carolinemillerbooks

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-u-s-as-a-public-library/

The U. S. As A Public Library

Google sent out a 3-page, single-spaced summary of their revised terms of service the other day.  Frankly, I’d rather read instructions for giving myself an enema. Plowing through the document’s legaleze is pointless. What voice do I have to make changes? None. Besides, Google assures me the new language will help customers understand what to expect…  I already know what to expect.  More advertising and increased liability. …if you violate our terms, our remedies aren’t limited to suspension or termination of your service but may include other remedies under applicable law. President Joe Biden rolled back several of Donald Trump’s digital trade policies, recently. That may be the reason for Google’s new terms. Civil rights organizations are giddy about the changes because Trump’s policies permitted tech companies to collect customers’ private information from their health providers, employers, and law enforcement agencies–information that could lead to discrimination in some communities. (“Bit Tech’s Big Meltdown Over A Big Consumer Policy Win On Trade,” by Owen Leary and Sarah Stevens, Public Citizen, March/April 2024, pg. 6) Naturally, these civil rights groups want Biden to do more. They worry about ways the military will use Artificial Intelligence, (AI) for example. Writer  Savannah Wooten warns that automated systems could launch nuclear weapons without input from field commanders. Also, battlefield deep fakes–AI-generated reports, and documents–could wreak havoc in the fog of war. The challenges that lie ahead for the country are many, but Biden’s broom hasn’t been idle. Other of Trump’s policies have been swept away, including those touching upon religion.  To his credit, the President repealed Trump’s rule that allowed faith-based charities to withhold assistance to the poor depending upon their religious affiliation. (“Nine Agencies Finalize Religious Liberty Rule,” FFRF, April 2004, vol 41 No 3, pg. 6.)  Voters have much to contemplate in the 2024 election about the direction of the nation. The media prides itself on its role of informing the public, but mostly their headlines are scary.  “The Country is Divided.”  “Democracy is at Stake.” “America is on the Edge of Civil War.” Republicans and Democrats campaign with similar urgency, spinning dystopian visions of the future should they fail to win the White House.  How real or chimerical these visions are, I don’t know.  But this November, voters will make decisions that could lead to outcomes as different as Texas chili and vanilla ice cream.   My guess is that a majority of voters prefer to end rancor and stalemate in government. We have seen the absurdity of asking Ukraine to defend itself with spitballs against the Russian army. What’s more, few of us want to become Putin’s satellite.  If the country can’t heal its philosophical divide, a majority can make government functional by voting a straight ticket.  They have a choice between a red or a blue wave. I predict the choice will be blue. Marjorie Taylor Greene and the MAGA wing of Republicans seem to be losing their grip on the party.  Last week, House Speaker Mike Johnson, an extremist who orchestrated the January 6 insurrection, chose to plow new political ground. Rather than sustain a stalemate, he joined forces with Democrats to move key issues. He will do it again to save his speakership. In broader terms, I suspect humanity is growing tired of Hammurabi’s code of an eye for an eye.  Benjamin Netanyahu may wish to drink the last drop of Palestinian blood, but a majority of us hunger for peace and the rule of law.  Even without a majority in the U. S. House of Representatives, Biden and Democrats have been effective in their quest for social and economic progress.  If polls are credible, many undecided voters, dubious at first of Biden’s candidacy, have begun to feel the benefits of his leadership.  I predict that by November, a majority of them will join the blue wave. Am I a Pollyanna? Maybe so, even though I hunger for more and faster progress. I won’t hide my bias or pose as a conservative.  If I were president, I would run the country like a library—a place where the whole of human knowledge resides and the sign above the door reads, “Ya All Come!”

#AI nuclear launch #battlefield deep fakes #Benjamin Netanyahu #Biden vs. Trump's digital policy #dystopian views of political parties #faith-based charities #Google contracts #Hammurabi's code #MAGA Republicn wing #Marjorie Taylor Greene #Mike Johnson #Owen Leary #Sarah Stevens #Savannah Wooten #scary media headlines

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-truth-is-the-truth/

The Truth Is The Truth

She’s a star within the Evangelical community, but I won’t identify her for reasons that will become clear.  We met decades ago when I was an elected official. Though I am an atheist, I treated members of the religious right with the same courtesy I gave to Mothers Against Drunk Driving (Madd) when they chose to give public testimony. That’s how it should be. Besides, I understood their reasoning and knew it was heartfelt. If a fertilized ovum is a person, then it has a soul, and destroying a soul would be a sin. I never interrupted to comment that soul and sin had no meaning in secular law. Nor did I point out their logic was flawed. If a soul is immortal, then destroying it would be impossible. What Evangelicals and I do agree upon is that society requires moral underpinnings–an admission that explains how I came to meet a celebrity of the faithful. I was late in arriving at the luncheon to which I was a guest. Sliding into the chair reserved for me, I offered a general apology and then introduced myself to the woman seated at my left. She told me she’d flown into town that day to be the keynote speaker at a spiritual rally that evening.  A woman in her early thirties, she bore a strong resemblance to Doris Day, her smile welcoming and crowned by a row of white teeth. Observing that she was confined to a wheelchair, I never doubted that she lived a life of courage.   We chatted over salads and I learned she was traveling across the country, fundraising to provide wheelchairs for the needy. My ears pricked up like a dog’s at the sound of an electronic can opener when I heard her.  Many of my constituents could have used a wheelchair. I suggested we might work together.     The woman shook her head to reject my suggestion. Her wheelchairs, she clarified, were intended for potential church members.   “You use the chairs to recruit the poor,  you mean?” If I’d sounded incredulous, she didn’t get my drift.  Instead, her lips parted in a dazzling smile.    “Exactly!” By some miracle, I managed to hold my tongue, though I wanted to reply that the church enjoyed tax subsidies, a fact that should entitle believers and non-believers to assistance. Using public money for private purposes was dishonest. Nonetheless, by the time I parted from her, our salads finished and the bread basket emptied, I confess I liked the woman.  My reaction to her duplicity, therefore, was to turn inward. I knew I should have spoken out about the misuse of public funds. Yet, for the sake of peace, I’d said nothing. Returning to my office in the plashing rain, I fell into a blue funk. A lie can be either good or bad depending upon circumstances, but it is always a violation of the truth.  Either way, we humans have practiced verbal deception since we developed a jaw that enabled speech. Many women oppose men-only clubs because absent a feminine voice, they encourage masculine delusions.  At least that’s true for one male.  He admitted that these watering holes were places that allowed men  to exchange ideas and learn from each other without being “canceled” for having the “wrong opinion.”    Many have said a democracy without an informed electorate will fail. When we allow lies to co-mingle with truth, we empower subversives, and that’s why, according to  Eric Hoffer, The character and destiny of the group are often determined by its inferior elements.” (“The True Believer,” HarperPerenial, 2002, pg. 24. To prevent corruption, people should confront those who use free speech to pervert facts. That much is obvious. But a citizen’s responsibility goes deeper. Rooting out the lies we tell ourselves helps us become patriots.   Liz Cheney, recently rejected for the Gerald R. Ford Medal for Distinguished Public Service, is a patriot. She refused to deceive herself in the rough and tumble of politics, though she might have benefited. Instead, she defended the truth and it cost her– unlike the Evangelical celebrity who used charity to be exploitative.  And, also, unlike me who saw the deception and said nothing.    

