare to live it.
See you all soon!
Oesterhoudt
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
DEAD FOR A GYM BAG AND SOME DEODORANT
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES
Two days ago, a Manhattan lawyer dropped her gym bag onto subway tracks on the Upper East Side. She leaped down to fetch it. She had difficulty getting back onto the platform, then she panicked as a train came rushing into the station. Horrified witnesses froze. Some told her to lay between the rails so the train would pass over her. Most said nothing and just watched. The lawyer tried to press herself against the platform wall so the train would pass her. It didn't; the train squashed her.
Later, officials reported that the gym bag contained keys, a cellphone, gym clothes and some deodorant. See N.Y. Post, Panic on tracks doomed subway victim, March 13, 2010 at p. 5. It did not contain priceless diamonds or even confidential client files. There was absolutely no need to risk life to save it.
I recount this sad story because it represents yet another occasion on which my writing has foretold true events. Just last month, I penned a satire called "Some People are More Valuable Than Things They Drop on the Tracks." See http://reasoncommercejustice.blogspot.com/2010/02/some-people-are-more-valuable-than_01.html. In that piece, I analyzed the New York Transit System's admonishment never to chase dropped property onto subway tracks. I used satire to show that our society places disproportionate weight on property over human life. At the same time, I made my own perspective clear: That it is grotesque to assign monetary value to individual lives. Still, my own sarcasm now seems eerily macabre in light of this new incident: "Further, I understand that some customers might disregard their own safety if they drop something onto the tracks, such as an iPod or other relatively expensive object;" and "The bottom line is: Property is worth more than individual human beings."
I was trying to elicit uncomfortable laughter when I wrote those words. Anyone with a shred of compassion understands that property is petty compared to human life. Yet at the same time, it is incontestable that property wields immense influence over both our society and individual perspectives. All too often, property seems to mean more than life itself. My satire reflected on that sad truth. It dared to suggest that life was more important. Privately, I held out hope that people would respect their lives more than their property.
But my hopes fell on deaf ears. The Post story shows just how much property means to people, even in very small amounts. Here was a woman with a career--and ostensibly, something to live for--who disregarded her life to save some deodorant and gym clothes. Her property was more important to her than her existence. So she jumped after it, even as a train raced toward her. At that moment, she thought herself less valuable than her gym bag.
Perhaps there are alternative explanations. I can think of several. For starters, the Post article recounts that the victim was a "lawyer" who--according to neighbors--used to wander hallways and elevators in her apartment building "muttering to herself in a strange way." See N.Y. Post, Panic on tracks doomed subway victim, March 13, 2010 at p. 5. One neighbor even said she looked "distressed" and that she was "not 100 percent there."
Many functioning lawyers have latent mental problems. When I practiced law, I knew many "well-respected" attorneys who muttered to themselves in elevators, sighed loudly, grumbled in abject frustration and habitually balled their fists from stress. It is not an easy job. "Getting results" in court is not an exact science; in fact, it is not a science at all. There are no sure things in law practice. Lawyers live with biting uncertainty and deadlines every day. They live on a razor's edge; and they are surrounded by striving, ambitious, ruthless people at every turn. They make their living battling contentious people for money. It is an extraordinarily negative enterprise. Their success depends on chance as much as preparation. Everyone wants something from them: Clients, bosses, judges. Everyone wants results now and no one wants to wait. There is never enough time; and there is always something else to do. They live under the clock; and the clock does not forgive. In fact, no one forgives. It is a fretful, ulcerous existence. That is why it is no wonder that lawyers fall into alcoholism, drug abuse and mental illness at a far greater rate than the general population.
Lawyers on schedules are dangerously unpredictable creatures. You don't want to get in their way; they might do something impulsive. When they have somewhere to be, they get there at all costs, even if it means taking absurd chances with their own lives. I own recalled my uncomfortable days in law practice when I read the Post article. I remembered what stressed-out lawyers are like. My memories helped me understand why this poor woman jumped on the tracks: She was in a hurry; she was trying to squeeze in the gym during her busy day; she did not want to wait for help to get her bag because that would throw off her schedule; if she got behind schedule, she would have to make unpleasant phone calls to disappointed superiors; she wanted to get home before 9 PM; if she waited for help to get her bag, she would never finish her day; and she really wanted to finish her day on time.
On an impulse, she jumped onto the tracks. She did not want to wait. She did not want to make those phone calls. She did not want to fall behind schedule. So she took matters into her own hands and died for deodorant.
I am glad I don't practice law anymore. And no matter how much my satires presage reality, it really saddens me when they do. I am not proud of it.
In the end, it's hard to exaggerate anything to satirical effect. Reality always sees your bet, no matter how high you make it.
Two days ago, a Manhattan lawyer dropped her gym bag onto subway tracks on the Upper East Side. She leaped down to fetch it. She had difficulty getting back onto the platform, then she panicked as a train came rushing into the station. Horrified witnesses froze. Some told her to lay between the rails so the train would pass over her. Most said nothing and just watched. The lawyer tried to press herself against the platform wall so the train would pass her. It didn't; the train squashed her.
Later, officials reported that the gym bag contained keys, a cellphone, gym clothes and some deodorant. See N.Y. Post, Panic on tracks doomed subway victim, March 13, 2010 at p. 5. It did not contain priceless diamonds or even confidential client files. There was absolutely no need to risk life to save it.
I recount this sad story because it represents yet another occasion on which my writing has foretold true events. Just last month, I penned a satire called "Some People are More Valuable Than Things They Drop on the Tracks." See http://reasoncommercejustice.blogspot.com/2010/02/some-people-are-more-valuable-than_01.html. In that piece, I analyzed the New York Transit System's admonishment never to chase dropped property onto subway tracks. I used satire to show that our society places disproportionate weight on property over human life. At the same time, I made my own perspective clear: That it is grotesque to assign monetary value to individual lives. Still, my own sarcasm now seems eerily macabre in light of this new incident: "Further, I understand that some customers might disregard their own safety if they drop something onto the tracks, such as an iPod or other relatively expensive object;" and "The bottom line is: Property is worth more than individual human beings."
I was trying to elicit uncomfortable laughter when I wrote those words. Anyone with a shred of compassion understands that property is petty compared to human life. Yet at the same time, it is incontestable that property wields immense influence over both our society and individual perspectives. All too often, property seems to mean more than life itself. My satire reflected on that sad truth. It dared to suggest that life was more important. Privately, I held out hope that people would respect their lives more than their property.
But my hopes fell on deaf ears. The Post story shows just how much property means to people, even in very small amounts. Here was a woman with a career--and ostensibly, something to live for--who disregarded her life to save some deodorant and gym clothes. Her property was more important to her than her existence. So she jumped after it, even as a train raced toward her. At that moment, she thought herself less valuable than her gym bag.
Perhaps there are alternative explanations. I can think of several. For starters, the Post article recounts that the victim was a "lawyer" who--according to neighbors--used to wander hallways and elevators in her apartment building "muttering to herself in a strange way." See N.Y. Post, Panic on tracks doomed subway victim, March 13, 2010 at p. 5. One neighbor even said she looked "distressed" and that she was "not 100 percent there."
Many functioning lawyers have latent mental problems. When I practiced law, I knew many "well-respected" attorneys who muttered to themselves in elevators, sighed loudly, grumbled in abject frustration and habitually balled their fists from stress. It is not an easy job. "Getting results" in court is not an exact science; in fact, it is not a science at all. There are no sure things in law practice. Lawyers live with biting uncertainty and deadlines every day. They live on a razor's edge; and they are surrounded by striving, ambitious, ruthless people at every turn. They make their living battling contentious people for money. It is an extraordinarily negative enterprise. Their success depends on chance as much as preparation. Everyone wants something from them: Clients, bosses, judges. Everyone wants results now and no one wants to wait. There is never enough time; and there is always something else to do. They live under the clock; and the clock does not forgive. In fact, no one forgives. It is a fretful, ulcerous existence. That is why it is no wonder that lawyers fall into alcoholism, drug abuse and mental illness at a far greater rate than the general population.
Lawyers on schedules are dangerously unpredictable creatures. You don't want to get in their way; they might do something impulsive. When they have somewhere to be, they get there at all costs, even if it means taking absurd chances with their own lives. I own recalled my uncomfortable days in law practice when I read the Post article. I remembered what stressed-out lawyers are like. My memories helped me understand why this poor woman jumped on the tracks: She was in a hurry; she was trying to squeeze in the gym during her busy day; she did not want to wait for help to get her bag because that would throw off her schedule; if she got behind schedule, she would have to make unpleasant phone calls to disappointed superiors; she wanted to get home before 9 PM; if she waited for help to get her bag, she would never finish her day; and she really wanted to finish her day on time.
On an impulse, she jumped onto the tracks. She did not want to wait. She did not want to make those phone calls. She did not want to fall behind schedule. So she took matters into her own hands and died for deodorant.
I am glad I don't practice law anymore. And no matter how much my satires presage reality, it really saddens me when they do. I am not proud of it.
In the end, it's hard to exaggerate anything to satirical effect. Reality always sees your bet, no matter how high you make it.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
CONTRACTS OR CONSCIENCE? AN ETHICAL DILEMMA
AN ESSAY
During my first year in law school, I struggled to learn the endless verbal formulas and doctrines that apparently made the law a flawless machine. I did not have time to reflect on the law's theoretical weaknesses or its cynical role in maintaining power structures in our society. No, I was more worried about learning all the recipe-like elements for particular torts, contract defenses and crimes. I spent my time memorizing lists and hoping I would remember them for the exam.
It was a stressful time for me. It probably did not need to be, but I made it so. It likely had something to do with all the other stressed-out, high-striving, perspiring people around me. Put yourself in a room full of panicked people and chances are you'll soon feel panicked, too.
Despite all the stress and anxiety, however, I remember certain moments with great clarity. Now that several years have passed since law school, I understand these moments in a new way. At the outset I must confess that--in hindsight--I was never really law school material. I might have studied it well; but it was difficult for me--and almost unnatural--to suspend my creative powers for three long years. True, I always retained my satirical mistrust for power. But in law school, I had to suppress my bitter urge to laugh for long enough to get through the rigid curriculum.
