Then I started to realize I’ve been living one big lie

I admit to being pleasantly surprised by this Lindy West article, for two main (and related) reasons. One, it addresses a lot of thoughts and concerns I’ve had in the past few months, and in more depth than usual. Two, while West is generally an intelligent and (more importantly to my sensibilities) very forthright writer, she sometimes falls into the glibness trap when discussing serious issues, and I was prepared to find some of that in an article of this length and dealing with issues of this much import.

Well, she didn’t. That doesn’t mean I agree with everything she said, but this is some of the best stuff I’ve seen from her, and I am glad for it. I should probably say at this point that, while I’m not of one mind regarding current social justice movements, you can safely count me out of the “MRA” and “masculism” camps. While I share some of their concerns, the philosophical framework either of those movements are currently predicated on seems to me, at best, misguided.*

That said, I wouldn’t be writing about the article if I didn’t have at least one bone to pick, and I do. Specifically, I have an issue with the intersection between two parts of West’s argument.

In her first point, “Part One: Why Feminism Has “Fem” in the Name, or, Why Can’t We All Just Be Humanists?” West points out that the reason feminism continues to identify linguistically as a movement of women, rather than one of general equality, is because women are the victims of systematic oppression across the board – politically, economically, socially, intellectually – while men are not. While I think her attempt to explain the reasoning behind this via Dr. Seuss and Freddy Krueger metaphors inches dangerously close to that aforementioned glibness, they’re pretty good explanatory tactics – but from my reading, she also intended them to be persuasive tactics, and I don’t think they can pull that much weight. Since I already had that reasoning “pre-loaded” before I read the article, though, perhaps I’m wrong.

However, in her fourth point, “Part Four: A List of “Men’s Rights” Issues That Feminism Is Already Working On,” she then goes on to mention that practically every issue MRAs/masculists are worried about forms part of the apparatus of patriarchy, which is exactly what feminists are working to dismantle. I think this, by contrast, should – in a sane world – be an incredibly persuasive piece, because the MRA/masculist view on these issues is strongly (but not entirely) informed by personal experience, or by fear of a certain experience being realized.

(Image used with tongue firmly in cheek. Took me a while to find one that made the point and wasn’t a .gif.)

The reason I have a bone to pick here, and it isn’t with West alone, is that it smacks of trying to have your cake and eat it too, especially because the view social justice movements currently have of allies (or Allies) goes something like this: voice your opinion, especially when it’s risky or uncomfortable to do so, but only so long as it’s the opinion you’ve been told is shared by the group you’re helping. Freddie deBoer has pointed out how quickly this can be derailed, though only for a sufficiently superficial level of dialogue.

There is an important message in that: if you’re a man, you will likely never understand the systemic problems a woman faces for her gender. If you’re white, same with people of color. If you’re straight, same with the GLB community. If you’re cisgender, same with trans and genderfluid/genderqueer people.** Yet I think that when you appeal to men to recognize that their concerns dovetail with feminism, while at the same time blaming all of those problems on a mechanism (patriarchy) that should, theoretically, advantage men in every possible circumstance, there is a fundamental disconnect there.

I’ll try to explain what I mean. While I’m not entirely on board with this comment (especially the latter part), I think it brings up something like the point I’m trying to make:

But the fact is, there is a systemic mistreatment of men who do not fit into traditional male roles in our society. I’ve seen women laugh at men for crying. I’ve seen women laugh and make fun of men for being weak. I’ve seen women laugh, make fun, and discriminate against men who have small penises. Why do these things happen? Because the truth is that men are objectified. Part of that objectification involves assuming a role of mental, physical, and sexual “power,” but that doesn’t make the objectification any less real, or damaging to men (and by proxy, women).

The responses to this mostly identify the parts I’ve bolded with patriarchy, and that women who engage in such behaviors have internalized patriarchal rolemaking. My sense is that this, like the earlier metaphors, works as an explanatory tactic, but I don’t think it’s ultimately persuasive. It effectively dismisses any example of anti-male behavior on a woman’s part as either 1) her giving up her individual agency to her internalized patriarchal structure, 2) a personal dislike for a specific man, or 3) caused by a man complaining too much about a hatred of his gender that is not borne out by social structure.