#affect of lies on society #Eric Hoffer #Evangelicals #Gerald R. Ford Medal for Distinguished Public Service #how to be a patriot #lies #Liz Cheney #misuse of public funds #private men's clubs #sin and the soul #The True Believer

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/a-curmudgeon-in-the-family-of-man/

A Curmudgeon In The Family Of Man

I was grateful to my neighbor for helping me with a technical problem.  He’s the resident guru on computers at the retirement center and far too modest about himself. Aware that I might need his advice in the future, I asked if he’d care to adopt me despite my advanced age.  A smile parted his lips as his gaze dropped to the carpet. “We’re all family here,” he said. I walked away thinking he’d uttered a beautiful notion, though I tend to reject sentiments that are warm and fuzzy.  I’m old enough to know that the history of “the “family of man” is dysfunctional. Since Caine slew Able we’ve worked to perfect the art of violence. Murder isn’t the kind of glue to hold society together, so we attempt to contain it by inventing rules. Murder on a grand scale we call war.  The rules on those occasions are those of The Geneva Convention. The smaller stuff we leave to religion, laws, politics, and the whims of tyranny. But, like the potter who leaves his fingerprints upon newly shaped clay, because we are flawed creatures, the systems we create can be weaponized and used to threaten others. Justice, after all, is the gloved fist of vengeance. Bill Clinton, our 42nd President, sees philanthropy as a better way to promote social cohesion. Philanthropy can help bust through political and cultural gridlock by showing what can be done. He has many true believers, so many that at his last conference on philanthropy, a thousand do-gooders had to be turned away.   Enthusiasm on this scale is heartwarming, but I’m a curmudgeon. I’ve never been keen to turn the world over to philanthropists.  Who are they, after all, but people otherwise known as oligarchs? Nick Caraway in The Great Gatsby told us about them. They are people who don’t think like the rest of us. I doubt any butcher, baker, cowboy, or tailor would choose to live in a Martian colony under Elan Musk’s rules. I place my faith in “we the people.” Democracy’s collective mind is where we are most likely to find common ground. Alexei Navalny, Vladamir Putin’s murdered opponent, was a man of the people. Having survived attempts to assassinate him, he warned his followers their fate didn’t depend upon his survival but upon their will. If it happens, if they decide to kill me, it means we are incredibly strong.  We need to use that power. (“A  Hero of Our Time,” by Mariam Elder, Vanity Fair, April 2024, pg. 34.) His words may seem like a whistle against the dark, but the Ukrainian people are a living example of that courage. Their David and Goliath story can set this curmudgeon’s heart to racing. Even so, dreams can become fodder for blind ambition.      Our Republican House has placed a chokehold on future aid to that country, reversing their past support.  They did it to placate their revenge candidate, Donald Trump, in the upcoming presidential election.  Trump holds a grudge against Ukraine and is happy to curry the favor of their invader, Vladimir Putin.  If elected, our former president promises to leave Ukraine to the Russians. The predatory world in which we live is Nature’s doing, but humans have wasted no time in making a hell out of the heaven they inherited.  Some attempt to escape the violence by turning to drugs or alcohol. Others rely on religion, mysticism, or conspiracy theories for the dopamine high that makes them happy. Artificial Intelligence (AI) and augmented virtual reality could provide other avenues of escape. Their illusions might help us create worlds so satisfying, that many won’t return to planet Earth. For proof of that possibility, observe how people are mesmerized by their smartphones. We humans aren’t algorithms, however. Wherever we go, we drag our dark side behind us like a beloved toy.  That’s a drawback to consider as we cheer the coming of augmented reality. Despite the challenges ahead, like Navalny, I have hope because….well, what else is there?  Fraternity, equality, and liberty are pretty good ideas. To obtain them all we have to do is curb our tribal nature, though some have argued it doesn’t exist. Whether Instinctive or learned, history confirms that group-think seems natural to us.  We desire to be among people who look like us and share our values.  That passion for conformity rivals our growing need to respect diversity and sometimes makes democracy seem like a fool’s dream.    Given my doubts about the future of mankind, I left the caring gentleman at the retirement center with one request.  “please don’t include me as a member of the community.  I prefer to be the resident alley cat.”

#Alexei Navalny #Bill Clinton #Donald Trump #Elan Musk #Mariam Elder #Nick Caraway #oligarchs #philanthropy #The Family of Man #The Geneva Convention #The Great Gatsby #tribalism #Vladamir Putin

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/perils-of-the-high-ground/

Perils Of The High Ground

A month before leaving public life, I published a critique on the media.  At a retirement gathering soon after,  a reporter asked why I’d waited until leaving office to share my views. Previously, I’d written other papers –one on property taxes and the other on Grand Juries. The last appeared in December 1988. The Media: Who’s Watching the Watchers? I wrote the piece because I’d been looking into the viability of Press Councils, citizen groups set up to review people’s complaints about the media. Few of these organizations existed, largely because news outlets lobbied against them. Several academic studies did support the idea, however.  The reasons varied: The symbiotic relationship between the media and the power structure was too great Having wrapped itself in First Amendment claims, journalism had rendered the courts powerless against it. Its business interest competed with its public duty, leading to a temptation to manipulate the audience. Said one academic, “Democracy cannot survive if we are to be the targets of hidden persuaders.“ (News Media Locked in Established, Rigid Structure,” by Robert Shara, The Oregonian, Forum Section, October 31, 1988, B7.) *   Having felt the sting of editorial criticism while in office, I gave the inquisitive reporter an honest answer. “No politician is insane enough to take on the press as a public figure.” The reply drew laughs, even from the reporter. Times have changed, of course.  Fear of the press is diminished and the term “fake news” is part of the vernacular. The media has earned some of the criticism it receives.  More than one reporter has made up a story to advance a career.   Nonetheless, I concur with Thomas Jefferson that a flawed press is better than no press at all. To “err” is human and journalists make mistakes like the rest of us, though those I’ve known would never admit it.  Even so, their mandate to inform the public is vital to a democracy. NBC no doubt had the best intentions when it hired the former chair of the Republican National Committee (RNC), Ronna McDaniel as a contributor to its news roster.  Absent a Fairness doctrine, management’s decision to inject a conservative viewpoint into what many see as a liberal press was a bold one. The Fairness doctrine, a creation of the Federal Communication Commission (FCC,) was established in 1949.  It required broadcasters and the print media to air all sides of issues that were in the public interest. The policy worked for a time, but the advent of electronic media changed the landscape.  The near-monopoly news sources of the past became less worrisome when social platforms with commentators and bloggers mushroomed. Eventually, the FCC allowed the Fairness Doctrine to fade away.  As no good intention goes unpunished, NBC’s decision to hire McDaniel put the managers at odds with their brightest luminaries, including affiliate anchors. MSNBC’s Rachael Maddow and Lawrence O’Donnell excoriated the recruit. They accused her of lying and attempting to undermine the media’s legitimacy. Geraldo Rivera, a correspondent with NewsNation disagreed.  He called the objectors a cabal of aging hosts.   Rivera, who was born in 1943, is older than those he attacked, which gave his remark whimsy but no substance. Even so, his protest raised a question. What gave the dissenting journalists the right to claim the moral high ground? Admittedly, McDaneil’s case is moot. Cowed by their staff, NBC fired her. But was the decision fair? The debate seems to lie more with opinion than fact, something we humans exercise in abundance.  Other primates have norms that serve as social laws.  But human opinions are personal truths, usually impervious to information. How else could chauvinism exist over the centuries? In Politics, opinion holds sway over truth much of the time. It’s axiomatic that the appearance of impropriety is as bad as having done the deed.  In McDaniel’s case, whether she lied or unwittingly served as Donald Trump’s pawn probably can’t be established in a court of law–which is why, unlike her former boss, she was never charged with a crime.  Still, her NBC firing was a punishment and based on perception. In my opinion, McDaniel should have been allowed to strut her hour or two upon the public airwaves. Voters might have learned something. Or, maybe not which would also be telling. But a “cabal of journalists” shouldn’t decide what the public hears.    That’s my two cents worth, anyway, though I don’t expect anyone to live off the proceeds. For a gratuity, I’ll add one other personal truth. Never in my 87 years has my decision to take the high ground led anywhere but to a precipice.     *Anyone interested in the sources for these statements, let me know.  

#Donald Trump #Fairness Doctrine #Geraldo Rivera #Lawrence O'Donnell #NBC hires RNC Chair #Press Councils #Rachel Maddow #Ronna McDaniel #Thomas Jefferson

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/is-trump-more-to-be-pitied/

Is Trump More To Be Pitied?