I'm glad I managed it then, because there's no way I could have managed it today. I've returned to Nietzsche. I have reverted to my nature. I am--to use a Shakespearean phrase--a "satirical rogue." Yes, an analytical satirical rogue to be sure; but a rogue nonetheless. I have trouble taking anything too seriously, especially so-called "authorities." I have a socially-dangerous ability to see through pretense and to sniff out unfairness. I am not very discreet either. I call spades spades. I don't even whisper. I listen to my conscience and I speak my mind. These are not admirable characteristics for those who wish to make partner at a law firm.
Having returned to my natural habitat over the last few years, I now analyze my law school memories in a way that affirms my identity. Here's a good example: I was sitting in our first-year contracts class. Our professor had stumped everyone. It was some hypothetical problem about some guy who made a promise to another then broke it. The question was whether the aggrieved person could sue the other for breach of contract. The professor asked what legal rule justified recovery in the case. Several uneasy moments passed. About 90 twentysomethings sat there staring at their laptops in an effort not to be noticed.
Finally, I raised my hand and said: "Well, he made a promise and broke it." The professor sneered at my response. I will never forget the look on her face. Then she said: "So what if you break your promise? What does that have to do with anything."
At the time, I did not think too much about the professor's response. I was too worried about memorizing legal recipes. But over time, I have come to see this moment as a perfect illustration for the proposition that law and ethics virtually exclude each other. And I have also come to see this moment as an expression of my own character. It should have alerted me that I was ethically uneasy with the law. After all, in my heart I care whether I tell the truth. If I make a promise, my heart hurts if I break it. Yet my heart does not concern the law. The law deals only in extrinsic indicia, not ethical worries. The law is about empirically observable factors, not the pangs of conscience. When I raised my hand in that class, I showed my nature: At that early time in my law school career, I thought the law and ethics overlapped. I could not have known at the time that they do not.
From an ethical perspective, a promise is a promise. You fulfill it because it is the "right thing to do." You do not hem, haw, qualify, vacillate or renege. You do what you say because it bothers your heart if you do not. If you have a conscience, it hurts to break a promise. Then again, if you are unethical, it does not bother you to break a promise. Your heart does not torture you for the decision. You just move on; you break your word as necessary to suit present circumstances. That may be realpolitik. It may even be legal. But it is not ethical. Ethics is internal; it is about the heart and intuitive feelings. By contrast, law is external; it has nothing to do with the heart. Detective Alonzo, Denzel Washington's unscrupulously corrupt (and successful) character in Training Day (2001), put the distinction best when he told his ethically troubled partner: "It ain't what you know. It's what you can prove."
In ethics, you know. In the law, you prove.
From a legal perspective, there are mere promises and there are contracts. Contrary to popular belief, contracts are not necessarily imposing-looking official documents that you sign. You can assent to a contract without ever seeing a paper. Rather, contracts are legally-enforceable promises, whether written or not. To make a promise legally enforceable, it must meet certain objective elements. A "promise in the wind" might trigger an ethical responsibility to honor it. But unless the promise meets technical legal elements, you cannot go to court to force the other guy to honor his word.
Contracts serve commerce. They support our economic system. They give assurance to business people that others will adhere to their promises. As such, the law only enforces promises that arise in "bargained-for exchange." The law calls this "consideration." In theory, this means that both sides haggle over a deal. Each side benefits and suffers detriment in equal measure. One party parts with money. That is detriment. The other party gains the money. That is benefit. But to get the money, one party must do something. That is detriment. The other party receives something desirable from the activity. That is benefit.
This is what makes a promise enforceable at law: Bargaining. Exchange. Haggling. Negotiation. Dickering. It is commercial. It is not gratuitous. In fact, gifts are not contracts. Quite the contrary: If only one party in a transaction receives benefit without a bargain, there is no contract. A kid can't sue his father if his father simply tells him he'll buy him an Xbox, then he breaks his word.
I mention all this to show that contracts are strictly technical. As such, the heart plays no part in their formation or performance. Put another way, ethics exerts no influence on contracts, even if it exerts influence on individuals who make promises. In fact, sometimes it makes more economic sense to break a contract than to keep performing it. For example, if a farmer promises to sell corn to a wholesaler at $1 a pound for a year, but then the price of corn suddenly rises to $10 a pound, it makes more sense to break the contract than keep performing it at a loss. After all, the law only provides a remedy for the contract price. In this case, the farmer could easily break the promise to sell for $1, pay the wholesaler $1 damages, then sell his corn at $10 a pound for a huge profit.
It might be unethical to break promises, but in circumstances like these, money talks and ethics walks. From the law's perspective, it makes more sense to break a promise than continue performing at a loss. The law actually encourages this unethical result. This demonstrates once again that contracts exist to support our free market economic system, not ethical imperatives.
In our free market economic system, people want to profit from their bargains. If they make a deal, they want their money. Contracts provide them with a weapon to either force compliance with the bargain or force the bad party to pay the expected profit. That is why contracts exist: To ensure that commercial men make their profits. They protect expectations. And contract law is completely indifferent to ethical considerations if they cut against those expectations.
Despite the law's requirements, sometimes ethical considerations wield very strong influence on individual people. And sometimes the imperative to tell the truth is not the only ethical conundrum that intervenes to interrupt a contract.
In the movie, Ray (2004), for example, Ray Charles makes a contract to play several concerts in racially segregated Georgia during the early 1960s. While he leads his band into a concert hall, protestors clamor that he is ethically wrong to support an unjust social custom. At first, Ray says that he has a contract with the promoters to do the show. But then he stops and thinks. Finally, he says: "No, no, they're right. Everybody get back on the bus. We're not doing any more shows at segregated venues." The promoter gets furious and says: "You have a contract to do these shows! I'll sue your black ass for this, Ray, and I'll win!"
Ray had profound ethical qualms about performing a contract that indirectly supported racial segregation. His conscience compelled him to refuse to perform it. But from a legal perspective, the promoter was right: He would win the case against Ray. Contract law cares nothing for ethics; if you make an enforceable contract and you refuse to perform it, it is no excuse to say: "I had an ethical problem with the subject matter." As admirable as that sentiment may be, it would not save you from paying full damages to the other party in a contract case. In this light, contract law once again supports commercial expectations, not ethical imperatives. It even supports commercial expectations when those commercial expectations perpetuate fundamental injustice. As long as there is a bargained-for exchange, the show must go on. Ethics is no excuse.
In hindsight, Ray could have avoided the problem altogether if he had raised his ethical objection prior to making the contract. Ethics can dissuade a person from entering into bargains that implicate ethical problems. But once made, ethics cannot excuse performance.
Still, this is hypertechnical rubbish. Conscience does not always materialize on cue. Sometimes our ethical sensibilities only awake once a contract begins. Perhaps it is not possible to foresee ethical difficulties in a contract until after we strike the deal. Yet the law does not see it that way. Once you make a deal, you are stuck with it, no matter what your conscience says about it. You might be able to shed your obligations by pleading some other, legal, defense. But neither ethics nor conscience is on the list of acceptable legal defenses.
And why should they be? Contracts are about commercial expectations. What does conscience have to do with those? The most successful commercial men easily escape all these issues by adopting a simple tactic: Just don't have a conscience.
Without a conscience, life is easy. You just follow the rules in the contract and go with the flow.
During my first year in law school, I struggled to learn the endless verbal formulas and doctrines that apparently made the law a flawless machine. I did not have time to reflect on the law's theoretical weaknesses or its cynical role in maintaining power structures in our society. No, I was more worried about learning all the recipe-like elements for particular torts, contract defenses and crimes. I spent my time memorizing lists and hoping I would remember them for the exam.
It was a stressful time for me. It probably did not need to be, but I made it so. It likely had something to do with all the other stressed-out, high-striving, perspiring people around me. Put yourself in a room full of panicked people and chances are you'll soon feel panicked, too.
Despite all the stress and anxiety, however, I remember certain moments with great clarity. Now that several years have passed since law school, I understand these moments in a new way. At the outset I must confess that--in hindsight--I was never really law school material. I might have studied it well; but it was difficult for me--and almost unnatural--to suspend my creative powers for three long years. True, I always retained my satirical mistrust for power. But in law school, I had to suppress my bitter urge to laugh for long enough to get through the rigid curriculum.
I'm glad I managed it then, because there's no way I could have managed it today. I've returned to Nietzsche. I have reverted to my nature. I am--to use a Shakespearean phrase--a "satirical rogue." Yes, an analytical satirical rogue to be sure; but a rogue nonetheless. I have trouble taking anything too seriously, especially so-called "authorities." I have a socially-dangerous ability to see through pretense and to sniff out unfairness. I am not very discreet either. I call spades spades. I don't even whisper. I listen to my conscience and I speak my mind. These are not admirable characteristics for those who wish to make partner at a law firm.
Having returned to my natural habitat over the last few years, I now analyze my law school memories in a way that affirms my identity. Here's a good example: I was sitting in our first-year contracts class. Our professor had stumped everyone. It was some hypothetical problem about some guy who made a promise to another then broke it. The question was whether the aggrieved person could sue the other for breach of contract. The professor asked what legal rule justified recovery in the case. Several uneasy moments passed. About 90 twentysomethings sat there staring at their laptops in an effort not to be noticed.
Finally, I raised my hand and said: "Well, he made a promise and broke it." The professor sneered at my response. I will never forget the look on her face. Then she said: "So what if you break your promise? What does that have to do with anything."
At the time, I did not think too much about the professor's response. I was too worried about memorizing legal recipes. But over time, I have come to see this moment as a perfect illustration for the proposition that law and ethics virtually exclude each other. And I have also come to see this moment as an expression of my own character. It should have alerted me that I was ethically uneasy with the law. After all, in my heart I care whether I tell the truth. If I make a promise, my heart hurts if I break it. Yet my heart does not concern the law. The law deals only in extrinsic indicia, not ethical worries. The law is about empirically observable factors, not the pangs of conscience. When I raised my hand in that class, I showed my nature: At that early time in my law school career, I thought the law and ethics overlapped. I could not have known at the time that they do not.