I think there’s a definitional difference. To modern feminists, “misogyny” seems to require a systemic impulse. (Which makes it, to my mind, indistinguishable from the current definition of “sexism.” But I’m not up to date on my definitions.) Thus “misandry” cannot be existent, because it doesn’t have any systemic support. To the MRAs/masculists, “misogyny” lacks this systemization, but requires a stronger psychological impulse. Their biggest mistake, I think, comes in thinking that because they don’t hate women as a gender (in their view), they are not misogynists – but the only reason feminists, in their view, could be so focused on men is because they hate them. Thus the label of misandry.

This is an uncomfortable subject and I need to shut up about it, not necessarily because I don’t have more to share, but because I get the sense that I’m talking over myself and in so doing missing important points. Your thoughts are welcomed.

—

* I would be willing to endorse a “complementary” vision of masculism. By that, I mean one that recognized that systematic oppression in modern society is wielded against women, and that masculists should work vigorously on women’s issues as a path to progress for men as well. I don’t know if that’s possible, for various reasons, but that would be ideal.

** As a comment on West’s piece pointed out, binary gender is itself part of the patriarchy as well, though according to friends I have in the trans community the debate on that continues to be a point of contention in current feminism.

Quest for Ambrosia: Silly Taste Test #1 (New Lay’s Flavors)

As it turns out, I missed more than online arguments about “affective labor” while I was unplugged.

Specifically, from what I can glean after an exhaustive investigation, Lay’s Potato Chips is floating three new flavors and, because this is the 2010s, is giving its audience a little choice in the matter. Lay’s is asking consumers to vote (via Facebook app – their pun, not mine) for which flavor they’d like to keep in the regular rotation.

Here’s the three, arrayed nicely on my kitchen counter:

Since I felt like writing about something completely ridiculous today, and because I want to fill the world with silly taste tests, I went ahead and nabbed one bag of each flavor and tried each. I don’t even eat Lay’s chips very often, but something in me just yearned to sacrifice my arteries for the noble cause of creating more informed chip consumers. So I took one for the team, and what’s wrong with that? I’d like to know.

Before I begin, I should add that this wasn’t intended to be a truly scientific experiment. I didn’t control for flavor cross-contamination (beyond drinking water between bags) and I had one flavor some time before I had the other two. I really doubt either factor was a major influence in my findings, though.

So cue up the Macca, ’cause here I go . . . (not) again!

Cheesy Garlic Bread

• Creator: Karen Weber-Mendham, of Land O’ Lakes, WI. (It’s a real place. The company is based in Minnesota.

This was the first one I had, probably because it was the safest bet out of the three. I wasn’t expecting anything mind-blowing, just an average approximation of the intended flavor. I wasn’t entirely disappointed. The chips had decent hints of parmesan and mozzarella cheese, and mimicked the flavor of good toasted or baked bread surprisingly well, but there must have been a breakdown in communications at some point. Specifically, someone must have forgotten to mention that it was supposed to be cheesy garlic bread, as I didn’t even catch a whiff of it.

Verdict: Would eat again, despite the misnomer.

Sriracha

• Creator: Tyler Raineri, of Lake Zurich, IL.

Flavor doesn’t come in a minute, and sometimes, as with these, it doesn’t come at all. Though I’ve never been the biggest fan of sriracha, it packs some nice heat, and I can respect that even if I don’t enjoy its taste. My problem is that these chips had neither the flavor nor the heat of sriracha. They were a little spicy, to be sure, but it wasn’t especially strong and it certainly didn’t taste like what I remember of rooster sauce, and the aftertaste hangs around long enough to screw with whatever you eat next.

Verdict: Stay the heck away from these.

Chicken & Waffles

• Creator: Christina Abu-Judom of Phoenix, AZ.

This flavor is actually the one that gave me the idea to write this article. I’m not sure why, either, but I imagine the subconscious thought process went something like “if Lay’s is weird enough to have a chicken-and-waffles flavor, you are certainly weird enough to try it.”

Which I did, having absolutely no expectations that this would match the actual flavor of chicken and waffles. I mean, I’ve never had the dish, but I’ve had Southern fried chicken, and I’ve had waffles, and these chips didn’t taste like either. What I did taste, though, is a weird mix of maple syrup and used vegetable oil. I get the feeling that the Lay’s people thought this would be an interesting candidate, but they didn’t actually want to put effort into finding some way to get real flavor into the chips, and so settled for this twisted approximation.

It’s not bad, especially considering it’s Lay’s chips, but . . . I’m not sure what to think of it, really.