Watching a reporter interview historian Timothy Snyder one evening, I sat up in my chair when he laid out his thoughts about  Donald Trump’s strategy for the current 2024 Presidential election.  Snyder presumed the former president knew he would lose the contest and was taking unpopular positions against Social Security and the Affordable Care Act not to secure victory but to lay the groundwork for a second insurrection. Insane as the idea sounded, I couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.  A distorted mind might seize upon the claim of being victorious in defeat. Trump had tried it before.  The fear that history might repeat itself set my little grey cells spinning.  The media has paid little attention to the state of Trump’s mind, choosing to focus on the age of his opponent, Joe Biden. Those who speculate that the incumbent is too old to run for a second term forget that a scant three-year difference lies between the two contenders.  Reporters would serve the public better by exploring the difference between an aging brain and a demented one. Biden’s speech gaffs, which many hold against him, aren’t entirely due to his age.  As a child, he stuttered. The impediment reasserts itself on occasion. But it is also true that as a man of 81 years, he speaks slowly and takes mental pauses. These are signs of a brain aging normally, not evidence of one that has lost its reason. Bidne’s verbal mistakes are a far cry from Trump’s failure to distinguish Nikki Haley from Nancy Pelosi or for him to speak as though he were running against Barack Obama. Ronald Reagan’s conduct during his final years in office might be a better measuring stick with which to compare  Trump’s behavior.  The  40th U. S. President also exhibited memory gaps and confusion during public appearances.  Alzheimer’s was never confirmed during his time in office, but members of his staff did report they saw signs of the disease before he returned to private life.    Psychologist, Dr. John Gartner makes no bones about Trump’s mental illness.  He warns that the former president’s outbursts aren’t those of a strong leader flexing his muscles.  They are the tantrums of a diseased brain.    Though he was never Trump’s doctor, Gartner insists what he offers is not an opinion but a diagnosis based on reality.  Others in his field agree but few have spoken out so publically. Gartner believes his colleagues have failed to do so because they are intimidated. Like physicians practicing in anti-abortion states, they’ve come to fear there is a good chance they would lose their jobs if they went on the record, not to mention other forms of retaliation… Some journalists may have remained silent for the same reason. Gartner points out that they make little of Trump’s slurred words, invented words, unfinished sentences, and blank, expressionless pauses. Instead, they characterize the Presidential election as a competition between two old men.  When Regan took office at the age of 73, he was the oldest President to that date. Whether the early stages of Alzheimer’s had set in, we shall never know, but he was wise enough to surround himself with honorable men and women. By contrast, the roll-call of Trump’s many cohorts is a list of disreputables. Should Trump return to power, that number is likely to grow, boding ill for the country. Nor can we overlook the many felony counts against the former president. His legal woes have left him strapped for funds. Winning re-election, he could erase the federal charges against him with a presidential pardon, but he has no power to absolve himself from state charges.  Without sufficient funds to defend himself, Trump is vulnerable to opportunists who are ready to give him cash in exchange for undue influence.    Opportunists are the people we should fear, not members of the Christian Right as many have assumed.  The latter’s objectives are too out of step with the majority of voters.  Their brief hour on the stage will be less than a hiccup in the course of history.    When money and the levers of government become too cozy, says John Grey in his book The New Leviathans, it threatens democracy and encourages the rise of more and not less totalitarianism.   ( “Who’s Afraid of Freedom?” by Helena Rosenblatt, Foreign Affairs, March/April 2024, pg. 154.) The dynamic is simple, the author explains.  Like other animals, humans are addicted to pleasure. Money satisfies that addiction but the pursuit of it has consequences. Those with the most wealth imagine they are better than others–a perspective that encourages them to imagine people in lower economic circumstances are less human. From there, Grey posits, it’s a short hop to inhumanity, a place where the poverty of others is a justification for eliminating them.   (Ibid, pg. 154)  Whether that causal connection between money and tyranny is direct, I don’t know.  But, science has affirmed that wealth and compassion exist in an inverse ratio.  In a capitalist society, greed, if left unchecked, could end in a tug-of-war between those with enough money to influence the government and the majority who are governed by it. A 2019  Gallop Poll confirmed that dynamic.  Concerning the federal budget, the wealthy preferred to see service cuts to social security to sustain it.  A majority of Americans disagreed. Money has a loud voice in politics, though most of us wish it weren’t true.  Nonetheless, we must accept that Trump’s financial setbacks put him at the mercy of oligarchs. No longer able to pose as one of them, he suffers the humiliation of a man stripped of his theater.  His delusions are exposed, and he stands naked before us.  The only words to suit the occasion are these. Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hast been wise.   (King Lear, 1, v.)

#age and the U. S. Presidency #demented v. aging brains #Donald Trump #Dr John Gartner #Helena Rosenblatt #Joe Biden #John Grey #money and tyranny #oligarchy #Ronald Regan #Social Security #the 2024 Presidential election #The Affordable Care Act #The Christian Right #Timothy Snyder #Trump's legal woes #Trump's mental illness

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/8000-years-of-mysogeny/

8000 Years Of Mysogeny

I’ve given up worrying about the existence of God.  Discussions about diety I leave to the young. After decades spent thinking about the inscrutable, all I gleaned from religious precept was that misogyny rises from it like a noxious odor.  I’m not alone in this opinion. Donna Nolan Fewell, a scholar of the Old Testament writes, The Bible, for the most part, is an alien text (to women), not written by women or with women in mind. Christopher Hutchins cast a withering eye on the Scriptures, as well, and arrived at an ancillary conclusion. The cure for poverty has a name; it’s called THE EMPOWERMENT OF WOMEN.  Now, name me a religion that stands, or ever stood for that. Feminist writer Barbara G. Walker also added to my knowledge.  She pointed out that Thomas Aquinas and St. Augustine held grudges against women and that holy father John Scotus Eriuge made men the following promise. ..when the heavens finally open in glory, women will be eliminated. (“Does Religion Make People Kind, Generous?” by Barbara G. Walker, FreeThought Today, March/April. pg. 14.) A prediction like that makes God irrelevant to the future of womankind and raises a question.  If the weaker sex is to be barred from heaven, why can’t men be more charitable to them on earth? So far, the patriarchal doctrine has done nothing except insist that women are inferior creatures unworthy of simple justice Honor killings are an example. That a woman who has been raped should pay with her life while her attacker goes free is perverse.  What’s more, the myth that sustains it is absurd.  Reason balks at the suggestion that all women should be punished because one plucked an apple from its branch. In Western societies, Honor killings aren’t prevalent, but other injustices prevail. The Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade is a heinous example.  No longer allowed to control their bodies, women in the United States have been returned to the status of chattel. After 8,000 years of brainwashing, it’s not surprising that many women have accepted their inferiority, helped by Judas Goats who betray their sisters for a smattering of patriarchal privileges.  Phyllis Schlafly, an attorney in the 1960s, is an example.  She railed against the Women’s Movement and warned equality was the enemy of domesticity.       Amy Coney Barrett, U. S. Supreme Court Justice, appears to follow in Schlafly’s footsteps. Her religious conviction that a husband is his wife’s master made her vote to overturn Roe v. Wade inevitable. Katie Britt, U.S. Senator from Alabama, may be another of their ilk. That she chose to deliver the Republican response to Joe Biden’s State of the Union Address from her kitchen is noteworthy.  My comments about these women may seem unfair. Nonetheless, I’ll wager none of them found the time to make biscuits from scratch. If they are or were to be blind to their hypocritical positions, I must blame 8,000 years of patriarchy.     Masculine paranoia predates the Women’s Movement, so I’m inclined to question the conclusion of a 2024 study laying blame for misogyny at women’s feet. If true, the cause and effect is unclear to me. Why should a woman’s desire for equality disconnect men from society and send them into private lives of underachievement, underemployment, online addiction, and white supremacy?   I propose we search for masculine hostility within the male psyche. At the subliminal level, is it possible men doubt their superiority or harbor the fear that nature favors women? Consider this solitary fact as evidence. The male-defining Y chromosome is disappearing. The fault has nothing to do with women. It lies within the human genome.  The female X chromosome reproduces through genetic recombination, but the Y chromosome uses a cut-and-paste procedure. The latter is inferior to recombination because it produces errors that cannot be corrected.  Over time, these flaws accumulate so that, according to scientists, within another 4.6 billion years women will find themselves alone in the universe.  Let me hasten to assure my male friends that neither I nor a majority of women rejoice in that outcome. Nonetheless,  nature is experimenting with unisex reproduction. Enter the Japanese spiny rat, the first among mammals to shed its Y chromosome yet continue to procreate.       And so, my male cohorts, given your prospects for the future, it’s time to consider the olive branch.  Women are willing to forgive 8000 years of neglect if over the next 4.6 million years you join us in peace.  Together we can confront a deaf, dumb, and blind universe confident that we are unique because we know how to love. If any man doubts the generosity of this offer, let them remember this.  A woman’s voice is the first sound a child hears in the womb. At the closing, a woman’s tears may be the last sound a man hears.     