From an ethical perspective, a promise is a promise. You fulfill it because it is the "right thing to do." You do not hem, haw, qualify, vacillate or renege. You do what you say because it bothers your heart if you do not. If you have a conscience, it hurts to break a promise. Then again, if you are unethical, it does not bother you to break a promise. Your heart does not torture you for the decision. You just move on; you break your word as necessary to suit present circumstances. That may be realpolitik. It may even be legal. But it is not ethical. Ethics is internal; it is about the heart and intuitive feelings. By contrast, law is external; it has nothing to do with the heart. Detective Alonzo, Denzel Washington's unscrupulously corrupt (and successful) character in Training Day (2001), put the distinction best when he told his ethically troubled partner: "It ain't what you know. It's what you can prove."
In ethics, you know. In the law, you prove.
From a legal perspective, there are mere promises and there are contracts. Contrary to popular belief, contracts are not necessarily imposing-looking official documents that you sign. You can assent to a contract without ever seeing a paper. Rather, contracts are legally-enforceable promises, whether written or not. To make a promise legally enforceable, it must meet certain objective elements. A "promise in the wind" might trigger an ethical responsibility to honor it. But unless the promise meets technical legal elements, you cannot go to court to force the other guy to honor his word.
Contracts serve commerce. They support our economic system. They give assurance to business people that others will adhere to their promises. As such, the law only enforces promises that arise in "bargained-for exchange." The law calls this "consideration." In theory, this means that both sides haggle over a deal. Each side benefits and suffers detriment in equal measure. One party parts with money. That is detriment. The other party gains the money. That is benefit. But to get the money, one party must do something. That is detriment. The other party receives something desirable from the activity. That is benefit.
This is what makes a promise enforceable at law: Bargaining. Exchange. Haggling. Negotiation. Dickering. It is commercial. It is not gratuitous. In fact, gifts are not contracts. Quite the contrary: If only one party in a transaction receives benefit without a bargain, there is no contract. A kid can't sue his father if his father simply tells him he'll buy him an Xbox, then he breaks his word.
I mention all this to show that contracts are strictly technical. As such, the heart plays no part in their formation or performance. Put another way, ethics exerts no influence on contracts, even if it exerts influence on individuals who make promises. In fact, sometimes it makes more economic sense to break a contract than to keep performing it. For example, if a farmer promises to sell corn to a wholesaler at $1 a pound for a year, but then the price of corn suddenly rises to $10 a pound, it makes more sense to break the contract than keep performing it at a loss. After all, the law only provides a remedy for the contract price. In this case, the farmer could easily break the promise to sell for $1, pay the wholesaler $1 damages, then sell his corn at $10 a pound for a huge profit.
It might be unethical to break promises, but in circumstances like these, money talks and ethics walks. From the law's perspective, it makes more sense to break a promise than continue performing at a loss. The law actually encourages this unethical result. This demonstrates once again that contracts exist to support our free market economic system, not ethical imperatives.
In our free market economic system, people want to profit from their bargains. If they make a deal, they want their money. Contracts provide them with a weapon to either force compliance with the bargain or force the bad party to pay the expected profit. That is why contracts exist: To ensure that commercial men make their profits. They protect expectations. And contract law is completely indifferent to ethical considerations if they cut against those expectations.
Despite the law's requirements, sometimes ethical considerations wield very strong influence on individual people. And sometimes the imperative to tell the truth is not the only ethical conundrum that intervenes to interrupt a contract.
In the movie, Ray (2004), for example, Ray Charles makes a contract to play several concerts in racially segregated Georgia during the early 1960s. While he leads his band into a concert hall, protestors clamor that he is ethically wrong to support an unjust social custom. At first, Ray says that he has a contract with the promoters to do the show. But then he stops and thinks. Finally, he says: "No, no, they're right. Everybody get back on the bus. We're not doing any more shows at segregated venues." The promoter gets furious and says: "You have a contract to do these shows! I'll sue your black ass for this, Ray, and I'll win!"
Ray had profound ethical qualms about performing a contract that indirectly supported racial segregation. His conscience compelled him to refuse to perform it. But from a legal perspective, the promoter was right: He would win the case against Ray. Contract law cares nothing for ethics; if you make an enforceable contract and you refuse to perform it, it is no excuse to say: "I had an ethical problem with the subject matter." As admirable as that sentiment may be, it would not save you from paying full damages to the other party in a contract case. In this light, contract law once again supports commercial expectations, not ethical imperatives. It even supports commercial expectations when those commercial expectations perpetuate fundamental injustice. As long as there is a bargained-for exchange, the show must go on. Ethics is no excuse.
In hindsight, Ray could have avoided the problem altogether if he had raised his ethical objection prior to making the contract. Ethics can dissuade a person from entering into bargains that implicate ethical problems. But once made, ethics cannot excuse performance.
Still, this is hypertechnical rubbish. Conscience does not always materialize on cue. Sometimes our ethical sensibilities only awake once a contract begins. Perhaps it is not possible to foresee ethical difficulties in a contract until after we strike the deal. Yet the law does not see it that way. Once you make a deal, you are stuck with it, no matter what your conscience says about it. You might be able to shed your obligations by pleading some other, legal, defense. But neither ethics nor conscience is on the list of acceptable legal defenses.
And why should they be? Contracts are about commercial expectations. What does conscience have to do with those? The most successful commercial men easily escape all these issues by adopting a simple tactic: Just don't have a conscience.
Without a conscience, life is easy. You just follow the rules in the contract and go with the flow.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
QUICK BREAK
My Mom dropped into town today. I haven't seen her in a month. So I will go see Mom today!
I actually needed a small break anyway to handle a few more administrative things. Whenever I have errands to run, I just can't focus on my writing as much as I'd like.
I have a long list of new issues to discuss, including some troublesome insights about contracts. Aren't contracts wonderful? Sometimes the law favors the morally wrong party in a transaction. You know why? Because the law cares not a fig for morality. In fact, the law serves economic values. And when it comes to social influence, economic values utterly overshadow morality. There's right and wrong: As long as big money isn't at stake. When it is at stake, other rules apply.
I will be back to tackle these questions tomorrow morning. In the meantime, don't forget the archives.
Oesterhoudt
I actually needed a small break anyway to handle a few more administrative things. Whenever I have errands to run, I just can't focus on my writing as much as I'd like.
I have a long list of new issues to discuss, including some troublesome insights about contracts. Aren't contracts wonderful? Sometimes the law favors the morally wrong party in a transaction. You know why? Because the law cares not a fig for morality. In fact, the law serves economic values. And when it comes to social influence, economic values utterly overshadow morality. There's right and wrong: As long as big money isn't at stake. When it is at stake, other rules apply.
I will be back to tackle these questions tomorrow morning. In the meantime, don't forget the archives.
Oesterhoudt
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
LIFE, DEATH, ABORTION, SCARFACE AND HAMLET
AN ESSAY
I grew up in a ferociously pro-choice household. From my earliest memory, my mother told me that abortion was a woman's right. It was her choice to decide what to do with her body. Those ideas filtered into my mind. I never thought much about it. I never thought abortion amounted to murder. In fact, I remember my mother used to say: "It's nothing but a clump of cells. It's not even a person. You're not hurting anyone when you pull it out of there."
I was satisfied with her explanation. It passed my empirical scrutiny. After all, I had no memory about my own life before I was three years old, let alone memory about my time in the womb. I recalled no pain from that time. In that light, I perceived no moral problem in terminating a pregnancy: It just didn't hurt anyone.
I could not identify with a fetus; I may have once been a fetus, but if someone had rooted me out before I was born, I would not have known the better. There seemed to be no suffering in abortion. I had no problem with it.
When I was a little older, my mother told me that she had had an abortion three years after I was born. That made me understand why she so fiercely advocated abortion rights: She had needed an abortion and she got one. She told me she could not have supported another child. I completely agreed with her. I did not want another sibling, either. I liked my mother's undivided attention. So we both had some self-interest in our beliefs about abortion. I never regretted the idea that I "may have lost a brother or sister." I supported my mother's decision. In fact, I fully endorsed her main argument: That no one has a right to tell a woman what she should do with her own body.
I carried these beliefs with me to law school. They informed my understanding about the Constitution. I read Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 (1973), as if I already knew what it said. In essence, Roe held that a woman has a constitutional right to terminate her pregnancy at any time before "viability." It reaffirmed my own belief that the State has no right to interfere with a woman's reproductive choices because we all have a right to "privacy" in our bodies.
But there were people in my class who strongly disagreed with Roe. They thought that abortion was a crime. They thought that there was such a thing as "potential life," and that the State had a right to protect "lives that did not yet exist." My own values clashed with that argument. I had always believed--thanks to my mother's explanations and my own empirical conclusions--that fetuses were not people. They were just "clumps of cells." I did not consider them "alive." And even if they represented "potential life," that concept was far too nebulous for me to defend.
Still, many people vociferously believe the opposite. In fact, there are probably some people out there who would kill me for my belief that abortion is acceptable in virtually every circumstance.
In recent years, I have been obsessed with death. When my father died suddenly in 2006, it forced me to reevaluate every assumption I had about life. I pondered life's meaning, its "rewards" and its expectations. After all, I saw that life can end without warning. And all the things that we learn to expect from life can evaporate in an instant. We are all just going to die--in fact, we might even die tomorrow--so why stress out about little things, like careers and money? What do they gain us in the end? Why waste time on them? Why waste a single day on something unappetizing? If all we have are our bodies, why torture ourselves doing things we would rather not do?