Verdict: Try it once, so you can say you did, and then never go near it again.

—

So – in case that wasn’t clear – I’m thinking cheesy “garlic” bread takes first, maple-smothered veggie oil takes second, and unspicy, tasteless pretend Thai sauce is bringing up the rear. Though, really, I’m pretty sure I’m the ultimate loser in this contest for putting myself through not one but three bags of GMO crap.

I realize this was a somewhat weird departure from my usual conversation topics, but like I said above, I felt like writing something silly today, and luckily I have a platform on which to share it! Suggestions for future Silly Taste Tests are welcome. Until then, eat well, make good food, and keep in tuck!

There’s a new game we like to play, you see

Apparently, while I wasn’t paying much attention to the Internet, Tim Noah (of The New Republic) and Andrew Sullivan (of The Dish) got into something of an online dustup about exactly how deferential service personnel should be to consumers.

Basically, Noah finds it weird that businesses outside of the usual “caring professions” (such as nursing and child care) are, essentially, forcing their employees to be happy on the job. The idea here is that if your employees are happy, your customers will feel better about visiting your business, and will return again and again. Sullivan pushes back that the practice encourages a better customer experience, and that he personally enjoys what he calls the “service ethic of fake cheeriness,” as he first found it in the States and then saw it spread to his home country. (He advises Noah visit France if he wants service that isn’t encouraged to be cheerful.)

The money exchange (Noah in bold):

Why must the person who sells me a cheddar and tomato sandwich have “presence” and “create a sense of fun”? Why can’t he or she be doing it “just for the money”?

Because it makes for a more pleasant customer experience which itself encourages repeat visits. How hard is that to understand? Noah’s piece is riddled with the kind of lefty condescension that drives me up the wall.

Here’s the thing: there’s encouraging a sunny disposition from your employees, and there’s enforcing it. Noah makes that distinction clear. His problem with Pret A Manger isn’t that he gets service with a smile. It’s that the smile is coerced, through tactics like mystery shopping, and that Pret’s employees essentially have no choice but to put up with the company’s personality ethic because, as is true of most jobs in the retail or service industries these days, they don’t have many other places to go.

Noah points out something I’ve been thinking for a while (so it’s nice to think I’m not completely off-base, at least) – that Pret’s ethic is an attempt to mimic the service the rich already get, but for those who are “merely affluent,” as Noah puts it. Restaurants like Pret, Chipotle, or Five Guys cater to a demographic that can afford to eat outside the home fairly often but might not be able to afford a sit-down meal. Noah fears that this might lead to the broadening of that service ethic to the point where no one will be immune, to which Sullivan responds in a way that reminds me exactly why he infuriates such a large percentage of people I like to read.

Fear? Fear that consumers might get better service and that corporations actually try to encourage this? Fear that when you are in service jobs, your boss may keep tabs on how well you interact with customers and colleagues? It’s fascism, I tell you. Or some kind of false consciousness. Apparently, Noah wants service that in no way is encouraged to be cheerful. My advice? Visit France.

And this service ethic of fake cheeriness began in the US of A. It was one of those things I noticed and loved immediately arriving here, and over the last quarter century saw spread throughout my country of origin. The service culture – which is indeed a kind of performance – makes everything more pleasant to buy, blends consumerism with entertainment and enjoyment. Wanna scowl with your coffee?

Actually, that could be a refreshing experience. I’m not saying rude service doesn’t exist, but honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had rude service. Bad service, maybe – mostly of the slow, horribly-overworked-waitstaff-member-who-has-been-put-in-charge-of-more-tables-than-I-have-students-in-a-class variety – but the last time a cashier, or a waiter, or a busperson, or, in fact, anyone whose job it was to help me to the goal I walked into their business to accomplish, was rude to me, is honestly lost to the mists of Avalon. What I do see, far more often, is rude customers.

The real problem with Sullivan’s response is that, while trying to take Noah down a peg, he writes like exactly who he is – someone who has no idea what the retail or service industries are like outside of his experience of them as a consumer. I don’t have any direct experience of them, either, but I live with someone who does. The ever-lovely Peregrina works two jobs, one of which, because of its corporate character, encourages its employees to have a bright disposition. They select for it in their hires. But note that it isn’t enforced – that is, no one is coming to Per’s workplace in disguise to see if her shop gets bonuses this month. Her fellow employees aren’t telling her she needs to smile more. Her management isn’t saying they can track sales by “body language.”