#Amy Coney Barrett #Barbara G. Walker #Christopher Hutchins #Donna Nolan Fewel #genetic recombination #holy father John Scotus Eruige #honor killing #mysogeny #Phyllis Schlaflyj #religious oppression of women #Roe v Wade #Senator Kate Britt #St. Agustine #the Women's Movement #Thomas Aquinas #Women and the Bible #X and Y chromosomes

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/happy-90th-gloria/

Happy 90th Gloria!

A writer near my age admitted on Facebook that though she loved the feel of paper between her fingers and the smell of a new book, she’d shifted to an e-reader. No longer comfortable with small print, she needed an electronic device to adjust for size.    Much in life is a tradeoff.  The earth has a polar wobble, which is natural, but growing more pronounced because humans are pulling quantities of water from the aquifer. Global construction is at an all-time high. That makes sand, a key ingredient in cement, a valuable commodity. The scarcer it becomes, the more illegal mining grows.  Today,  quarrying sand is a $200 billion to $300 billion industry, making it more valuable than gold, logging, and fishing combined. Developments in technology may ameliorate some of these challenges. Reading devices that adjust print size is an example.  Sometimes, though, the remedy poses new problems. Think of all those passwords we need to maintain our internet accounts.     A woman In my late 80s, I’d like to see the world slow down. Is there technology for that?  In his book, Successful Aging, Daniel J. Levitin warns that clinging to the past isn’t good for human health.  Old folks should keep looking forward. That’s easy for him to say.  He’s not at the end of the line trying to keep up. On the plus side, Levitin writes that old folks have an edge over the young. Wisdom enables them to make good decisions. They’ve lived long enough to discern patterns in nature and human behavior.  A newborn may cry, terrified by its first glimpse of the sun, but adults head for the beach hoping for enough sand to throw down a towel.   Lacking experience, young people’s judgments are prone to err. Many, for example, criticize Joe Biden’s slow response to the tragedy unfolding in Gaza.  As the head of a powerful country, they presume he has levers to pull to affect change. Yet not since Teddy Roosevelt’s interventions in Latin America during the 1900s has an American President imagined he could interfere with another nation’s sovereignty and escape paying a political price–the incursions being short-lived or ending in failure. The heady era of being a dominant player among weaker countries is history. Today, democratic nations exercise diplomacy rather than brute force.  Biden has an edge on that score.  He knows the world players, the genesis of foreign quarrels, and the cards each country’s leader is likely to hold.  True, he hasn’t sold Benjamin Netanyahu on a two-state solution for Israel and Palestine. But Netanyahu isn’t thinking about the future. An unpopular figure in his country, he clings to power because of the war, holding fast to it the way a man lost at sea clings to an ice float even though it’s melting.  Youth may see Biden’s politics in the current conflict as uncaring, but their viewpoint may be too simple.  The suffering in Gaza is unconscionable, agreed. But, so far, Biden has kept our alliances intact in the Middle East; held Iran at bay; secured world trade by monitoring the Suez Canal, and made talks about a two-state solution credible. Not bad for a man forced to dance with wolves. In a bad world, only a fool looks for rainbows.  Hal Brands in an edition of Foreign Affairs argues that given the current morality,  “…the only way to protect a world fit for freedom is to court impure partners and engage in impure acts.” (“The Age of Amorality,” by Hal Brands, Foreign Affairs March/April, pg. 106.) Brands’ advice may be repugnant to young minds and old ones as well, but the difference between youth and age is that the latter is more pragmatic.  Older people know that facing reality doesn’t mean giving up ideals.  It means they may see taking a step backward as a prelude to moving forward.  Nothing I’ve written diminishes the contributions young people make in the world.  Innovation flows from their plastic brains the way stars burst from a supernova.  I doubt an 80-something could have invented Bitcoin. Because our complex problems require complex responses, neither youth nor age should be banished from the stage.  We achieve more when we make room for each other.   Gloria Steinem turns 90 this month.  After the loss of Roe v. Wade, she hasn’t given up on women’s rights.  When a fan asked if she was planning to toss her torch to someone else, her reply was unequivocal.  “I’m holding on to my torch. I’ll let other people light theirs from mine.”  (Successful Aging, by Daniel J. Levitin, Random House, 2020, (large print edition by Penguin) pg. 662.)  Happy Birthday, Gloria!

#Successful Aging #The Age of Immorality #Benjamin Netanyahu #Daniel J. Levitin #e-readers v books #earth's polar wobble #Gloria Steinem #Hal Brands #illegal sand mining #Joe Biden #politics in Middle East #Teddy Roosevelt #youth criticises Biden's Gaza response

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/a-note-from-the-underground/

A Note From The Underground

A friend sent me the name of a woman she thought would make a wonderful guest for my book Vlog, Just Read It. A historian with a new volume published about the lives of notable women, her appearance on the program seemed apt, so, I extended an invitation for her to appear in an upcoming program.     Her reply was prompt. “As a general rule, I tend not to read much fiction.”  She closed with an apology explaining that her current obligations would prevent her from participating in any case. I acknowledged her response and deleted the email. A frisson of irritation pulsed through me, I admit, even though Rhys Bowen had agreed to be a guest on a program that day.   The shibboleth, “I don’t read fiction,” tends to raise my ire. It suggests that lounging before a fire with a good novel is a waste of time compared to wading through Edward Gibson’s six-volume history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire. When I was young, the remark felt intimidating—as if, by reading fiction, I would never be welcome among thinkers.  At 87, I give the inference no more weight than that of fairy dust, particularly when it comes from a historian. What is history but a fable agreed upon? (Napoleon Bonaparte)  A life dedicated to data collection strikes me as a dead one… a static, endless iteration lacking the spark of inspiration. Staring at the Presidential heads carved on Mt. Rushmore might inspire more awe. Science has its mysteries, I admit.  Even so, its underlying assumption is that with enough time all could be revealed.  I prefer the view of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s unnamed protagonists in Notes from the Underground.  The iterations of the plastic mind are endless, unpredictable, and therefore, eternally fascinating. What prompts an individual to walk into a school with a military weapon to murder children is a never-ending question.   Before the fact, there is the mind, the vista upon which we stand as we attempt to catalog the universe. Just as soil is a medium necessary to propagate a seed, even scientists admit facts are nothing without imagination, the latter being a biological function that is vital to human experience and advanced cognition. Would the historian who never reads fiction gasp to learn that imagination precedes information?  Or, that human emotion precedes it, being the force that shapes the imagination and links imagined representations to action?  Hannibal’s passion to conquer Rome inspired the vision of elephants crossing the Alps.  Not long ago, a mother wrote to me about the death of her child.  Her words evoked a sense of communion because to lose a loved one is a pain universally felt.  I’ve noticed that those around me, as compassionate or caring as they are, seem to tire of the signs of grief or perhaps they just don’t know how to continue responding… [I feel] at times levity and laughter are required for the sake of others, but all the while, a current of sadness runs quietly beneath every word, thought, action, feeling, conversation, or outing…  If anyone doubts the power of imagination to make meaning palpable, let them read Christ’s teachings without the parables. To comprehend the universe is a noble objective and given infinite time, it might be doable. One wonders if the human mind is as easily conquered. I doubt it would consent to be used as a tool to peer into itself. At least, I hope not. Despite technology’s progress, I prefer to think our plastic brains will remain unknowable, its mystery hinting at the spiritual. Allow science to explore the world of cause and effect. Leave to literature to ponder the endless paths of human connection.   As for the acolytes of non-fiction, I confess they seem to me like travelers bent upon taking a single road to Rome, despite the many. Their eyes scour a well-worn path, blind to the flora and fauna along the way.  These are not minds that could imagine elephants crossing the Alps.  Devoted to one part of the brain at the expense of the other, these factologists strike me as cripples, preferring a crutch to a stout pair of legs.  What John Keats would say to them is in no doubt.                                             Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all                                             Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