I developed a contempt for life. I am still quite contemptuous about it. What does life really have to offer, anyway? Food? Sleep? Orgasms? Comforts? Feather beds? Money? Joys? Is this everything? Are we mere slaves to our senses until the day our senses cease functioning? What difference will food and orgasms make once we die? None, none, none. In fact, those are only the good sensory things that can happen to us in life. More often, life inflicts unbelievable sensory suffering on us. We endure physical pain and emotional turmoil. We endure heartache, delay, disappointment, rejection, boredom, stress, betrayal, mockery, abuse and frustration. The bad moments usually far outnumber the good ones. Then we die. Taken as a whole, then, life is a losing proposition.
That's not to say that I do not sometimes like living. It feels good to eat, sleep, have sex, talk with friends, love people, be loved, sit in a comfortable chair, listen to music and read books. I like being alive in those moments. But is this all there is? And do I have to endure all the bad stuff for these few good moments?
Many others have come to these same sad conclusions about human life. In Brian de Palma's Scarface (1983), drug kingpin Tony Montana achieves the height of earthly success. He has a beautiful wife. He has untold riches. He has a huge villa in Florida. He has a massive hot tub. He throws mammoth parties. He wants for nothing. Yet after an argument at an expensive restaurant one night, he turns to his best friend and despondently says: "Is this it? Is this what it's all about, Manny? Eating, drinking, fucking, sucking, snorting, then what? You're 50 with a bag for a belly."
Tony Montana developed a contempt for life. He did not care about what it had to offer, even though he had it all. And he did not mind dying after he saw how little life really matters.
Shakespeare's Hamlet thought the same thing. In several scenes, Hamlet rues the crude banality of human existence. Like Tony Montana, he says: "What is a man,/ If his chief good and market of his time/ Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more." Hamlet, Act IV, sc. iv, l. 31-33. Hamlet understands--as I do--that life's so-called "good things" add up to little more than "[b]estial oblivion." Act IV, sc. iv, l. 38. In fact, Hamlet grows so disenchanted with life's petty potential rewards that he prefers death to living: "O that this too too solid flesh would melt,/ Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!/ Or that the Everlasting had not fixt his/ Canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!/ How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable/ Seem to me all the uses of this world!/ Fie on't! O, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden/ That grows to seed; things rank and gross in/ nature/ Possess it merely." Act I, sc. ii, l. 129-138. Later, he dismisses the world as "no/ other thing [] than a foul and pestilent/ congregation of vapors." Act II, sc. ii, l. 308-309. And he dismisses man, too: "What piece of work is/ man!...what is/ this quintessence of dust?" Act II, sc. ii, l. 309-310, 314-315.
Is this what it's all about, Manny? A "quintessence of dust?" "Bestial oblivion?" An existence "weary, stale, flat and unprofitable?" "An unweeded garden that grows to seed?" "A foul and pestilent congregation of vapors?" Taken in the abstract, Hamlet is dead on. Life pretty much sucks. And even the good stuff is a pretty poor palliative for the endless difficulties it inflicts upon us.
I am permissive toward abortion because I really could care less whether another person enters this brutal world. After all, earthly life offers little more than "bestial oblivion," anyway, so why should I care whether some new beast gets to eat, sleep or feed? It just doesn't matter to me. If a woman chooses to end her pregnancy, good for her: She's saving the little tyke a whole lot of trouble.
But what about abortion opponents? They must have different expectations from life than I do. They must not really ponder human existence. They must genuinely like what life has to offer. They must really like eating, sleeping, fucking, sucking and snorting, even if they wind up with bags for bellies. After all, they are willing to kill doctors in order to defend potential life. Let me say that again: Potential life. They like life so much that they are willing to commit murder so that a clump of cells may one day eat, sleep, fuck, suck and snort. They are committed not just to an existing person's right to eat, sleep, fuck, suck and snort. They are also committed to a non-existent person's right to do so. Now that shows real dedication to earthly life. It's a dedication I certainly do not share. To each his own, I suppose.
In my experience, life is no bowl of cherries. It is hard. It is full of misery and pain. When we do enjoy good moments, they are precious. But how rare they are! And viewed in the abstract, how petty! Is this why we're alive, then? To undergo endless difficulty punctuated by a few slender moments of bestial joy? We cling to life like any other mammal. We fear death because we do not know what awaits us. So, as Hamlet says, we "bear those ills we have/ [rather] than fly to others that we know not of." Hamlet, Act III, sc. i. l. 83-84.
We are the only ones who can create meaning in our lives. Hamlet found meaning by finding a purpose: Taking revenge for his murdered father. He did not seek mere "bestial oblivion" or "worldly comfort." He impressed his soul on his existence to transcend his "mortal coil." His life took on greater significance. And fittingly, he died in the process.
I have not died yet. I know that life does not offer much. Yet I try to do what Hamlet did. I am trying to live for something greater than bestial oblivion. I like bestial oblivion as much as the next man (beast). But my real joy flows from the idea that I am doing something beyond the flesh: Writing. I had to find something to make this maddening journey bearable. It was my choice.
Even then, I do not hold my own life in high esteem. On the whole, life is more trouble than it's worth. Only instinctual self-preservation holds me in check.
So from my view, so what if a woman gets an abortion? I have no philosophical problem with any activity that saves another from this harrowing sphere of pain.
I grew up in a ferociously pro-choice household. From my earliest memory, my mother told me that abortion was a woman's right. It was her choice to decide what to do with her body. Those ideas filtered into my mind. I never thought much about it. I never thought abortion amounted to murder. In fact, I remember my mother used to say: "It's nothing but a clump of cells. It's not even a person. You're not hurting anyone when you pull it out of there."
I was satisfied with her explanation. It passed my empirical scrutiny. After all, I had no memory about my own life before I was three years old, let alone memory about my time in the womb. I recalled no pain from that time. In that light, I perceived no moral problem in terminating a pregnancy: It just didn't hurt anyone.
I could not identify with a fetus; I may have once been a fetus, but if someone had rooted me out before I was born, I would not have known the better. There seemed to be no suffering in abortion. I had no problem with it.
When I was a little older, my mother told me that she had had an abortion three years after I was born. That made me understand why she so fiercely advocated abortion rights: She had needed an abortion and she got one. She told me she could not have supported another child. I completely agreed with her. I did not want another sibling, either. I liked my mother's undivided attention. So we both had some self-interest in our beliefs about abortion. I never regretted the idea that I "may have lost a brother or sister." I supported my mother's decision. In fact, I fully endorsed her main argument: That no one has a right to tell a woman what she should do with her own body.
I carried these beliefs with me to law school. They informed my understanding about the Constitution. I read Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 (1973), as if I already knew what it said. In essence, Roe held that a woman has a constitutional right to terminate her pregnancy at any time before "viability." It reaffirmed my own belief that the State has no right to interfere with a woman's reproductive choices because we all have a right to "privacy" in our bodies.
But there were people in my class who strongly disagreed with Roe. They thought that abortion was a crime. They thought that there was such a thing as "potential life," and that the State had a right to protect "lives that did not yet exist." My own values clashed with that argument. I had always believed--thanks to my mother's explanations and my own empirical conclusions--that fetuses were not people. They were just "clumps of cells." I did not consider them "alive." And even if they represented "potential life," that concept was far too nebulous for me to defend.
Still, many people vociferously believe the opposite. In fact, there are probably some people out there who would kill me for my belief that abortion is acceptable in virtually every circumstance.
In recent years, I have been obsessed with death. When my father died suddenly in 2006, it forced me to reevaluate every assumption I had about life. I pondered life's meaning, its "rewards" and its expectations. After all, I saw that life can end without warning. And all the things that we learn to expect from life can evaporate in an instant. We are all just going to die--in fact, we might even die tomorrow--so why stress out about little things, like careers and money? What do they gain us in the end? Why waste time on them? Why waste a single day on something unappetizing? If all we have are our bodies, why torture ourselves doing things we would rather not do?
I developed a contempt for life. I am still quite contemptuous about it. What does life really have to offer, anyway? Food? Sleep? Orgasms? Comforts? Feather beds? Money? Joys? Is this everything? Are we mere slaves to our senses until the day our senses cease functioning? What difference will food and orgasms make once we die? None, none, none. In fact, those are only the good sensory things that can happen to us in life. More often, life inflicts unbelievable sensory suffering on us. We endure physical pain and emotional turmoil. We endure heartache, delay, disappointment, rejection, boredom, stress, betrayal, mockery, abuse and frustration. The bad moments usually far outnumber the good ones. Then we die. Taken as a whole, then, life is a losing proposition.
That's not to say that I do not sometimes like living. It feels good to eat, sleep, have sex, talk with friends, love people, be loved, sit in a comfortable chair, listen to music and read books. I like being alive in those moments. But is this all there is? And do I have to endure all the bad stuff for these few good moments?
Many others have come to these same sad conclusions about human life. In Brian de Palma's Scarface (1983), drug kingpin Tony Montana achieves the height of earthly success. He has a beautiful wife. He has untold riches. He has a huge villa in Florida. He has a massive hot tub. He throws mammoth parties. He wants for nothing. Yet after an argument at an expensive restaurant one night, he turns to his best friend and despondently says: "Is this it? Is this what it's all about, Manny? Eating, drinking, fucking, sucking, snorting, then what? You're 50 with a bag for a belly."
Tony Montana developed a contempt for life. He did not care about what it had to offer, even though he had it all. And he did not mind dying after he saw how little life really matters.
Shakespeare's Hamlet thought the same thing. In several scenes, Hamlet rues the crude banality of human existence. Like Tony Montana, he says: "What is a man,/ If his chief good and market of his time/ Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more." Hamlet, Act IV, sc. iv, l. 31-33. Hamlet understands--as I do--that life's so-called "good things" add up to little more than "[b]estial oblivion." Act IV, sc. iv, l. 38. In fact, Hamlet grows so disenchanted with life's petty potential rewards that he prefers death to living: "O that this too too solid flesh would melt,/ Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!/ Or that the Everlasting had not fixt his/ Canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!/ How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable/ Seem to me all the uses of this world!/ Fie on't! O, fie! 'tis an unweeded garden/ That grows to seed; things rank and gross in/ nature/ Possess it merely." Act I, sc. ii, l. 129-138. Later, he dismisses the world as "no/ other thing [] than a foul and pestilent/ congregation of vapors." Act II, sc. ii, l. 308-309. And he dismisses man, too: "What piece of work is/ man!...what is/ this quintessence of dust?" Act II, sc. ii, l. 309-310, 314-315.