One last point: I suspect Sullivan’s references to Noah’s “lefty condescension” and his breezy dismissal of the dignity of food service workers is partly because of Noah’s last paragraph, where he triumphantly writes that he now visits a place where “the service is slower, the staff is older and grumpier, and the prevailing emotion is ‘Get over yourself.’” It seems, I don’t know, a little too needy for authenticity, a little too triumphant.

Still, if my choices are that or the fake smile, like Noah, I’m taking the scowl. At least then I know that’s how the person on the other side of the counter really feels about their day. Or their coworkers. Hell, or me. I could use the occasional reminder not to be a jerk.

There’s no comfort in the waiting room

Nor, for one Colorado couple, in the courtroom:

Lori Stodghill was 31-years old, seven-months pregnant with twin boys and feeling sick when she arrived at St. Thomas More hospital in Cañon City on New Year’s Day 2006. She was vomiting and short of breath and she passed out as she was being wheeled into an examination room. Medical staff tried to resuscitate her but, as became clear only later, a main artery feeding her lungs was clogged and the clog led to a massive heart attack. Stodghill’s obstetrician, Dr. Pelham Staples, who also happened to be the obstetrician on call for emergencies that night, never answered a page. His patient died at the hospital less than an hour after she arrived and her twins died in her womb.

So far, so bad. The story goes on to mention that her husband filed a wrongful-death suit (which, given how Dr. Staples handled his wife’s case, is probably the least that could be expected) stipulating that, even if Staples couldn’t be there, he could have instructed the staff to perform an emergency caesarian section. While Lori Stodghill’s life would probably have been forfeit either way, her children could’ve been saved.

Obviously, no hospital wants to pay out a malpractice suit, and so they’ve engaged a team of malpractice lawyers to do what they do best – finesse the law as much as possible to allow the hospital enough breathing room in the eyes of a judge. The problem is that St. Thomas More, as the name implies, is a Catholic hospital, which makes this defense from its lawyers, at the very least, suspect:

As Jason Langley, an attorney with Denver-based Kennedy Childs, argued in one of the briefs he filed for the defense, the court “should not overturn the long-standing rule in Colorado that the term ‘person,’ as is used in the Wrongful Death Act, encompasses only individuals born alive. Colorado state courts define ‘person’ under the Act to include only those born alive. Therefore Plaintiffs cannot maintain wrongful death claims based on two unborn fetuses.” (emphasis mine)

Now, as the young’uns (younger’n'me’uns?) say, I am not a lawyer, but I think that what Langley is trying to do is focus on the meaning of the word “person” under the Wrongful Death Act, rather than make an argument one way or the other about life issues. This raises a twofold issue: one, this might not be first-order hypocrisy (in which the hypocrisy – trying to get Catholic Health off while still allowing Catholic organizations to rail against statutes that do not protect “unborn persons” – would be an end in and of itself) but it is sure as hell second-order (this legal hairsplitting has the same effect anyway). Two, though the Independent article mentions that Catholic Health has so far been successful with this argument, you have to wonder if the two judges who heard the case ever read the Wrongful Death Act. If the Colorado Supreme Court decides to take the case, I hope they pay attention to the fact that Catholic Health’s argument is not only full of shit externally (which is outside the Court’s jurisdiction anyway), but that it misreads precedent on the Wrongful Death Act!

Again, I’m no lawyer – but look at what a quick Google search (okay, a somewhat-burdensome search for the text of the Colorado Revised Statutes, including a traipse through LexisNexis) pops up:

A child who is born alive and subsequently dies is a person within the meaning of this section. A wrongful death action may be maintained regardless of whether the child was viable at the time of the injury or whether the child was viable at the time of birth. Gonzales v. Mascarenas, 190 P.3d 826 (Colo. App. 2008).

Applicability of provisions to viable fetus. A wrongful death action may be maintained for the death of a viable fetus, particularly a full-term fetus. Espadero v. Feld, 649 F. Supp. 1480 (D. Colo. 1986).

(Emphasis mine, again.) I think the first decision is what Langley was going for in his argument: Lori Stodghill’s twins weren’t born and then died, so under Gonzales v. Mascarenas, they’re not “persons.” Even then I’d argue that the language in the second part – “whether the child was viable at the time of the injury” – could leave Catholic Health’s argument a little shaky there.