#Just Read It #fiction v. non-fiction #Fyodor Dostoyevsky #Hannibal and the elephants #imagination and fact #John Keats #Rhys Bowen

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A new video (Just Read It: reviews The Violin Conspiracy by Brendon Slocumb) has been published on Books by Caroline Miller https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/portfolio/just-read-it-reviews-violin-conspiracy-by-brendon-slocumb/

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/a-case-for-frozen-blue-berries/

A Case For Frozen Blue Berries

I shared a person’s comment on Facebook the other day that called for the end of perks to members of Congress until they started legislating. Many on my thread favored the idea.  No one opposed it. The citizenry, it appeared, was united in its impatience with its leaders. Unfortunately, the politics that divide elected officials stem from old divisions in the country. Since the Civil War, the government has limped into the future like a horse yoked to a mule. The horse valued freedom.  The mule wanted freedom, too, but not for everyone. The difference in values seems to have grown deeper of late, leaving the rule of law as the sole means of uniting the nation.        Laws are the outcroppings of reasonable minds, and there’s little of that in evidence these days. The Chair of the Democratic Party recently declared that members of his conference who opposed Joe Biden’s Presidential run were certifiably crazy.  I agree, but to be fair, certifiably crazy extends beyond democrats.     House Republicans hold a slim majority in that body. Even so, without cause, they dared to impeach  Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas. Heady with their narrow victory, they plan to impeach Joe Biden, also without cause. Arbitrary and capricious decision-making is akin to the logic judges apply in beauty contests. No wonder the Supreme Court is tossing out appeal after appeal as if sorting through a tub of rotten fish. Common sense would have settled many of these cases if common sense were in fashion. That it has lost favor explains how    Donald Trump’s acolytes can applaud his 2024 Presidential bid despite his 91 felony counts. Compare their values to those applied to Richard Nixon in the 1970s when Republicans and Democrats agreed on the difference between right and wrong. Today, when insanity passes for normalcy, it’s not only troubling but painful to watch. Members of the Republican Congressional delegation behave like contortionists. Twisting and squirming, they struggle to justify the madness though not in service to their country but to their careers.      Had their defense of Trump been genuine, their delusion would be worthy of pity, the way we might react to see a man on his hands and knees barking like a dog.  But as the conduct is nefarious, their affliction exposes the degree of decay in our body politic and leaves one to wonder how long democracy can survive.  To answer the question, I will tell a story. While grocery shopping one day, I stopped at the frozen food section looking for a package of blueberries.  The shelf was too high for me to reach, so I turned to a red-bearded young man a few paces to my left.  He was perusing food entrees at the time, suggesting that he lived alone.  His personal story was of no interest to me, however, What drew me to him like a bee to pollen was his height. “Excuse me,” I said sidling next to him. “Could you reach a packet of blueberries for me?  My arms are too short.”  Offering no objection, the young man followed me to the fruit section of the freezer and sifted through the packets on the top shelf with his large hand.  Seconds later, he delivered the bad news.  “Just blackberries, I’m afraid.”  “Oh no,” I cried like an addict in need of a fix.  “And I’ve none at home.” Unable to hide my disappointment, I thanked the young man for his trouble and headed my cart in the direction of the bread counter.  Maybe I could find a blueberry muffin? A short time later, a hand touched my shoulder. “I did a little reconnoitering,” said the young man with the beard as I looked up. ”These blueberries were at the back, lying on their side. I thought you might like to have them.”     He shrugged as he tossed the fruit into my basket and started to walk away, but not before I told him he’d earned a gold star for his effort. A silly remark, worthy of kindergarten, I was surprised to see a smile part his lips. For a moment, we shared a recollection, one that reminded me that I was old and he was so young! Watching him walk away, I doubted I’d ever see him again. No matter. To the universe, I sent a wish on his behalf.  “Please, let this young man find a loving companion.”   Encounters of this kind are common every day in grocery stores. And that’s my point.  Strangers are often being kind to strangers.  The young man who’d done a little reconnoitering on my behalf was one of them.  He’d gone a step further than expected. My disappointment was trivial, yet it had moved him. Compassion is the jewel in the crown of human emotion.  Alexi Navalny who died for his countrymen had it. His wife, Yulia Navalnaya seems equally prepared to make the same sacrifice. When I think of this couple, I am reminded of a line from Casablanca. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world…” they’d found each other, loved, and clung to each other for as long as Vladamir Putin would allow. I’m not sure why some who suffer grow kinder while others turn cruel. We humans know so little about ourselves. Scientists, for example, have discovered an obelisk in the human body. They don’t know why it exists, but they do know it contains information our cells can read. What is its message, I wonder? Can the obelisk explain differences in human character? We must wait for science to solve the puzzle…today, tomorrow, or a thousand years hence. In the meantime, if free will exists, each day we make choices about how to live…in the grocery store, within the family, at work, or on the battlefield. Life’s challenges may cause some to lose their senses.  If we value ours, we will oppose them.    Still, I prefer to see the world as overflowing with red-beared young […]

#Alexi Navalny #Casablanca #Donald Trump acolytes #impeachment of Alejandro Mayorkas #impeachment of Joe Biden #obelisk #Richard Nixon #sanity and insanity in Congress #Trump's 91 felony counts #Yulia Navalnaya

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/consciousness-of-the-third-kind/

Consciousness Of The Third Kind

A young television commentator recently dissed Joe Biden’s chances of winning reelection in 2024. Barely old enough to qualify as a voter, she had no qualms about her prediction. She explained the President risked losing young voters because he defended Israel’s war on Gaza. He was reaching into the past for political solutions, she said, instead of analyzing the future. What she failed to credit the President in his first term of office with were policies that benefited youth–extending their medical and mental health services; pardoning their marijuana transgressions; strengthening civil and voting rights for minorities and the LGBTQ population; struggling to give citizenship to Dreamers, and for having done his damndest to reduce student college debt.  Not an exhaustive list, but it should prove the “old man” has pulled his weight on behalf of succeeding generations. Of course, only a fool expects the young to be grateful.  Barefoot boys and girls with cheeks of tan seldom are. As chicks newly hatched from their shells, they imagine the world exists to praise them. I recall Mark Zuckerberg’s views when he was in his late twenties. Stuffed into his signature tee shirt and standing before an auditorium filled with his peers, his glib understanding of the scheme of things was that older folks weren’t as smart as younger ones.  Now that he approaches the brink of 40, I wonder what he might say to his younger self if he could. “Sader and wiser,” would seem to be appropriate words.    As for the commentator who was ready to trash Biden’s bid for a second term, her disrespect for history was wanton.  Doubtless a smart cookie, she’d never argue the past had no influence on the present. Vicerally, however, she gave the connection little credence.  If she had followed her thought to its conclusion, she’d have discovered what she feared about  Biden was his experience and knowledge. Like other critics, she also hints that the President, in his eighties, might die during a second term. It’s happened before.  Abraham Lincoln, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and John F. Kennedy died in office. So did five others. Even so, several heads of state have governed into their nineties, Queen Elizabeth among them.  As far as I know, there are no rules about the appropriate age to die.  At 87, I’ve shed tears for numerous former students.   What’s more, it might surprise this young journalist to know that people reach the peak of happiness and self-confidence in their sixties and beyond. The reason is simple. They’ve learned to enjoy what they have and don’t confuse elation with happiness–a distinction that escapes younger generations and fills them with the fear of never having enough.   We can thank the brain’s amygdala for the disparity.   Ruler of our emotions, It slows down as we grow older. Eventually, Wangnerian-like passions wither, allowing the mature brain to take pleasure in connecting with others. More importantly, once rid of dross like status-seeking, self-aggrandizement, and competition, we arrive at the distillation of self.    When vanity falls away like molted feathers, we can peer into the heavens unencumbered.  Simply put, we enter a state, not of innocence, but of knowing.  Call it consciousness of the third kind.   Don’t hate me when I say I pity the young.  To be honest, I’m embarrassed I needed 87 years to pass before I grasped the difference between the sweet bird of youth and my inner child.  If only I’d have listened earlier to the poet.  He got it right.  The child is father of the man.  

