Steve Harris
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Speaking the Truth

7/28/2023

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One of the most effective techniques adopted by the Biden administration in the course of dealing with the Russian invasion of Ukraine has been to speak the truth. Now, I’m not going off on some ridiculous idea that there should be no national security secrets or that diplomacy should be conducted in the open (One of Woodrow Wilson’s more naïve ideas in his famous “Fourteen Points” was “open covenants, openly arrived at.”). Rather, I’m speaking specifically of the recent practice of announcing what “they” already know and “we” already know, but is not publicly acknowledged. Calling out the Russians in advance for their planned invasion and subsequent moves, based on our intelligence capabilities, has boosted confidence in the US and exposed Putin’s falsehoods.

We’ve come some way since the Cold War in this regard, when legitimate national security concerns verged into paranoia. As a former resident of the DC area, I was always amused to drive by the highway exit for the CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. It wasn’t marked (as if the Russians didn’t know where it was!) so the only folks who didn’t know what was going on were us tax-paying citizens. Indeed, I suspect that amid all the recent hoop-de-do over mis- and over-classified information being negligently carried into Biden’s garage and the store rooms of Mar-a-Lago, little will be said about “overclassification of information and nothing will be said about the fact that a noticeable chunk of this stuff is already known to those “foreign adversaries” whose mitts we are apparently trying to keep of the merchandise.

Whatever else might well be said about Edward Snowden’s exposure of secret US spying programs and information (and there’s little doubt that he went overboard), it’s also important to keep (public) tabs on what the national security state is up to, since they have built-in tendencies to abuse their power.

On the domestic front, it is perhaps too much to ask of politicians (of whatever stripe) to speak the truth about their motivations and goals. Political candor would generate a lot of (self-referential) media frenzy and widespread popular disorientation. But, I can imagine political figures starting to utilize the nominally admirable words and phrases of their opponents and reseize semantic control.

What if politicians (again, of all stripes) were to start using the phrases and buzz words of their opponents since—most of the time—they actually agree with the literal statements made. What’s wrong with wanting to make America great again? Don’t we all agree that election integrity is vital to our democracy? Shouldn’t we all put “America first”? What if MAGA-ites started acknowledging that “Black Lives Matter” or talking about promoting and protecting the middle class?

By stripping politicians of their rhetorical monopolies, the harping on familiar themes would become less newsworthy and the phrases themselves would be more neutralized and a bit less like “dog-whistles.” Indeed, we might nudge our public debates towards a bit more specificity in what the buzz words/pabulum/sound-bites actually meant. What a delight it would be to confound the media’s insatiable hunger for “sound bites.” They would stumble a bit and have to come up with a new approach to their ordinary dichotomous/adversarial framing of every issue. A few might even try to articulate what was really at stake rather than the apparent intractability of “free speech on campus” versus “hate speech,” or “balanced budget” versus “social justice.”
In terms of domestic policy and governmental activities, the biggest fault lies with Congress (and comparable state and local bodies) who is supposed to provide oversight of the Executive Branch (and not just chase after Hunter Biden to score political points). Our budgets and spending are a mess, but in the pork-barrel/earmark-hungry halls of Congress, its more important to land a grant to build something nameable in the home district than ensuring that things built have adequate maintenance/amortization support to ensure services are actually delivered over an extended period. It’s too politically valuable to promise fat pensions to public employee unions who financial burden will land on those in office (and paying taxes) twenty-to-forty years hence (just ask the folks in Illinois and numerous other local/state jurisdictions who are facing mountainous deficits for decisions made thirty-fifty years ago). The Congressional Budget Office was supposed to do this, as  well as the GAO (Government Accountability Office); but both are overseen by politicians whose interest in solid financial management is suspect to be sure. The non-profits who venture into this territory are tiny and weak-voiced. “Highly speculative” revenue projections and deferred maintenance expenses mean that government budgets at all levels are dubious. If these operating entities were in the private sector the capital markets would enforce some sense of reality and government regulation would require much more realistic accounting standards.