What I don’t understand is how, apparently, that second piece of precedent hasn’t been brought up more often. The twins were viable. If Espadero v. Feld is still state law, that should allow the Stodghill suit to go through. I can understand Catholic Health’s lawyers ignoring this, as they’re attorneys for the defense, but for the life of me I can’t figure out how not one but two judges missed something that took me less than ten minutes to dig up.

(Actually, that’s not true. Arthur Roy, the now-retired Court of Appeals judge who took the case and found for Catholic Health, apparently used to be a hospital attorney. Go figure. No explanation on the other guy yet.)

Luckily, Jeremy Stodghill is in good hands. As the article mentions, his attorneys have already pointed out that the two judges who already heard the case “overlooked key facts and set bad legal precedent.” Here’s hoping that the Colorado Supreme Court recognizes that and grants the case a hearing.

(h/t to friends Jesse P. and Jenny G.S.)

UPDATE: K.R. proves why the “I found this in ten minutes of LexisNexis searching” standard is probably not a good one if you’re looking for authoritative precedent. From her Facebook comment:

Just a heads up: Espadero is a federal district court decision, which means that it isn’t binding on a state court.

I can’t believe I missed something that obvious, but there it is. To some degree this takes the judges off the hook, since neither the state legislature nor the state courts have made a decision one way or the other, so there is no binding precedent for them. That said, I wanted to take this as an opportunity for some research, so I looked up Espadero (649 F.Supp. 1480 [1986]) and had a butcher’s at Judge Carrigan’s reasoning.

In Espadero, Carrigan notes the antiquated nature of the Colorado Revised Statutes in regards to obstetrics (“[l]egislators likely gave no thought to whether they were creating an action for prenatal death or whether the word ‘person’ as used in the statute included a fetus”) and furthermore provides citations from cases in state courts in Alabama and Rhode Island, as well as a Fourth Circuit case, to reach the conclusion that “the modern trend and weight of authority both favor recognizing the right to maintain an action for the wrongful death of a viable fetus.” Carrigan then proceeded to hold that a wrongful death action could be maintained under CO law for the death of a viable fetus.

As K.R. pointed out, this is ultimately non-binding and the CO Supreme Court could completely ignore it in its decision, and the judges who have already tried the case had no obligation to recur to it. That said, hopefully it will prove persuasive at some point or another in this process.

 

It’s so hard to see the rainbow through glasses dark as these

The School has lately requisitioned my presence for long stretches at a time – and my sanity for much longer than that (how dare they expect me to meet the requirements of the contract to which I willingly signed my name!) – so I’ve been away for a while.

I have a few things banging around this crotchety old head, though, and I figured I’d start with this post about Django Unchained from my friend Dave, whose blog should now be linked in the sidebar. You really should check it out.) As I told Dave a while ago, his post stirred up a few thoughts in me, and I wanted – well, not to respond, but to offer my own perspective. I think he brings up some excellent points in his post.

Before I start in on the whole thing, I should point out that Dave and I have something in common. Neither of us has seen Django Unchained, at least not when we’re writing our posts. If you read Dave’s post (which you should), you know why he hasn’t seen it. In my case, while I’m not a Tarantino fan per se, I have liked quite a bit of his work (except maybe Death Proof), so my excuse is that I simply haven’t had time.

This is to say that neither Dave nor I are talking about the film qua film: we’re not critiquing Django Unchained as a piece of cinematic art or narration or anything along those lines. What we are both talking about is the program of the film: what is its role? To take both parts of Ebert’s Law, what is the movie about, and how is it about it? Here’s what Dave had to say about it. To his credit, he’s only offering his own opinion on why he thinks the movie is not worth seeing, and he makes that clear in the title.

I have to say, though, that I’m more conflicted than usual about Tarantino’s latest release, Django Unchained. On the one hand, I understand the base impulse behind films like Django and his last film, Inglorious Basterds: Sometimes you just want to see bad people, like Nazis and/or slave owners, get their Nazi and/or slave owner asses kicked. Repeatedly. And, you know, with extreme prejudice.

On the other hand, the idea of yet another White director making a film about race (and not just about race; about the most racially charged subject of all – slavery in America) makes me uncomfortable. I don’t doubt that Tarantino means well, but there’s so much more to race in America than wanting to kick the asses of racists and slave owners, however understandable the impulse to kick their asses may be.