#age and the amygdala #Biden risks the youth vote #Biden's support for Isreal in Gaza #Dreamers #Heads of State in their 90sds #Joe Biden's age #Mark Zuckerberg #older people are happier than the young #President's who have died in office

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/dementia-and-communion/

Dementia And Communion

A question lingers in my mind three years after my mother’s death.  Was I a dutiful daughter in her declining years? An earlier blog recounts an incident when I failed her.  She’d taken a spill as the pair of us left a restaurant during a rain storm.  She was 101 at the time and already suffering from memory loss. Given her condition, the mishap roiled in my mind for several days. Finally, I decided I’d been guilty of placing my parent in a life-threatening circumstance and decided never to take her out again. Instead, I carried her favorite meals to her.  Deprived of stimulation beyond her four walls, however, her acuity seemed to decline. By the time she died at 104, I decided I had been over protective.  Age is a much-feared disease and all who suffer it will die. Ponce de Leon dreaded the thought of growing old. A 16th-century Spanish Explorer, he secured his place in history as the traveler who searched for the fountain of youth. Like Herodotus who lived in 400 B. C. Greece, he hoped the myth that such a fountain existed was true.  Sadly, he never found it or managed to recapture a single lost second of his life. Time’s direction is forward, and we grow old because of it.   At 87, my decline is undeniable. I need hearing aids and glasses.  Last week a company installed a caption phone to improve my ability to understand what callers have to say. Mercifully, the installer left me with a manual—a rarity these days. Otherwise, I’d have been forced to search the internet for instructions, a procedure that seldom works for me.   Despite the diminuendo of my life, I have no plans to go gently into that good night; but I won’t take extreme measures either. Starving myself to extend my days strikes me as a living death. Nor will I arrange for my body to be frozen after I’m gone in the hope I can be resurrected in the future. (“The One Body Problem,” by Rachel Dodes, Vanity Fair, Feb. 2024, pg.98.)  I’ve no doubt I’d awake with my wrinkles preserved but suffering from frostbite. My goal as I age is to be at peace with my decline.  That includes accepting the onset of dementia should it come. I see no handicap in living in the moment after recollection fades. One happy fact about the disease is that memory loss doesn’t affect creativity. A retired accountant who can no longer balance his checkbook, for example, has become a gifted photographer. (“Love, Dementia and Robots,” by Kat McGowan, Wired, March/April 2024, 70.)  His story gives me hope that no matter the state of my memory, imagination will allow me to continue to spin yarns for many years.  Whether we like it or not, old age forces us to reframe who we are. We may no longer be doctors, lawyers, or candlestick makers, but we do keep our inner lives. Even René Descartes, the father of science and reason, wouldn’t deny that truth. I  think, therefore I exist… even in my fantasies.  If dementia takes us to another place, that’s no proof we are lost. Erased memories may prevent me from reliving experiences with my friends, but who’s to say, they can’t enter mine? Technology and AI are beginning to ask that question. Sometimes, a memory device can be simple.  One is a musical pillow.  Touch it and it plays songs from World 11.  “We’ll Meet Again,” never fails to wake one elderly woman from her dreams. Hearing the music, she breaks into song. Her daughter, seated beside her, touches her hand, and then their voices rise together. The “reunion” may bring tears to the daughter’s eyes, but I suspect they are good tears. (Ibid, pg. 73) I wish I had thought to enter my mother’s world instead of insisting she remain in mine.  She didn’t seem unhappy where she was. I’d no need to drag her through the rain to keep her with me. I could have sought other ways to send my words through time and space to greet* her. If I had, it might have made all the difference.    *James Elroy Flecker, To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence

#dementia #Descartes #Herodotus #Kat McGowan #musical pillow #my mother's dementia #on aging #Ponce de Leon #Rachel Doddes #the fountain of youth

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/democracy-for-dummies/

Democracy For Dummies

I know him.  When he was a teenager, I crawled around in his head as his English Teacher.  Sadly, months ago, his wife of many years died unexpectedly.  A man in his 70s, he fell into a well of grief so deep he considered joining her.  I held my breath as he struggled to find his balance. Recovery came by inches, but it came.  Eventually, I could stop worrying. Still, reading his comments on social media, I wondered if the residue of his grief had turned to hate.    He’s not a bad man nor a foolish one, but he seemed to need a reservoir of anger to contain his misery.  Like our 45th President, Donald Trump, he focused on immigrants. They were criminals and rapists, he said, echoing the words of the former president. I told him my mother was an immigrant.  But he refused to connect the dots between his trust in me and my Costa Rican parent. She takes no offense. She’s dead. I could tell him that as the child of an immigrant, his prejudice offends me. But that’s not true, exactly. I’m not diminished by his bias. Instead, I feel pity for him, aware that his hatred burns inside him like hot tar and that he’s injuring himself more than those he wishes to harm. Self-torment is a condition common among most haters. Over time, their fury drives out other emotions. Compassion lost, they cling to their malice like voyagers tossed overboard at sea. Hatred becomes their ballast and their North Star. It distracts them from their disappointments.  It explains why fame and fortune have eluded them. When they hear the word welfare, they are quick to retort, “Nobody ever gave me a handout.”    The statement is false, of course. These malcontents received a free education. Their water is drinkable, and their roads and bridges are maintained.    True, these benefits come from public taxes.  But federal money isn’t shared equally. Some parts of the country receive a larger handout than others. Conservative states tend to be low-income states, and they pay less in federal income taxes, while people who live in those states are more likely to benefit from government support programs such as Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, or SNAP, a nutrition assistance program.  My former student who is white and others of his ilk enjoy additional benefits as well. They can sit at a  lunch counter or use a public bathroom without fear of attack.  The employment they seek comes with the promise of advancement, while Immigrants take jobs so poorly paid, they must work more than one to put beans on the table.     The source of white contempt isn’t the absence of privilege.  It’s fear.  Forced to live cheek-by-jowl with foreigners, working-class white Americans …are more worried that they or their families will become victims of violent crime…they are more likely to live in neighborhoods with higher levels of social disorder… are also much more likely to believe that their families will fall victim to terrorism. What’s lost to their understanding is that immigrants share these fears. Yet rather than join hands for the betterment of all, those who are native-born chose to pledge their allegiance to the superrich. Donald Trump never knew a door that wasn’t open to him, unlike them. Yet somehow, he’s convinced these followers that he feels their pain and that he stands as a bulwark against systems that oppress them both. One of his supporters recently smiled into a television camera to say he’d take Trump’s autocracy over the ballot box any day.  “Sometimes people need to be spanked,” he avowed. Spankings aren’t meant for people who think like him, of course. They’re meant for people who believe in equality, diversity, and inclusion. He can’t envision a time when he might need a system of laws to protect him. His ignorance makes democracy fragile and joined with the ignorance of others, he encourages enough civil unrest to invite tyranny.  In this world, democracy has few friends, already. Even Nature abhors it. With few exceptions, democracy scarcely exists in the wild. Even so, my eighty-seven years on the planet have convinced me that though imperfect, democracy is the best way to protect the individual from the tyranny of the powerful.  E. Jean Carroll and her suit against billionaire Donald Trump is an example. Who doubts that absolute power corrupts absolutely? Those who seek it are the least to be trusted. As individuals, we accept the yoke of government as part of a social contract, relinquishing some rights in exchange for greater collective benefits. To this end, democracy best suits the individual’s purpose. Founded on the notion of equality, it entitles everyone to keep an eye on everyone else.