You know, I’m all for democracy and political control over important public activities, but the same principle that values an independent judiciary could well be extended to various aspects of government information and assumptions and given some insulation from the directly elected officials whose exposure to the hurly-burly of politics makes them dubious guardians of the public purse and other aspects of governmental integrity. A bit more public “fact-checking” and “reality-checking” would go a long way. A good “airing out” of the truths and facts that are known to insiders has helped in international affairs and could help restore some credibility in our domestic politics, too.
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Realclimatik.2

7/21/2023

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I probably learned about the concept of “triage” while watching the TV series “M*A*S*H” in the 1970s. The excruciating decision which overwhelmed medical personnel were called upon to make when facing a spate of injuries required them to “triage” the prospective patients into three groups, based on each soldier’s likelihood of survival and the resources necessary to save them. Some would likely make it in any case, some could be saved with treatment, and some faced such dire risks that it didn’t make sense to devote time and resources to trying to save them. All human life is valuable; and yet,….

This concept recured to me during my recent three days visit with The Nature Conservancy (“TNC”) at their preserve in the Channel Islands off of Ventura. It was an extraordinary place and a chance not only to get immersed in nature but also understand the details of a corner of the science of nature which the impressive TNC staff pursues on a daily basis. I also got to spend time with a small group of other donors who recognize the value of TNC’s work.

Generally, I’m not a big “flora and fauna” sort of guy; tending to be more drawn to the macro than the micro. So it was good to get grounded (as it were) in the specifics of a particular ecosystem and understand their painstaking work in this corner of the globe. I do like hiking (although my feet and knee are increasingly problematic), so a few “uphills” earned me the right to sound sleeps and a delightful post-picnic nap on the beach.

In the course of our walks and drives around the island, among the many questions we got to ask of TNC staff, I posed one that I thought would be challenging for those whose work is so intensely focused on preservation and restoration of a particular habitat and ecosystem which nature constructed before European descendants disrupted the environment with agriculture and feral animals. I asked: “Given our shared belief in the dire circumstances facing the planet in terms of global warming, why should we spend our time and money on any other aspect of environmental work?”

I expected a staunch defense of the micro, of the benefits of aggregating work in small areas to support and eventually to connect a restored nature around the world. I found, instead, a troubled ambiguity; a recognition of the validity of my question, and an uncertainty about the relative value of the work being done in light of the larger climate issues. None of the staff, they hastened to add, was speaking on behalf of TNC as an organization; but they acknowledged that the question was being discussed.

As with battlefield medical triage, it’s an important, if painful question; not only for those working to save a particular fox species or stand of trees,  but for those across the environmental movement globally, both workers and donors. All the work is valuable, all of it is “good,” but when push comes to shove those positive qualities may not be enough. Current temperature trends and resulting climactic disruptions (of which we are having a taste this past few weeks) are likely to make hash of most such efforts, not to mention the massive human loss and suffering. Is it worth it?

In particular, is it fair or is it necessary to ask such questions of those who are putting their time and money to work for “good” causes? Commissioning a new opera is a fine project, as are supporting one’s local PBS station, or one’s college, and, God knows, there are many, many people who need immediate help on all sorts of fronts. There is nothing, on the face of it, to criticize in such cases. And yet,….

The conundrum is even more acute within the environmental community; where the climate crisis is universally acknowledged. “We,” theoretically, “get it;” i.e., (I will postulate), we are at least conceptually aware of the climate emergency and its implications. But, we too have pet projects and relationships (i.e., inertia) in our work focus or charitable focus; such activities affect our self-perception and social standing. It’s hard to contemplate walking away from the work/investment we have made and shift our attention to a threat which, if more dire, seems more distant and abstract.

If a flood is headed to your town, then everyone needs to be making sandbags. Time, energy, and funds devoted to museum auxiliaries, community welfare organizations, various civil liberties groups, and even food banks need to be put on hold until the threat passes. The fact that we will be facing the climate crisis for several decades (in the best case) makes it even harder to “do the triage,” and let some causes go. Scientists have made clear that the societal momentum behind carbon usage/global warming means that waiting another decade will only make the resultant damage longer and deeper; millions more will die. We can’t build the levee to protect the town if we’re already under water.

So, what is to be done? What shall I do?