All of this makes sense to me. Films about slavery – perhaps films about race in general – have a tendency to oversimplify. (Even the already-venerable Lincoln has been accused of this.) This is probably partly fitting a narrative to cinematic constraints, partly good business so you don’t alienate a particular demographic, and just generally ensuring that your film is a piece of entertainment that audiences can enjoy and then go home and discuss.

These problems are exacerbated in Tarantino’s case because his films are meant to be the distillation of the word “epic.” The characters are exaggerated (but by no means flat or one-dimensional), the dialogue is over-the-top half the time, the violence often cartoonish. (Another friend of mine has argued that this last bullet point is premeditated to help the viewer retain suspension of disbelief.) Those issues, for many people, are already problematic. Add historical oversimplification to the mix and things just boil over.

Dave offers us an alternative take on the view of slavery presented in Django Unchained, from Prof. Blair L.M. Kelley, of North Carolina State University. (I’m quoting the second part here. I keep telling you, go read the post. Or at least the link in this graf.)

The men and women who owned slaves were not bizarre cartoon villains or the bumbling proto-Klansmen depicted in Django Unchained. They were educated. They attended churches. And they used their education and religion to try to justify the horror that the majority of their wealth was not in land or livestock, but based in their ownership of other human beings.  When we think about slavery in these terms, it isn’t as easy to laugh.

Dave adds:

But, see, that doesn’t sell movie tickets. It doesn’t win Golden Globe Awards or Oscars. It’s kind of dry and heavily factual. And, worse, instead of making us feel good about the asses of slave owners and racists being kicked and kicked hard, it makes us – especially us White folks – think about the lingering effects of slavery. I mean, really think about them. And not just about the lingering negative effects of slavery on the African American community, but the lingering benefits that many of us enjoy because of the color of our skin, whether we want to acknowledge it or not.

Agreed – Prof. Kelley’s take on the matter is highly important because it shows the reality behind slavery, a reality that Django Unchained doesn’t, and it brings up a much more uncomfortable question than Django Unchained. Certainly, if it had brought up that question, I don’t think my students would find the movie so awesome.

At the same time, as something of an amateur lover of grand guignol-type extravaganzas, and basing myself on what I know of Tarantino, I wonder if he didn’t intend to play that discomfort out for all it’s worth. I loved Inglourious Basterds, but I found it incredibly hard to watch, not just because Tarantino is a master at catch-and-release dramatic tension, but also because he seemed to be going out of his way to make his viewers uncomfortable. (Needless to say, he succeeded.) The over-the-top violence that occasionally breaks into the film was almost a welcome relief from the drawn-out build-up.

Furthermore, I think Tarantino’s approach, if anything, is exactly the right one to inure Django Unchained against programmatic criticisms. QT isn’t known for his realistic, down-to-earth approach to his subjects, and anyone expecting that from him is going to be sorely disappointed. I’d imagine that a film trying to tackle the issues of slavery from a more serious, realistic viewpoint, written and directed by a white man as idiosyncratic as Tarantino, would likewise cause discomfort. In Tarantino’s case, though, he’s flouting realism in service of his favorite narrative trope, the revenge quest. I don’t think that belittles the bigger issue of slavery. Basterds certainly didn’t belittle the Holocaust. (Then again, slavery as an issue is – rightly – much touchier in America.)

This still leaves some questions open. Is Django ultimately a negative force in that it substitutes a more complex narrative in the minds of its audience? Is Tarantino’s unique style enough to separate the narrative in Django cleanly from a more realistic story about slavery? Was there a way for Tarantino to nod in the direction of the issues Prof. Kelley raises without sacrificing his narrative?

That all will have to wait until I actually watch the damn thing. In the meantime, check out Dave’s blog and enjoy.

Library of Dissent — Republican Gomorrah

Politics, as my grandfather learned from one of his fellow intellectuals in Cuba, is the art of mastering your circumstances.