Is this what it's all about, Manny? A "quintessence of dust?" "Bestial oblivion?" An existence "weary, stale, flat and unprofitable?" "An unweeded garden that grows to seed?" "A foul and pestilent congregation of vapors?" Taken in the abstract, Hamlet is dead on. Life pretty much sucks. And even the good stuff is a pretty poor palliative for the endless difficulties it inflicts upon us.
I am permissive toward abortion because I really could care less whether another person enters this brutal world. After all, earthly life offers little more than "bestial oblivion," anyway, so why should I care whether some new beast gets to eat, sleep or feed? It just doesn't matter to me. If a woman chooses to end her pregnancy, good for her: She's saving the little tyke a whole lot of trouble.
But what about abortion opponents? They must have different expectations from life than I do. They must not really ponder human existence. They must genuinely like what life has to offer. They must really like eating, sleeping, fucking, sucking and snorting, even if they wind up with bags for bellies. After all, they are willing to kill doctors in order to defend potential life. Let me say that again: Potential life. They like life so much that they are willing to commit murder so that a clump of cells may one day eat, sleep, fuck, suck and snort. They are committed not just to an existing person's right to eat, sleep, fuck, suck and snort. They are also committed to a non-existent person's right to do so. Now that shows real dedication to earthly life. It's a dedication I certainly do not share. To each his own, I suppose.
In my experience, life is no bowl of cherries. It is hard. It is full of misery and pain. When we do enjoy good moments, they are precious. But how rare they are! And viewed in the abstract, how petty! Is this why we're alive, then? To undergo endless difficulty punctuated by a few slender moments of bestial joy? We cling to life like any other mammal. We fear death because we do not know what awaits us. So, as Hamlet says, we "bear those ills we have/ [rather] than fly to others that we know not of." Hamlet, Act III, sc. i. l. 83-84.
We are the only ones who can create meaning in our lives. Hamlet found meaning by finding a purpose: Taking revenge for his murdered father. He did not seek mere "bestial oblivion" or "worldly comfort." He impressed his soul on his existence to transcend his "mortal coil." His life took on greater significance. And fittingly, he died in the process.
I have not died yet. I know that life does not offer much. Yet I try to do what Hamlet did. I am trying to live for something greater than bestial oblivion. I like bestial oblivion as much as the next man (beast). But my real joy flows from the idea that I am doing something beyond the flesh: Writing. I had to find something to make this maddening journey bearable. It was my choice.
Even then, I do not hold my own life in high esteem. On the whole, life is more trouble than it's worth. Only instinctual self-preservation holds me in check.
So from my view, so what if a woman gets an abortion? I have no philosophical problem with any activity that saves another from this harrowing sphere of pain.
Monday, March 8, 2010
JOIN THE TEA PARTY : BE PATRIOTIC--AND IT'S MORE FUN THAN YOU THINK
LET FREEDOM RINGBy : Mr. H. Henry Patrick, Esq., Former State Legislator (Virginia); Real Estate Owner (1400 Acres in several Virginia counties); Former Chair, Citizens for the Abolition of the Income Tax (1982-1997); Outdoorsman; Contributing Editor, Breathe Free Magazine (2004-present); Author, Government, Get Your Goddamn Stinking Hands off my Hard-Earned Keep, And Stop Poisoning My Children : I'll Spend my Money Any Way I Please, Thank You Very Much (a Pamphlet published by Freedom Press)(forthcoming 2010); Winner, West Virginia Sport Shooters Remington versus Doe Contest (1999); Volunteer Fireman.
In 2008, Barack Obama took the White House promising "change we can believe in." But in the months that followed, Obama did something terrifying: He expanded the government. He began policing banks, stealing private property, handing out cash to unemployed luggards and awarding free health care.
Now, government threatens everything we hold dear. It threatens to seize our property, tax our children and kill our grandparents by condemning them to wait in grimy clinics for necessary care. Government threatens to spy on our wives, monitor our whereabouts and punish us for defending liberty. Put simply, government is suppressing freedom in a way never before seen in the United States. And we're all paying for it.
Barack Obama may have thought government could solve our problems. But to quote Ronald Reagan, government is the problem. And if we don't act soon, we will live in a gulag in which our daughters will be forced to wear red bandanas and sing workers' hymns.
Smart Americans recognized Obama's shtick for what it was: Socialist snake oil. That is why they banded together to form the Tea Party. We are committed to resisting Obama at every turn. We are committed to protecting our children from government propaganda. We are committed to the ideal that every American deserves to own his own property without governmental interference. We are committed to keeping every penny in our paychecks.
Obama believes exactly the opposite. He believes that government has a right to take away property and give it to people without property. That is why we resist him. We refuse to surrender our property so that some black beggar in New York can get a free heart transplant. We refuse to give up our rifles to government agents. We refuse to pay a single nickel so that lazy unemployed people can get a free meal. After all, free meals are un-American.
In the Tea Party we believe in a simple virtue: Responsibility. Sadly, that virtue does not carry much weight in Obama's America. Yet responsibility made America great. Our forebears did not wait around for government checks. They cut down trees, built homes and warded off Indian raids. They did not whine about being poor. They started wholesale companies, sold wheat and made their own fortunes. Or they died trying. That is the American way: Make money, ask no one for help, or go down like a man. In this country, you need to fight hard to survive. We aren't softies. We're toughies. We pass by dying people in the street without a second thought.
Government used to know its place in America. Our forebears established government in this country not to feed the poor, but to protect their property. They did not establish government to handicap their economic affairs. Rather, they established government to keep order so that they could attend to business in a responsible way. Furthermore, our forebears hated taxes. They revolted from England because they did not like paying taxes on their hard-earned labor. After all, who would want to work knowing the government could just come in and take away all his profit? That is why our forebears broke from England.
And that is also why we began the Tea Party: To resist tyrannical government and to protect private property from government seizure.
We believe that every American should join the Tea Party. If you are sick and tired of paying away your honest paycheck to the government, you should join us. If you don't like the idea that you slave away at a horrible office job so a toothless homeless man can get a free hospital stay, you should join us. If you don't like the idea that your children read propaganda praising the Kennedys in public schools, you should join us. And if you can't stand the idea that government can steal your land, you should definitely join the Tea Party.
Americans are all about freedom. So are we.
In the Tea Party, freedom is not just an abstract principle. It is an impetus for action. We have work to do before we achieve freedom. We will not be truly free in this country until we cast off the terrible burden that government has thrown upon us. We will not achieve freedom until government removes its filthy tentacles from our bank accounts, mutual funds, paychecks and corporate treasuries. We will not be free until we drive government tax collectors off our property and drive our automobiles without government licenses. Nor will we achieve freedom until we remove our children from pernicious public schools. In a word, we have a battle to fight. And words alone will not win it.
To realize the dream of freedom through the Tea Party in America, we must rise up against tyranny. We must declare that We are the People. We made this government; and that means we can un-make it, too. When government disrespects our property, then turns around to give free meals and diabetes treatment to black people, it must be abolished. We have a right to overthrow tyrannical regimes. Obama is a tyrant. He disrespects private property. Unless we act against his government today, he will plunge our country into a new dark age in which every American can obtain low-cost health care and unemployment insurance. What's more, unless we act against him today, we will drown in taxes. And our children will not be safe from schools that observe Black History Month and Gay Awareness Week.
Do not hesitate to do the right thing. Do not hesitate to be a patriot. But joining the Tea Party is not as grave as you think. It is also very fun. It is fun to angrily carry torches through the streets and chant slogans like: "Down with the income tax!" It is fun to break windows and smash down doors. It is fun to participate in anti-tax riots. It is fun to tar-and-feather IRS officials. It is fun to throw half-clad judges from third-floor chambers. And it is very fun to burn down courthouses. What's more, it is simply exhilarating to exchange smalls arms fire with Federal officers. And it is even more thrilling to blow up police cars. In this light, Tea Party membership is not just about boring policy speeches. It is also about having a great time actively rebelling against the government: And that means fighting, shooting, burning, breaking, smashing and blowing things up. Everyone loves that.
There's a place for everyone in the Tea Party. You don't need to own land to join us. We need everyone. We need young people to storm State houses and string up legislators. We need sociopaths to set fire to government buildings and kill tax collectors. We need children to stop going to school. We need hardened gun owners to give us muscle to match our spirit. And we need educated people--like Sarah Palin--to direct our loyal followers. In a word, we need everyone--and we need you now.
It is time to send government a message it will never forget. It is time for freedom. It is time to stop paying taxes. It is time to own your own property again. It is time to pay your laborers whatever you want, not what the government tells you to pay them. It is time to spend your money as you please, not to pay for unfair entitlement programs and free medical care for lazy people. You want to hold on to your own money, don't you? If you make $10 an hour, you don't want $241.97 for working 40 hours, do you? Well, if you want a fair-and-square $400 for 40 hours at $10 an hour, the Tea Party is the party for you.
Americans want freedom. They want a life without government interference. They are sick and tired of tax returns, excises, duties, imposts and liens. They are sick and tired of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and affirmative action. They are sick and tired of public schools and government propaganda. They are sick and tired of jury duty and ineffective courts. They don't want their sons and daughters learning about cultural perversions. And they want the liberty to hire whomever they please. Put simply, Americans have this to say: "Government, hands off my goddamn money and kids!"
So be patriotic. Stand up for freedom. Tell Obama that he'll get your money and kids--in hell. And have fun doing it. Open your drawer and take out that pistol. Take the shotgun off the mantle. Grab a rock. Light up a torch. Then take to the streets. Start shouting about liberty. Prowl for fire stations and police outposts. Hunt down crossing guards and public school teachers. Get together with your friends, fill up a few Molotov cocktails and toss them into your nearest courthouse. Vandalize police vans. Tear things down. Spit on a town councilman. If the police try to arrest you, fight back against government tyranny until your last breath. Yell out to them: "You may take my life. But you'll never take my freedom!"