#absolute power corrupts #Donald Trump #E. Jean Carroll #immigrants #power of money #the social contract #tyranny #white power #why democracy is the best form of government

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-rapture-and-the-inferno/

The Rapture And The Inferno

Some people can be fooled some of the time, but not all of the people can be fooled all of the time unless they want to be.  Evangelical Christians seem to be among the latter. They have every reason to doubt Donald Trump’s religious convictions.  The number of fraud cases he has lost should be a clue: Trump University, his charitable foundation, and the E. Jean Carroll rape charge. The 91 current criminal indictments ought to be a red flag, too. Nonetheless, if polls speak true, a majority of the religious right gives the former president their unwavering support. Why they put their faith in him is unfathomable. Until  2016 when he ran for President, he had little commerce with them and identified as a  Presbyterian.  Even now, what he seems to admire most about evangelicals is the ability of their pastors to squeeze vast sums of money from the flock. “They’re all hustlers,” Trump says of them, the highest form of praise a con man can give to someone he believes is in the trade. In private, however, his remarks are anything but flattering. Despite his duplicity, evangelical pastors struggle to create what amounts to a squared circle, allying themselves with a man whose shenanigans rival those of Bernie Madow.  Instead, they turn a blind eye to his conduct or choose to see him as a “flawed vessel of God’s will.” An equivocation like the last one is a confession.  They know they have made a Faustian bargain, but given their priorities, they have no choice.  Under Trump’s leadership, they hope to drag the United States into the past, a period when women had few rights and LGBTQ was no more than a set of alphabet letters. So far, aligning themselves with an “infidel” has had its rewards. Trump chose an evangelical as his 2016 Presidential running mate, and after winning the election, he filled his Cabinet with people like Mike Pompeo who believe in the Rapture. Then he gave them the jewel they sought most.   He appointed three Supreme Court judges who were happy to overturn Rove v. Wade and deny women sovereignty over their bodies. When opposites conspire with one another, outcomes are unpredictable.  Trump and the pastors have cobbled together a wide net meant to ensnare an army of true believers. They’ve forgotten, however, that the same net circumscribes their boundaries and failed to foresee how a changed environment would alter their flock. One pastor complains his parishioners have begun to reject Christ’s teachings, finding them to be too weak. They seem to prefer the strum and dang of their new savior, Donald Trump. He not only embodies righteousness but also promises revenge. No doubt the former president thrills to the roar of the crowd, but the stage upon which he struts is a narrow one. The audience that gathers at his feet comes not to praise him but to hear their worst instincts validated. Moderate the message to the slightest degree and will they boo, as they did when he urged them to get a Covid 19 vaccine. Trump and the pastors have come to realize that their suppliants are more to be feared than exhorted. No longer a disorganized band of malcontents, they swell with the promise of the coming Rapture. To be ready, they’ve formed themselves into mindless hammers and are prepared to crush anyone who fails to share their frenzy. Trump’s rhetoric has grown more violent in response to their bloodlust. They may hurry him along the path he has chosen, but these suppliants demand of him a never-ending cycle of extremes, a demand that may appall some of the unscrupulous pastors and ambitious politicians who have been dragged within his wake like Marley’s chains. Having pledged their troth to a flawed vessel, these former luminaries must tread in their master’s footsteps or lose all import. Surely, a  compact this perfidious begs for a circle in Dante’s hell.

#Donald Trump's faith #Donald Trump's trials #E. Jean Carroll #Evangelical Christians' alliance with Donald Trump #The Rapture #Trump's public and private opinion of evangelicals #Trump's religion of revenge #unholy alliance between Trump and evangelical pastors

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/penny-wise-and-pound-foolish/

Penny Wise, and Pound Foolish

Like the boy who cried wolf, U. S. Senator Bernie Sanders has long blamed oligarchs for weakening our democracy. Of late, his prognostications ring true.  Vast fortunes concentrated in the hands of large corporations and a few individuals have weakened the middle class, leading the country toward a two-tiered economic system of rich and poor. Accumulating money has become the focus of almost every institution, including religion. Greed has a similar stranglehold in the book publishing business, which is why I’ve decided to give up writing novels and will return to short stories.  I’m not alone in my disappointment with book publishing. In an interview on Just Read It, author Karl Marlantes also admits that art has merged with commerce.   We should have seen it coming.  Once publishing houses started gobbling up their weaker competitors, the behemoth companies that emerged stopped accepting book submissions over the transom.  They turned the talent search over to agents. Agents live on leaner profits than publishers, so to foster their solvency they prefer commercial work rather than art.  How else can one explain literary fodder like Fifty Shades Of Grey?  Making agents gatekeepers in the publishing world has also led to a demand for books with a continuing character.  Once a writer scores, headhunters prefe to stick with the formula. Neither publishers nor agents market books. That task they assign to authors. In the past, that wasn’t the case.  But today,  whether house-published or self-published,  authors find themselves obliged to trawl for customers. Amazon, which began as an internet bookseller, was quick to see a market niche. Expanding from sales, they pivoted to include distribution services for small presses and self-published authors. Their plan was a success. Amazon grew large enough to put fear into the hearts of big publishing houses. To compete, those houses added electronic sales to their distribution system. But by then, Amazon had nearly cornered the market.  Big publishing houses had to cut a deal.  Naturally, Amazon grew larger. Today, it controls more than 50 percent of the online and offline book sales, its earnings totaling $28 billion a year.    In the beginning, Amazon had an advantage over its competitors.  Being an internet company, it was exempt from state and local taxes. These savings, it passed on to their customers.  And who doesn’t like a bargain? Consumers flocked to Amazon like a baby to its Pablum. Neighborhood bookstores couldn’t compete and began to die off. Seeing its power, the company flexed its muscles and turned on the publishing houses, demanding deeper discounts.  The houses resisted, and for a time, lawyers on both sides of the debate profited mightily with suits and countersuits. Eventually, both sides agreed the legal solution was too expensive and sought common ground. The answer was to raise costs for the consumer.  As a result, these companies have been accused of price fixing. For readers and writers, the publishing terrain has grown arcane. Here’s another example. Recently,  I published a review on Amazon for Susan Stoner’s latest Sage Adair mystery series, Preservation, A few months later Amazon’s review policy changed.  A former South African student wrote me to complain that Amazon had rejected her review of my memoir,  Getting Lost to Find Home. She had violated “community standards,” they said. After reading what she’d written, I scratched my head. Reading this book brings back some of my fond memories of the time Ms Miller spent in Africa. As a scholar at the school where she taught in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) (sic), I remember her as a young energetic teacher full of fun. In her memoir Ms Miller realistically conveys her challenge of being out of her comfort zone, facing new and unforeseen adventures. The beautifully written travel log tells of the journey from initial excitement to trepidation and uncertainty, to facing the harsh reality of life in a foreign country.  A good read of a coming of age. As it turned out, the community standard was self-serving. Amazon told my former student she hadn’t purchased enough books the previous year to be eligible to submit a review.  I shrugged at the bald audacity. The policy might work for the company, but it does bupkus for the writer who could use a few kind words. As for the consumer, they get short shrift, too.  The pennies they once saved with the internet company have evaporated.  And while free speech exists in the Western world, on Amazon, it has a price.     ________________________________     Listen as William Kenower, host of the podcast “Author to Author” interviews Caroline Miller about her memoir “Getting Lost to Find Home” https://www.blogtalkradio.com/author-magazine/2024/01/23/author2author-with-caroline-miller

#Just Read It #Bernie Sanders #Big publishing houses struggle with Amazon #book reviews on Amazon #community standards on Amazon #death of small bookstores #Fifty Shades of Grey #Getting Lost to Find Home #Karl Marlantes #oligarchs of power in publishing #Sage Adair mystery series #Susan Stoner