According to Max Blumenthal, that’s a skill the religious right has developed and exploited to take control of the modern conservative movement, redefining the Republican Party after the Cold War era. While most Americans today are at least familiar with names like James Dobson, Jerry Falwell, Billy Graham and Rick Warren, Blumenthal takes a wider (and deeper) look at how these Christian leaders fit within a framework of Dominionist thought, starting with R.J. Rushdoony (who once defended himself against a charge that he supported putting gays and alcoholics to death by pointing out he’d never advocated executing alcoholics) and going all the way up to modern pastors, such as Mark Driscoll, who advocate for a “muscular Christianity” that prizes the masculine values of Jesus Christ.*

Blumenthal then goes on to explore the connections between these religious leaders and the modern Republican Party. While most of them in some way or another are linked to Dobson and his Focus on the Family group, Gomorrah also highlights links between Ralph Reed, former chairman of the Christian Coalition, and Jack Abramoff, and – perhaps with the most glee – examples of hypocrisy like David Vitter’s affairs with prostitutes and Larry Craig’s now infamous “wide stance” incident, and how Vitter was forgiven by the same Christian leaders that argued for Craig’s ouster. These “field notes” are accompanied by Blumenthal’s analyses and quotes from various thinkers (though mainly Erich Fromm) that, he says in the introduction to Gomorrah, explain the psychological foundations of modern right-wing thought.

Okay, cool. So why do I care?

Don’t get me wrong, I love reading about how the same people who think marriage equality will inevitably destroy “traditional” marriage were having kinky sex with hookers in New Orleans. There are some illuminating facts here about people like Tom DeLay and Newt Gingrich that I either didn’t know or had forgotten. I didn’t know the exact history of how Rushdoony’s insane brand of Christianity came to dominate a sizable portion of the religious right, and I had no idea who the hell Howard Ahmanson, Jr. was before I read this book. I also didn’t know anything about Erich Fromm’s work and had no idea he had so perfectly described (or so Blumenthal claims) the modern Republican Party’s intellectual and spiritual beliefs. Basically, if you need an excellent compendium of right-wing religious thought, usually in their own words, over the last fifty years, look no further.

At the same time, though, I can’t help but feel that Gomorrah is politics-as-a-pissing-contest. Blumenthal casts himself as a disinterested observer, and to some extent, I think he was one while he collected the information he then used in this book, but Gomorrah seems calculated to make the reader feel better about not being one of Them, regardless of what your political belief is. Whether you’re a pro-business Republican who thinks Dobson and his bunch are giving your party a bad name, or a liberal Democrat who would rather consign the lot to a permanent minority, or somewhere completely outside of partisan politics, unless you’re actually a member of one of the groups Blumenthal is profiling, I’m pretty sure Gomorrah is meant to make you feel better about yourself, and I’m not entirely down with that.

Perhaps that’s because I consider myself devout, if not very good at showing it, and so feel that, despite my liberal beliefs, by some measures I could be lumped in with the people profiled in this book. Perhaps it’s because I tend to sometimes think of people like Dobson and Falwell as hucksters, and thus feel more compassionate than angry at or disdainful of the people who have aided and abetted their takeover of the modern GOP. (You can perhaps argue that this is misplaced, but that’s another discussion.) Consciously, however, I tend to think that it’s because Fromm quotes and stories of hypocrisy aside, I believe that the motivations and justifications people offer for their own actions and beliefs are as important as anything else. The way Blumenthal talks about, say, George W. Bush’s appeal to the evangelical right (“the language of personal crisis” comes up a few times) makes it sound like evangelical Christianity is fundamentally dishonest. I’m not sure that one premise can directly derive from the other unless you’re also declaring religion or faith in general to be fundamentally dishonest – and while that would speak to some hypocritical aspects, such as Christian Islamophobia, I don’t think it renders Blumenthal’s project entirely correct.

This isn’t incompatible with Blumenthal, really: he might very well be describing the real psychological basis of the modern Republican Party. (It’s well outside of my field whether he’s right or not.) Nor do I want to advocate deference to ideas that I think are corrosive to our national fabric. At the same time, I think books like this end up being consumed by exactly the kind of people whose minds they aren’t going to change – liberals and hardcore political junkies. If Blumenthal was setting out merely to chronicle and observe, he did an excellent job of both of those things. Yet the Fromm quotes and the stories about hypocritical pastors and politicians suggest that he also meant to provide a link between his observations and psychological insights that, I fear, aren’t as buttressed as they should be. In doing so, I think Blumenthal reinforces the prejudices of the same people he profiles, and while he isolates them from his reader, he also allows readers to isolate themselves from his subjects – so if you’re someone who votes for James Dobson’s slate every time, while Gomorrah might shock you, it won’t make you change your mind about the ultimate good you’re doing.