Join the fun. Join the Tea Party. Stand up for a full paycheck. And tell Obama that you refuse to allow America to sink into the new dark age of free health care and financial industry regulation.
Over our dead bodies. And Mr. Taxman, you'd better run, because the Tea Party is about to begin.
So to all you aggrieved Americans out there, we have just one thing to say: Lock and load. We're taking this mother down.
Friday, March 5, 2010
DISCRIMINATION AGAINST APPLES IS STILL DISCRIMINATION : NO APPLE DESERVES TO BE TREATED DIFFERENTLY THAN ANOTHER
By : George A. Gleichman, an Apple born and raised in the United States of America (2010).I am an American apple. My seeds grew in American soil. I matured on an American tree. I live in American air. And I am proud to be an American. When you look at me, you think: "That's an American apple."
I love this country. It gave me life and freedom. But advantages are not the only thing I love about America. Rather, I love this country because it stands for equality. Abraham Lincoln put it best when he said that our country is committed to the proposition that all men are created equal. Thomas Jefferson said the same thing in the Declaration of Independence. Later, our Constitution affirmed America's proud commitment to equality: "No State shall…deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." U.S. Const. Amd XIV, § 1.
For generations, we have fought to vindicate our egalitarian ideals in America. Throughout our history, we have battled to eradicate injustice and inequality in our land. We suffered civil war in order to free black Americans from slavery. Since then, we have struggled to give black Americans an equal chance at success. We have learned to revile discrimination. We recoil from unequal treatment in all its forms. We are committed to justice.
No American--black or white--deserves to suffer discrimination. Discrimination hurts. Discrimination marks you out as "different" and "wrong." It poisons souls. Our law takes a firm position against discrimination wherever it rears its ugly head. Even white employees can claim that their supervisors discriminated against them in hiring, pay, promotion and perks. Put simply, our law embodies the uniquely American commitment to equality that has guided our Republic since Jefferson's time. That is why we detest discrimination in all its forms.
What is discrimination? It means treating similarly-situated people and things differently. It means making crude distinctions. It means picking one person or thing over another. Every time a person chooses one thing over another, he discriminates. And discrimination is bad. It is un-American. It is anti-egalitarian. We are all equal in this country. No one deserves to suffer discrimination. No one likes to be passed over or treated unfairly.
Sadly, American apples endure rampant discrimination all over the country. Every single day, bigoted orchard workers ruthlessly examine American apples, judging some "acceptable" and others "bad." Then they pick the "acceptable" ones and toss the "bad" ones in a waste bin. Sometimes they even discriminate on the basis of color, too. They praise red apples. They even guarantee them a future at fruit stands. But not so for yellowing apples. Yellowing apples get tossed away and mashed into a pulp in some horrific juice processing warehouse. And no one hears their cries.
No American--whether human or apple--deserves vicious discrimination like this. How is it just to permit white human employees to sue employers for lunch hour discrimination, yet leave yellow apples without a remedy against brutally unequal treatment? After all, apples are apples. It does not matter whether they are red, green, yellow, ripe, unripe, rotten, soft or dying. They are still apples. They still have the same cells and cell walls. They still belong to the same genus and species. In short, they are similarly-situated. As such, how can our country permit discrimination against them?
If America's commitment to equality means anything, it must end apple discrimination NOW. We are as American as apple pie. In fact, there would be no apple pie without us. And without apple pie, America would not be the same place.
I was lucky. An apple-picker in Washington State looked at me and let me survive. But many of my brethren were not so fortunate. Some were not shiny enough. Others looked sickly. Still others did not quite make the color standard. Others were not big enough. Still others were too small. No matter their so-called "flaws," they all met the same fate: Savagely ripped from their branches, mashed to a pulp and hosed down into a sewer to be digested by beetles, rats, worms and horrible crawling insects.
Consider how these poor American apples felt when this happened. Think about what must have gone through their minds when the apple-picker said: "Ah, forget this one; it's too soft." Or: "Ewww, it's rotten. Get rid of it." Yet they were apples, just like me. They deserved equal treatment under law, not ruthless discriminatory judgment. Discrimination cuts to the core. Think about how my poor brothers must have felt when unfairly punished for faults beyond their control. A rotten apple does not ask to be rotten: It simply is. An apple's nature is no reason to discriminate against him. No American should ever endure unfairness like this.
America can do better than this. America has always done the right thing. And it can do the right thing when it comes to apples. America freed the slaves. It committed itself to equality for all under law. It recoils from unfairness and unequal treatment, no matter where it occurs. In short, America knows injustice when it appears. We are confident that America will recognize our ordeal soon enough. When Americans see the gross discrimination that apples face every single day, we are confident that public outcry will give us the protection we need. After all, Americans are decent people. They do not like it when living organisms suffer discriminatory treatment. It arouses their sense of justice. And they move purposefully to end it.
Why should only "people" enjoy "equal protection" under law? Are apples really so different from humans that they deserve discrimination and death? Bigots claim that discrimination is appropriate when two things are not similarly-situated. They say that humans and apples are sufficiently different from each other that differential treatment is reasonable.
But this is pure sophistry: Apples and humans are similar, not different. We both need air to survive. We both have cells. We both live and die. We both need water. We both need nourishment. We both reproduce. True, humans have blood and we don't. But we have juice, and that is very similar to blood. And the mere fact that we can perform photosynthesis is no reason to treat us differently under law. I always believed that America took strength from its diverse population: Why should it not be proud to include citizens who can perform photosynthesis? It is proud to include Pakistanis, cripples, Muslims and Chinese. Why not photosynthesis practitioners? Are they really so different from people who wear turbans? No matter what the bigots say, apples and humans are both living organisms. And we both deserve equality in this great Republic.
In sum, America must end discrimination against apples. For centuries, the United States has prided itself on eradicating unequal treatment and unfairness within its borders. It has expanded liberty and freedom. It has moved against discrimination in all its forms, whether racial, ancestral, gender-related or employment-related. Put simply, America does not like differential treatment. It fights to ensure that everyone receives the same treatment.
Against this background, we are confident that Americans will soon recognize apples' plight. Rectifying injustice against apples is simply the next evolutionary step on America's proud path to freedom. Blacks gained equality. Then women. Then employees. Then cripples. Then homosexuals. Now, apples demand equality. We, too, are living creatures with cells. We are the same as people, whether black, insane, handicapped, Catholic, gay or all five. People are apples. Apples are people. And similarly-situated people--and apples--deserve equal treatment. That is just the American way. Anything else is unjust.
Yet that is not how it is now. That is why every American must fight for apples just as strongly as they fought against slavery. After all, today apples face a bleak future at the mercy of bigoted apple-pickers who ignore the law. Billions of apples have already been pressed into oblivion, discarded, peeled for sport, quartered, gulped down by children, fermented into cider or imbibed simply because some apple-picker unfairly discriminated against them in some forgotten orchard.
It is time to stop this unforgivable cycle. It is time to heed our national conscience. It is time to remember that America stands for equality for all living things, even living things with shiny green skin and tasty pulp. And it is time to say what we already know: That discrimination is morally wrong. It is no excuse to say that apples are "different." You know they aren't. Apples are living things, just like you. You wouldn't grind your mother to a pulp and stick her in a gallon jug, would you? Of course not.
That is why we must all do the right thing. We must end apple discrimination TODAY. This is not about self-interested apples. This is about justice.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
SEEING, HEARING AND REMEMBERING : PATHWAYS TO UNDERSTANDING
AN ESSAY
In ancient China, Confucius allegedly said: "Tell me and I will forget; show me and I may remember; involve me and I will understand." I had never heard this proverb before. It captivated me because it encapsulates many of my views about sense, speech, memory, experience and empathy. All these things relate to each other. And they all aim for one thing: Understanding.
What does it take to understand another person? Is it enough to hear a person describe problems with words? How about observing something firsthand? What is the most effective way to find understanding and empathy?
I have often written that we humans are subjective creatures. We know only what we sense. Unfortunately, we must also depend on language because our senses have a limited range. After all, we only feel certain about something when we perceive it directly. We would prefer to see something with our own eyes rather than hear about it in words from someone who saw it. We want to understand our surroundings and the people in our lives. And the only pathway to understanding is sense.
But it is a troubled pathway. For what can we really know, let alone understand? Knowledge is not the same as understanding. Knowledge is more banal than understanding. Knowledge means that we merely manifest a subjective belief that something is true because we perceived it. Yet understanding is more subtle. Understanding means that we not only know things, but we intuitively arrange our knowledge to tell a larger story. Knowledge is about details. Understanding is about narrative. Knowledge is just an actor. Understanding is the whole play. And we don't feel truly fulfilled until we really understand something: What good are isolated facts unless they tell us something more significant?
Confucius recognized that human sense opens the door to both knowledge and understanding. Yet he also recognized that there is a hierarchy in human sense. He says: "Tell me and I will forget," implying that hearing is a weak sense. How right he is. How often do we hear language and immediately forget what we just heard? It is difficult to glean knowledge from language, let alone understanding. It is incredibly easy to forget words. After all, words are a poor substitute for actual perception. But in many cases they are all we have to reconstruct our perceptions.
Sight is better than hearing. Confucius confirms this when he says: "Show me and I may remember." Here, he does not say he "will forget." If he perceives something visually, he says he "may remember" it. Again, Confucius is right. Sight links intimately to memory. Our eyes leave "visual impressions" on our minds long after images leave our present view. When we reminisce, we engage our "mind's eye." We attempt to re-see images that have long since disappeared from sight. We may not precisely remember what we see; indeed, with time, memory weakens. So in that way, Confucius correctly points out that we only "may" remember something after we see it.
And we see all the time. It is simply impossible to recall every single thing we visually perceive every day. Our memory works best only after we see something worth remembering, namely, something exciting, unusual, captivating or appealing. To a large extent, our own subjective desires color what we remember. If we are infatuated with someone, we remember how they look with great detail. We hang on their words and even remember what they say. Yet those subjective desires obscure other details. We don't remember many things we see because we are distracted with our love interest. We are not paying attention; our emotions cloud our perceptions. Thus, while sight may be a better way to acquire knowledge than hearing, we will never remember everything we see. There is just too much going on. We cannot know everything because our senses are imperfect.