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/a-passage-to-america/

A Passage To America

In my mid-forties, one of my duties as the head of a local teachers union was to attend a national convention in Florida.   My mother, in her sixties at the time, and, always eager to travel, suggested we take this opportunity to make a cross-country motor trip together. Though different in many ways, the pair of us were amiable traveling companions, preferring by-ways to highways, so I agreed. The journey had its challenges. Our rental car suffered a flat tire along a seldom traveled country road;  a sudden storm forced us to take lodgings in a place that might have passed for the Bates Motel; and one afternoon, we found our road-weary selves seated in a  restaurant that served cold biscuits and omelets crisp enough to break apart with our fingers.   The time was somewhere in the 1970s, a period when an AAA trip tik served as automotive navigation. Not only did the thick pamphlet contain maps of our route but it provided information about lodging and places to eat along the way.  Having served us well on the outward-bound leg of our journey, we were confident when the time came for the return trip. Even so, somewhere in Florida, I took a wrong turn and found myself in an area where billboard messages were written in Spanish. My mother could read them, being born in Costa Rica, but I could not. Afraid I’d speak English with an accent if I were bi-lingual, my father refused to allow me to learn my mother’s native language.  So, on the day she and I were lost, I relied upon her translations to find my way.  Unfortunately, these directions always came after the fact, making them useless. “You should have turned right two blocks ago.”  Eventually, I pulled the car to the side of the road in front of an eatery that was ablaze with light. Perhaps a waiter could guide me.       Trip tik in hand, I entered the premises to the sound of a bell jangling above the transom. Though not much larger than a thimble, it made a piercing sound, like a kettle on the boil, so I was not surprised when the restaurant’s patrons looked up from their plates with startled expressions.  Not wanting to remain the center of attention, I hurried toward the cashier standing behind a counter. A man somewhere in his early fifties with a crown of black hair and a girth to suggest he never said no to a tamale stared at me with the same expression as his customers. When I pointed to my map and asked for the way to the road north, his eyes became more vacant.  Repeating my question failed to garner a response other than to cause him to scratch his head.  Either he was deaf or did not speak English. Rather than guess, I turned to two men seated at a nearby table.  Did they know how to reach the northbound freeway? Like the cashier, they answered me with silence, their expressions suggesting that if I wanted conversation, I should try the morgue. “Wake up and come with me,” I said as I rapped on the car window behind which my mother was snoozing.  “No one inside speaks English.” A cat-like grin stretched across her face which I found annoying but she was quick to follow my steps to the restaurant.  The bell overhead rang a second time, and as if a spotlight had flared on center stage, my mother came to life.  I don’t know what she said to her audience, but after some well-chosen words, the diner filled with laughter. The young men I’d spoken to earlier scrapped back their chairs in response and came toward us.  Their heads almost touched as they studied my trip tik, joined by the cashier who seemed eager to add to their consultation. They murmured to one another for some time, though I was unable to understand their conversation. Eventually, the cashier lifted his head to address me and then used his pen to trace a route on my map for me to follow. “The freeway’s not far.  Maybe five minutes. You can’t miss it,” he said. His English was flawless.  After a cursory, “Thank you,” I stormed from the restaurant. “What was that about?” I snapped to my mother as if she were to blame for what had occurred.“Why did they treat me like I was foreign?” I turned the key to the car’s engine hard enough to make a grinding noise which seemed to amuse my mother. “Pay no attention, Petunia. They’re Cubans. Not like the rest of us Latins.”  I tell this story because if the goal of our county is to embrace inclusion, people of all social and ethnic cultures have to make an effort. That steamy day in Florida, when I was made to feel like a stranger opened a wound. Particularly when the prejudice came from a segment of society that I least expected.  The child of an immigrant, I understand why ethnic enclaves exist. People build barriers when they fear rejection or want to feel safe. But,  Before I built a wall I’d ask to know what I was walling and walling out.* Solid fences can become prisons where the landscape offers a dreary sameness. Take food for example. Who wants a steady diet of biscuits and gravy when they could add pizzas? Or curries?  Or Gveltifisch? Well, maybe not Gveltifisch. But Baklava, yes!  As a writer, I appreciate the foreign terms that enrich our language.  Hopefully, English may one day become as varied as that of the  Inuits. They have dozens of words for snow. Why should English struggle with less? Ezra Pound peppered his poetry with foreign terms. English, he decided, was too spare.  I agree. Sometimes I’m tempted to invent onomatopoeic words to express my meaning the way Lewis Carroll did in Jabberwocky. A blend of different cultures also helps expand our horizons. Getting Lost to Find Home cites several East […]

#Aung San Suu Kyi #Cubans vs other Latins #cultural enclaves #democracy and social mobility #Ezra Pound #Getting Lost to Find Home #immigration #inclusiveness in the U. S. #Inuit snow words #Inuits words for snow #Jabberwock. #Lewis Carroll #Robert Frost's Mending Wall #shared prejudice

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/the-man-whod-been-of-use/

The Man Who'd Been of Use

A woman on my Facebook page announced her intention to live a more spiritual life in the coming year.  The objective was noble, and I wondered how she intended to go about it. For me, spirituality is the daily practice of random acts of kindness.  To illustrate, I offer an experience from a few years ago. My mother lived to be 104. Every Friday, until she reached 101, my habit was to drive her to one of several nearby restaurants as a respite from the bland fare her assisted living facility provided. Indian curries and Eastern fare tickled her palate most.     One December day, we were headed to a restaurant that served the best plates of hummus, kabobs, and falafel in the city. Whether my stomach rumbled in anticipation or the sound I heard came from a sky blackened with clouds I didn’t know, but doubtless a storm was brewing. The mystery was settled as we neared our destination. Without warning, a downpour splattered across my windshield.  I could barely see, yet the sound of sloshing beneath the car’s tires led me to know the streets were becoming rivers. On the pavement, people lowered their umbrellas to eye level, a defense against the rain that left them blind to oncoming traffic.   “Sorry,” I muttered to those caught in the wake of my car’s waves. My courtesy was futile, I knew, but one born of habit.     As traffic was light, I found a parking spot near the restaurant, though it was on the opposite side of the street.  Unfortunately, the rain had already submerged the asphalt, making the crossing look treacherous. Taking hold of my mother’s arm as a precaution when she exited the car, I guided her toward the crosswalk. At the curb, the water was high enough to cover the tops of our shoes.   Seeing no option, I nudged my parent forward, but, objecting to my haste, she wrenched her arm from me.  “You’re going to make me fall,” she complained.  Then, gripping her walker to steady herself, she stepped into the traffic without noticing the stoplight had turned against her. Fortunately, the sharp-eyed driver about to make a right turn spotted her and slammed on his brakes. “Thank you,” I mouthed as we passed in front of him.  He shrugged back at me as if to say, “I have an elderly mother, too.” A blast of perfumed air greeted my parent and me once we entered the restaurant. I heard another rumble, but this time I knew it came from me.   A waiter of olive complexion hurried forward, his hands clasping menus. Little wonder we caught his eye because, though it was noon, the room was empty. Mother and I followed the young man to a table beside a bay window set for four.  Doubtless, he was using us to advertise that the eatery was open. Nevermind. I was glad for the extra space and draped our coats over the backs of the empty chairs beside us, hoping that by the end of our meal, they would have dried to a tolerable dampness.    For nearly an hour, I devoted myself to a buffet comprised of several delights, one that concluded with wedges of baklava and thick coffee. By then, a few customers had staggered in, their garments as bedraggled as airport windsocks.  Swallowing my anxiety along with my coffee, I dared to hope for a sliver of sunlight.         Fate was not on my side, however.  Having paid the bill and rising to assist my mother with her coat, I admit, I dallied, checking to see that each of her buttons was buttoned, then checking again.  With no further reason to delay, I headed for the exit with my parent in tow. Opening the door wide enough to accommodate her walker, I exposed myself to a gust of wind. It was violent enough to blow the hood of my coat from my head and transform my hair into rivulets. Wisely, my mother offered no resistance when I took hold of her arm to guide her into the storm. We proceeded with deliberation, like acrobats on a tightrope, but upon reaching the curb, we discovered our folly. The water being ankle-high, we had no option but to plunge into it. The immersion came as a shock, nonetheless, and for a moment, we struggled to keep our footing.  Once achieved, we advanced, shoulder to shoulder, against the slanted rain.   The lone driver at the traffic light took pity on us, showing no impatience as the signal turned from red to green and back to red. I was grateful to him but tension never left my body until I had grounded my mother on the far pavement, the car a few paces away. I thought the worst was over, but I was wrong.  Bending to unlock the door, I heard the sound of metal bouncing off the concrete behind me. Without looking, I knew my mother had fallen. Even so, I was unprepared for the sight of her lying on her back with her extremities flailing like those of a  doomed beetle.  I knelt beside her to assure myself no bones were broken. Then, I righted the walker and attempted to help her to her feet.  The maneuver proved to be impossible.  Her knees wouldn’t support her.  Next, I tried pulling her up by her arms, using my body as a counterweight, but my 120 pounds were no match against her 170. Scanning the street, I noted it was empty. Not even a car was paused at the stoplight. If I wanted help,  I’d have to return to the restaurant. “Stay put, Mom,” I said, as if she had a choice. Then, I gathered my coat about me and was preparing to dash across the empty thoroughfare when a man rounded the corner. He was headed in our direction. “Sir” I called out to him, “Could you help?  My mother has fallen…” Rather than rush toward us, as I’d expected, the stranger […]

#a shortstory to illustrate kindnessss #spirituality #strangers capable of kindness