For what it’s worth, it’s a well-written, extremely informative, slightly-sloppily-edited book (some parts show that there was a paragraph moved or cut out) but by no means anything new if you’ve kept up to date with the more salacious side of Republican politics, and perhaps uncomfortably anthropological at times. I do nevertheless recommend reading it, especially if you’re interested in the history contained in it.

Library of Dissent — Between Heaven and Mirth

Part of the reason I’ve never been particularly attracted to working on the spiritual and devotional side of my life is that I absolutely despise the idea of spending one more moment than I absolutely have to being austere, morose, staid, or any combination thereof. (You can imagine how this impacts my pedagogy.) I attended Mass regularly until I was around eight, and during that time I almost always found the thing unbearably dull, unless my cousin was around to modify the lyrics to the Agnus Deī.

Fifteen years later, my demands for gratification have moderated somewhat, I appreciate much more the serious side of devotion, and I’ve come to treasure much subtler forms of humor than slipping an extra consonant into the Spanish word for “sin.” Yet, for whatever reason, part of me hasn’t outgrown that need to thumb my nose at the consensus I’ve always felt was part and parcel of the American Christian tradition, the idea that faith and devotion are primarily austere, morose, &c.

James Martin, S.J. puts a nail in that particular coffin, with a truly impressive number of jokes, stories, quotations, references and Biblical passages meant to reinforce his main point: that joy need not be left behind when we contemplate the life of the soul. It’s a weaker statement than mine, but given what I’ve otherwise heard about how we should live our spiritual lives, I’ll take it.

I was particularly struck by what Father Martin calls “studies in joy”: somewhat-close readings of Biblical passages (The Visitation and the Magnificat, and 1 Thessalonians), with analysis of the language, themes, and how they relate to this joyful spiritual life. I legitimately enjoyed the chance to come to grips with the text itself, to look at the language in more depth than is usually possible when your hearing sucks and you’re trying to catch all the text from a reading. In fact, I wish Martin had afforded us more opportunities to do this.

Which leads me to my main problem with the book. In the “studies in joy,” Martin is pitch perfect. He welcomes, without condescending, nor does he belabor. Whether you’re new to this idea of analysis or you’ve done some serious work in the area, you feel that Martin gently leads you along his thought process until you reach the conclusions. This is patently good writing.

So what’s my problem, you ask? To put it simply, the rest of the book is written in what looks to me like a salesman’s patter. I mentioned above that Martin has oodles of stories and jokes to tell, and while most are at least a little funny, and some are downright hilarious, I often either failed to get the connection between them and his actual points, or expected one where there was none. Those points were often good ones – but the extraneous stuff more often distracted from them than reinforced them, and the overall feeling I was left with was that he was trying to sell me on something by throwing every possible bit of evidence at me about it. My reaction to this was much the same as it was to the people who kept hyping Rent or The Phantom of the Opera at me when I was in high school: not only did I come to believe that they were completely wrong, but that they had to be out of their damn gourds. I suspect that, while not alone, I am in very much a minority in reacting like this.

The conclusion Martin reaches – spoiler alert! – is that since heaven is a place of ultimate joy, in rejoicing we are, essentially, “practicing” for our future life. It’s a fantastic point, one that really should upend the common understanding of faith (shared even by many of those who subscribe to none) as focused entirely on avoiding the fire and brimstone. The only problem is that, before those last two glorious pages, he has given absolutely no page time to this idea, not through stories, or jokes, or “studies in joy,” or anything. It’s as if Martin had intended to write two books, one full of amusing anecdotes and one a self-help guide with points to make about spirituality, and then mushed them together as best he could.

I’ve grown a little disjointed there, and I apologize. Now, though, you know a small part of how I felt while reading Between Heaven and Mirth. I don’t know if it’s because I work with Jesuits who are far less glib about their spirituality than Martin is in this book (I limit my judgment to this book – I hear his My Life With the Saints is much better on this score), or because I’ve grown more morose, staid, &c., than I’d like to think, or why – but while this book barely changed my opinion about the role of joy in spiritual life, it did tell me that there was a right way and a wrong way to go about convincing people of the idea that joy has a greater role in faith than we think it does. Yet I don’t know what the right way is. Maybe Martin’s approach is the right one for here and now, and I’m out of step with the times – it’s happened before and it’ll happen again. Yet perhaps, like with so many other things, if we discuss too much why joy matters, we strip away its essential qualities.

Joy (now here’s a wintry metaphor for you) should be a hearty soup. Let’s not render it into thin gruel.