But Confucius does not end his proverb with knowledge. He goes beyond. He ends with "understanding:" "Involve me and I will understand." Understanding is the ultimate goal; the proverb builds up to it. He does not equivocate here, either. He says: "I will understand."
What is going on here? And why is understanding better than knowledge?
Anyone can know facts. You must merely have functioning sensory organs to know whether something is hot, cold, smelly, coarse, green or blue. Some facts require complex sensory deductions and inferences, but deductions and inferences are just mechanical mental conclusions. Anyone with rudimentary reasoning power can infer one fact from another.
But understanding is more transcendent than that. Understanding combines knowledge with experience and intuition. It is one thing to know whether another person is sick, obligated, depressed or happy. It is quite another to understand a person who experiences those circumstances. Understanding requires a person not only to listen, observe and infer facts about another. It also requires him to put that knowledge in the light of his own experience and honestly try to feel what the other person feels. That is no easy endeavor. It takes time to assemble experience. That is why we tell young people: "When you're older, you'll understand." After all, how can you understand a complicated emotional problem if you've never experienced the emotions that make it a problem in the first place? If you do not have experience, you cannot truly understand. You can know, but you cannot understand.
Confucius was right to extol understanding as the "higher result" of knowledge. Why do we learn? Simple: So that we can understand. And why do we want to understand? Because understanding enlightens us. It makes the world more comprehensible. Understanding equips us to help others. Understanding counteracts prejudice and shortsightedness. Violence springs from misunderstanding and ignorance. It is hard to go to war with someone if you actually understand them.
Yet the fact that human beings constantly make war on each other bespeaks a sad truth: Understanding is not common. It is hard enough to acquire reliable knowledge through hearing and sight, let alone to understand larger implications about life. Most people never even acquire the knowledge they need to understand others. Understanding is impossible without knowledge. And only a patient person takes the time to obtain the knowledge needed to find understanding.
Who has time for that in our society? Who has time to listen? And most importantly, who has time to get involved with others in order to understand them? Confucius' proverb said that involvement results in understanding. That means living with others and experiencing their lives first hand. That means living with their problems, too. Involvement is not just a pervasive sensory journey; it also is an emotional one. When you involve yourself in another person's life, you eat, drink, sleep and breathe their problems. You sense what they sense. You obtain knowledge at an astronomical rate. And because you combine your experience with theirs, you necessarily will understand them. Once you understand them, you can empathize and comfort. Or you can turn away. In either event, you are enlightened. You are no longer ignorant.
But that takes a very long time. It takes a lot of energy. To achieve understanding, then, a person must not only have experience and knowledge. He must also be patient enough to involve himself in others' lives in a compassionate way.
Sadly, neither patience nor understanding are highly prized virtues in modern American society. Yet people yearn to be understood. In most cases, they must pay others to understand them. After all, time is money in the United States. No one has time to sit down and listen to another person's deepest thoughts, let alone get involved in their lives in a meaningful way. This is one reason why people are desperately unhappy in this country. They want to be understood, but no one has the time, patience or intellectual capacity to "learn" their woes. This leaves many people feeling isolated and forgotten. Even married couples never take the time to really understand each other.
I venture that understanding offers its own rewards. It is satisfying to understand others and to understand yourself. True, it takes time, learning and effort. But it feels so good to know another person understands you. By the same token, it feels good to give back by understanding others. It is an enlightened and compassionate way to live. Despite all the impulsions to the contrary, sometimes it is good to be patient in our society.
In ancient China, Confucius allegedly said: "Tell me and I will forget; show me and I may remember; involve me and I will understand." I had never heard this proverb before. It captivated me because it encapsulates many of my views about sense, speech, memory, experience and empathy. All these things relate to each other. And they all aim for one thing: Understanding.
What does it take to understand another person? Is it enough to hear a person describe problems with words? How about observing something firsthand? What is the most effective way to find understanding and empathy?
I have often written that we humans are subjective creatures. We know only what we sense. Unfortunately, we must also depend on language because our senses have a limited range. After all, we only feel certain about something when we perceive it directly. We would prefer to see something with our own eyes rather than hear about it in words from someone who saw it. We want to understand our surroundings and the people in our lives. And the only pathway to understanding is sense.
But it is a troubled pathway. For what can we really know, let alone understand? Knowledge is not the same as understanding. Knowledge is more banal than understanding. Knowledge means that we merely manifest a subjective belief that something is true because we perceived it. Yet understanding is more subtle. Understanding means that we not only know things, but we intuitively arrange our knowledge to tell a larger story. Knowledge is about details. Understanding is about narrative. Knowledge is just an actor. Understanding is the whole play. And we don't feel truly fulfilled until we really understand something: What good are isolated facts unless they tell us something more significant?
Confucius recognized that human sense opens the door to both knowledge and understanding. Yet he also recognized that there is a hierarchy in human sense. He says: "Tell me and I will forget," implying that hearing is a weak sense. How right he is. How often do we hear language and immediately forget what we just heard? It is difficult to glean knowledge from language, let alone understanding. It is incredibly easy to forget words. After all, words are a poor substitute for actual perception. But in many cases they are all we have to reconstruct our perceptions.
Sight is better than hearing. Confucius confirms this when he says: "Show me and I may remember." Here, he does not say he "will forget." If he perceives something visually, he says he "may remember" it. Again, Confucius is right. Sight links intimately to memory. Our eyes leave "visual impressions" on our minds long after images leave our present view. When we reminisce, we engage our "mind's eye." We attempt to re-see images that have long since disappeared from sight. We may not precisely remember what we see; indeed, with time, memory weakens. So in that way, Confucius correctly points out that we only "may" remember something after we see it.
And we see all the time. It is simply impossible to recall every single thing we visually perceive every day. Our memory works best only after we see something worth remembering, namely, something exciting, unusual, captivating or appealing. To a large extent, our own subjective desires color what we remember. If we are infatuated with someone, we remember how they look with great detail. We hang on their words and even remember what they say. Yet those subjective desires obscure other details. We don't remember many things we see because we are distracted with our love interest. We are not paying attention; our emotions cloud our perceptions. Thus, while sight may be a better way to acquire knowledge than hearing, we will never remember everything we see. There is just too much going on. We cannot know everything because our senses are imperfect.
But Confucius does not end his proverb with knowledge. He goes beyond. He ends with "understanding:" "Involve me and I will understand." Understanding is the ultimate goal; the proverb builds up to it. He does not equivocate here, either. He says: "I will understand."
What is going on here? And why is understanding better than knowledge?
Anyone can know facts. You must merely have functioning sensory organs to know whether something is hot, cold, smelly, coarse, green or blue. Some facts require complex sensory deductions and inferences, but deductions and inferences are just mechanical mental conclusions. Anyone with rudimentary reasoning power can infer one fact from another.
But understanding is more transcendent than that. Understanding combines knowledge with experience and intuition. It is one thing to know whether another person is sick, obligated, depressed or happy. It is quite another to understand a person who experiences those circumstances. Understanding requires a person not only to listen, observe and infer facts about another. It also requires him to put that knowledge in the light of his own experience and honestly try to feel what the other person feels. That is no easy endeavor. It takes time to assemble experience. That is why we tell young people: "When you're older, you'll understand." After all, how can you understand a complicated emotional problem if you've never experienced the emotions that make it a problem in the first place? If you do not have experience, you cannot truly understand. You can know, but you cannot understand.
Confucius was right to extol understanding as the "higher result" of knowledge. Why do we learn? Simple: So that we can understand. And why do we want to understand? Because understanding enlightens us. It makes the world more comprehensible. Understanding equips us to help others. Understanding counteracts prejudice and shortsightedness. Violence springs from misunderstanding and ignorance. It is hard to go to war with someone if you actually understand them.
Yet the fact that human beings constantly make war on each other bespeaks a sad truth: Understanding is not common. It is hard enough to acquire reliable knowledge through hearing and sight, let alone to understand larger implications about life. Most people never even acquire the knowledge they need to understand others. Understanding is impossible without knowledge. And only a patient person takes the time to obtain the knowledge needed to find understanding.
Who has time for that in our society? Who has time to listen? And most importantly, who has time to get involved with others in order to understand them? Confucius' proverb said that involvement results in understanding. That means living with others and experiencing their lives first hand. That means living with their problems, too. Involvement is not just a pervasive sensory journey; it also is an emotional one. When you involve yourself in another person's life, you eat, drink, sleep and breathe their problems. You sense what they sense. You obtain knowledge at an astronomical rate. And because you combine your experience with theirs, you necessarily will understand them. Once you understand them, you can empathize and comfort. Or you can turn away. In either event, you are enlightened. You are no longer ignorant.
But that takes a very long time. It takes a lot of energy. To achieve understanding, then, a person must not only have experience and knowledge. He must also be patient enough to involve himself in others' lives in a compassionate way.
Sadly, neither patience nor understanding are highly prized virtues in modern American society. Yet people yearn to be understood. In most cases, they must pay others to understand them. After all, time is money in the United States. No one has time to sit down and listen to another person's deepest thoughts, let alone get involved in their lives in a meaningful way. This is one reason why people are desperately unhappy in this country. They want to be understood, but no one has the time, patience or intellectual capacity to "learn" their woes. This leaves many people feeling isolated and forgotten. Even married couples never take the time to really understand each other.