There are lifestyle changes, of course, and we are doing many of these, principally around solar/electric capabilities.

There is learning more about carbon markets and policies (I don’t have the scientific wherewithal to design batteries or other technical solutions).

There is supporting necessary public policy changes; even in the face of ignorance/denial/inertia.

On the charitable front, I will be shifting away from the “good” to the necessary. Long-time recipients of this blog have read my thoughts on tree-planting as the primary focus, but the time has come to double down, even if that means reducing the gifts to other worthy environmental groups.

I’m not an absolutist, so I’m not inclined to make this a 100% commitment. There are plenty of reasons to favor diversification in allocating one’s time or money. But, under the “ounce of prevention equals a pound of cure” principle, I’m thinking about allocating 75% to projects around carbon/methane reduction/sequestration (mostly “in action” but some for advocacy/awareness) with an emphasis on those whose effects will start to be tangible in the short term, and allocating 25% to everything else.

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How to Live

7/14/2023

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I don’t often plug books in this blog, but then I don’t often find books like Sarah Bakewell’s How to Live. It’s not some misty “new-agey” revelation, nor a preachy tract, nor is it a guide to domestic arrangements or relationships. Rather, as its subtitle says, it provides “A Life of Montaigne in one question and twenty attempts at an answer.” So, it’s a biography and an exploration of Montaigne’s essays. It’s both delightful and insightful; a combination rather rare in literature of whatever genre.

Michel de Montaigne lived in the Bordeaux region of southwestern France in the 16C. A man of property and connections, he lived an interesting enough and somewhat rarefied life, but his claim to fame is his writing; specifically a collection of over 100 essays which have been in print pretty much consistently since then in French and since the 17C in English (The best translation is available free on line).

I read a bunch of the essays back in the day and have been haunted by fragments since then. They’re remarkable reads on several levels.

First of all, they are “essays” or, in French, “essais.” The French word “essayer” means “to try.” So, these are attempts, with no claim to finality or definitiveness. The sense of humility implicit in the word was also central to his philosophy. He was diffident, tentative, unassuming, skeptical, and open-minded. All rare enough since or now, and much more so in early modern Christian Europe where the rise of Protestantism (Luther posted his 95 theses just 13 years before Montaigne’s birth) led to rigidity, animosity, and internecine war.

Second, they are immensely personal. Montaigne looks at his body, his family, his culture, his clothes, and his interactions with his neighbors and colleagues.

Perhaps most importantly, they are candid. He strips away pretense and convention. They are filled with observation, not self-justification.

Montaigne was among the first in recorded literature to do this and his work has resonated with thinking people ever since. In important ways, his work is part of the inspiration for my blog project. The adjectives I used above to describe his attitude: “diffident, tentative, unassuming, skeptical, and open-minded.” are among those to which I aspire. This blog is more topical and political, probably more snarky and didactic, and definitely much less grounded in the classics (especially Roman) than his essays. Montaigne wrote over the course of twenty years (1572-92) when he was retired to his estate/vineyard after serving as part of the judicature of Gascony. He continually revised his work. Indeed, Montaigne constantly rewrote and added ideas to works in the several editions which came out during his lifetime (the notes and marginalia of which provide grist for all sorts of literary scholarly analysis). I also have left a legal career behind, but I’m publishing every week, so my efforts are (intentionally) a bit less polished than his.

Bakewell’s book contextualizes Montaigne’s writings within a framework of his life. She offers twenty “attempts” (or essays) to answer the central question which Montaigne posed: “How to Live.” She draws on the (various and often conflicting) answers that Montaigne provided in his essays and shows how his actual life lined up with those perspectives. It’s a lively and fun way to understand both the man and his “life and times.” She also traces his philosophic and literary influences as well as the interpretations and translations of Montaigne’s work across the 450 years since he wrote. This sheds light on the evolution of Western culture, drawing on Shakespeare, Rousseau, and Woolf among others.