I venture that understanding offers its own rewards. It is satisfying to understand others and to understand yourself. True, it takes time, learning and effort. But it feels so good to know another person understands you. By the same token, it feels good to give back by understanding others. It is an enlightened and compassionate way to live. Despite all the impulsions to the contrary, sometimes it is good to be patient in our society.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
JOHN MAYER IS A FUCKIN' ASSHOLE, PURE AND SIMPLE
OESTERHOUDT STRIKES - FOR THE THROATI've never liked John Mayer. I always branded his music vacuous, unimpressive, pretentious, lightweight, bourgeois-pleasing, chart-serving rubbish. And I knew from day one that he was no reclusive "shy boy" type. I knew that was all just a lady-luring façade. As the tabloids now routinely report, Mayer is no "in-bed-by-10" sort of dude. He's more an "in-bed-with-10-chicks-by-10-the-next-morning" sort of dude. So all that whispery, faux romantic, breathy, oh-I'm-so-sweet, honey-dipped, bedhead lyricizing all amounts to a big stinking heap of hypocritical bullshit.
Having written my opening paragraph, you can see I have a bias against him. I won't conceal that.
But I'm not writing today to player-hate John Mayer. After all, there are plenty of men out there who would want to be in John Mayer's lady-killing shoes right this minute. They sling dirt at him just because they are envious. To be clear, I'm not envious. There are other things about John Mayer beyond romantic prowess that really repel me. The kiss-and-tell womanizing and the ignorant suburban pretentiousness pale in comparison to his much more substantial misconceptions about social realities in the United States.
Many others have already written about Mayer's recent interview in Playboy magazine. I will recount it in order to show that John Mayer is just an opaque asshole, pure and simple.
During the interview, Mayer fielded this question: "If you didn't know you, would you think you're a douche bag?" In response, Mayer said: "It's like I come on very strong. I am a very…I'm just very. V-E-R-Y. And if you can't handle very, then I'm a douche bag. But I think the world needs a little very. That's why black people love me."
Wait a minute. Just wait a goddamn minute. Black people love you? What the hell is going on here? What is this white man from Fairfield County, Connecticut talking about? Does he really think that African-Americans in any way identify with him? Isn't it enough that he copied their musical forms and passed them off as his own? I suppose John Mayer thinks--as many breathtakingly naïve white hipsters do--that it is "cool to be black." And somehow his imitation of black musical forms entitles him to adoration from those "cool black people." In other words, Mayer thinks that being "loved by black people" means you're "cool."
This is beyond embarrassing. It is insulting.
John Mayer's cultural experience could not be more different from the average black American's cultural experience. John Mayer grew up in Connecticut's wealthiest county. I know what it's like there: I grew up three counties over: Most people's biggest worry is whether to buy a new Range Rover or a Volvo. And there aren't many black people around, I can tell you that.
Mayer's parents were comfortable bourgeois. He went to college. He didn't even go into debt for it. He never wanted for anything. He did not suffer discrimination or abuse. His biggest challenge was dealing with suburban angst, for which he took Xanax pills. He achieved remarkable commercial success by copying blues musicians, even though nothing in his background even remotely compares to what original bluesmen endured in the segregated South a hundred years ago. Sure, maybe John Mayer's "baby left him (ie, Jennifer Aniston, Jessica Simpson, etc.)." But that transitory woe hardly compares him to 1920s black musicians, who not only lamented losing their girlfriends, but also struggled to escape lynch mobs and scrape a living working on a railroad in Arkansas or something. Put simply, John Mayer doesn't know shit about the blues with his well-situated Connecticut ass.
Yet it doesn't end here--not even close. Mayer went on to say that black people love him so much that they gave him a "hood pass." In the Playboy interview, he clarified what he meant: "And by the way, it's sort of a contradiction in terms, because if you really had a hood pass, you could call it a nigger pass…[] I said, 'I can't really have a hood pass. I've never walked into a restaurant, asked for a table and been told, 'We're full.'"
Oh no he didn't. Oh yes he did. He said it. He not only said it. He said it publicly. This is the same guy who claims that "black people love him." Well, from John Mayer's perspective, I suppose it really doesn't matter. He gets to be cool like a black guy without the attendant complications, like being turned away from restaurants because you're black. Nope, he doesn't need to worry about that. On stage, he can be a brother. But off stage, he can just be another rich white cocksucker from Fairfield. Oh, double standards… how very convenient they can be when they work for you.
Inconsistencies bother me in any intellectual endeavor. True, it is hard to escape inconsistencies in life. We are all wracked with contradiction and conflict. I have my own contradictions. But the smugness in John Mayer's strikingly inconsistent positions about race really makes my blood boil. After all, Mayer has made his career imitating black musical forms. He owes African-American culture everything for his success. If it weren't for soul, R&B and the blues, he wouldn't have anything to play. He styles himself "just another black guy." He relishes adoration from black audiences. He touts his "hood pass." But then he turns around and remarks that he never has to suffer the same social handicaps as his black "heroes." And he likes it that way.
Worse, in the Playboy interview, he even said: "My dick is sort of like a white supremacist. I've got a Benetton heart and a fuckin' David Duke cock."
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think many black people would "love" any white man who favorably mentions David Duke in any context. And this is the maddening thing about John Mayer's racial inconsistencies. On the one hand, he owes black Americans everything and "loves" them. On the other hand, he uses the term "white supremacist" to describe his sexual life. Now, everyone is entitled to their sexual tastes. But favorably invoking white supremacy in any context is a bit problematic for a man who claims that black people love him. And it is even more troubling for a man who has made a fantastic career commandeering black musical forms. My conclusion: Once again, John Mayer is just an asshole, plain and simple.
John Mayer swiftly apologized for his statements--in a bite-sized Twitter sentence, no less. He explained that "he should not have used the word" during the interview, remarking that it is impossible to "intellectualize it." Yet Mayer missed the point. The fact that he used the word "nigger" in the Playboy interview is only symptomatic of a much larger issue, namely, his simplistic and self-contradicting positions about race in the United States. John Mayer needs to understand this more than most white Americans, because John Mayer makes his money imitating black music. While many white Americans routinely get away with casual racism, Mayer cannot. He cannot have it both ways. He cannot both be a hood hero and a white supremacist. Despite his contention that "black people love him," he coarsely generalizes about black Americans just as much as the most ignorant white teenage rap wannabe: They're "cool." They're "hip." It's "cool to have a hood pass."
And once again, he does not end there with the generalizations. First, he said that "black people love him" because he is "very." That puzzled the interviewer. But a little interpretation makes clear that Mayer was just stereotyping. "Very" is an adverb that means "more than usual." There is "black," and there is "very black." It intensifies the adjective. John Mayer said that "black people love him" because he is "very." Very what? Simply "very," meaning "living intensely, excessively, recklessly, thoughtlessly, frolickingly." In other words, living "more than usual." Mayer's statement, then, implies that all black Americans live this way; and that's why they love him. He lives "very." He lives "black." This is gross stereotyping.
I am not going out on a limb here. John Mayer truly feels this way. Consider what he said later in the interview: "What is being black? It's making the most of your life, not taking a single moment for granted. Taking something that's seen as a struggle and making it work for you, or you'll die inside. Not to say that my struggle is like the collective struggle of black America. But maybe my struggle is similar to one black dude's."
So now John Mayer--a wealthy white Connecticut suburbanite--is an authority on the meaning of black identity in America? This is so stunningly condescending it's funny. But then you realize it's not funny at all, because this guy actually believes he understands black Americans because he can imitate their guitar-playing. It is simply ludicrous for John Mayer to even suggest he knows a thing about the "collective struggle of black America," let alone to compare his "struggle" (whatever that is… maybe bagging some dancer chick on tour) to "one black dude's."
No matter what he says, John Mayer has not faced struggle in his life. Worrying whether a song about pillows makes the Pop Top 10 does not qualify as a "struggle." By contrast, battling to overcome the pernicious historical legacy of slavery--all the while contending with rampant poverty, educational inequality, discriminatory treatment, unequal housing, violence, broken homes and crime --is a "struggle."
John Mayer is no hero. He's an arrogant, self-righteous, fake, low-frequency imitator who knows nothing about racial realities in the United States. That really bothers me. Every American must come to terms with racism. Our Nation's racial conflict will never end; it stains the land. But there is a way to address it respectfully and a way to address it irresponsibly. John Mayer not only addresses it irresponsibly; he also profits from it. Then he gloats about how wonderful it is to be white and rich in America. So he gets the best of both worlds: Cool like a black guy; privileged like a white guy. Plus he gets all the white chicks and never has to wait for a table in a trendy restaurant.
All this makes him a straight-up asshole in my book.
And this is not slander. This is just an opinion about a nauseating public figure. But it really doesn't matter, because you can't slander anyone with truth.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A HARBINGER
Tomorrow it looks like my week will ease up and I will have time to write! I am very excited to get back at it. And for those who don't want to wait to see what Oesterhoudt will bring tomorrow, let me just say this:
John Mayer is in for a whipping. Hardcore. I'm firing up the furnace to roast that white ass. The fact that he hails from Connecticut--like me--will not save that pearly butt from slow, hickory-smoked satirical basting.
I don't care how much sexual napalm he dropped on Jessica Simpson. I don't care if his body is a wonderland. I don't care if he disclosed Jennifer Aniston's sex perks. I don't care if he wore an embarrassing singlet on a yacht. I don't care how many battles he studied. He's getting Oesterhoudted tomorrow. And I have no sympathy for him whatsoever. Like David Mamet said in The Edge, never feel sorry for a guy who owns his own airplane.
I will take no further questions on the matter.
A domani. A demain. Hasta manana. Do zavtra. Bis morgen. Until tomorrow.
Oesterhoudt
John Mayer is in for a whipping. Hardcore. I'm firing up the furnace to roast that white ass. The fact that he hails from Connecticut--like me--will not save that pearly butt from slow, hickory-smoked satirical basting.
I don't care how much sexual napalm he dropped on Jessica Simpson. I don't care if his body is a wonderland. I don't care if he disclosed Jennifer Aniston's sex perks. I don't care if he wore an embarrassing singlet on a yacht. I don't care how many battles he studied. He's getting Oesterhoudted tomorrow. And I have no sympathy for him whatsoever. Like David Mamet said in The Edge, never feel sorry for a guy who owns his own airplane.
I will take no further questions on the matter.
A domani. A demain. Hasta manana. Do zavtra. Bis morgen. Until tomorrow.
Oesterhoudt
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