But, of course, beyond the biography and the bibliography lies the Essays themselves. One of the reasons I picked up the Bakewell book was to renew and deepen my acquaintance with Montaigne and his work, thinking that his self-examination could be useful in my upcoming course on autobiography. I’m still sorting through the Essays to find one of the right size and accessibility for my freshman class. Some are too long or obscure, others are more sociological than reflective. There are more worth reading than fit into the syllabus, and will repay your perusal, guided perhaps by the editor of whatever version you might pick up.

Throughout the Essays, Montaigne struggles to figure out how to live well. He draws on literature and, even more, his own experience of life—his friendship and work, how he lives in his body and how he lives in his mind, his family and his books. He explores lying, parenting, cannibals, smells, estate management, friendship, and clothes. Montaigne’s philosophizing is off-hand, incidental and far less oppressive than either the ancient or contemporary varieties. He tells stories. All in the service of trying to see the different aspects of his own life.

Harold Bloom, the late literary critic, argued that Shakespeare—especially in Hamlet and Henry IV—was the first to crystallize and publish characters as self-reflective. Bloom called it: “the invention of the human.” But Shakespeare was just starting to write when Montaigne died and read the first English translation of the Essays and his works show the echoes.

Regardless of genre or historical primacy (or literary capability), the project of self-knowledge is essential and the more examples of trying to attain this state we can find, the better. Virtually every philosophical tradition (Western or other) urges the primacy of “knowing yourself.” Like much that is essential in human life, this is a futile, but necessary project; all we can do is essay our best.

I’ll be a bit more Montaigne-conscious in my blog postings to come, in style, in allusion, and in (I hope) self-candor.


[btw, Happy Bastille Day! Vive la France!]
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This Old House

7/7/2023

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Among the many commemorations lost during the pandemic was the centennial of our house on Filbert Street. It was built in 1921, so I had been thinking for some years prior that a “house birthday” would be a good excuse for a party; but 2021 came and went with few gatherings, so this event went unobserved.

We’ve been here since 1995 and we’re only the third owners. Number 1: 1921-61: built with what appears to have been a small servant’s suite in the front, side entrance directly to the kitchen, and other cultural markers of the age. Number 2: 1961-1995: new salmon formica countertops in the kitchen (now used as garage storage cabinets), an expanded master suite, and some (hideous) pale green paint on many walls. Number 3: 1995-present: reconfigured master suite, new kitchen and baths, expanded garage, etc.

As is (I suppose) inevitable, the place is starting to show its age. We’re well into the cycle of replacing kitchen appliances, lifting up the rugs shows how dark the floors were restained 28 years ago, scratches and nicks, creaks and cracks; nothing remarkable, just the ordinary signs of age. When, at some point in the future, we decide to sell, some sales agent will want us to spend six figures to paint and prettify it for a few hours so that potential buyers won’t have to strain to imagine what it will look like when they “modernize” it for the mid-21C. In the meantime, we will live with some scratches and cabinet doors that don’t quite close.

I remember some years (decades) ago, when I got a new car, thinking: “I’ll just always keep it up and in shape, so it won’t ever look like some ‘beater.’” (AH, youth!—the idealization of newness and perfection, the inability to comprehend the eternal conflict between inertia and friction, the dismissal of the daily costs and aggravations of maintenance.) Needless to say, our older car (23 years and limping) has a multitude of scratches and dings, with visible duct tape. It’s a “sight,” but it’s far better than the thousands to “restore” it or the tens-of-thousands to replace it. We don’t use it much, so it’s “fine” as it is; clearly closer to the end than to the beginning.

So, too, for my personal abode and my personal ambulatory device (aka my “body”). Like the house and car, there are scratches and dents, the engine doesn’t rev as high as it used to, upkeep is more extensive (and expensive). Visions/imaginings/idealizations of fitness and fuller hair still float by, but the time needed for stretching muscles and tending to aches is longer (not to mention the work required to bike my ten miles on the exercycle), and the time needed for hair brushing is shorter.

It is time, in the words of Dylan Thomas, to “rage against the dying of the light.” There’s no point to waiting for the final stages of decline to mount my defense. So I have to balance a degree of acceptance/reality with an urge to push off the faint loomings of existential dread. Of a nineteen-year-old who is tragically killed, it is often said that they had “their whole life ahead of them.” The same is true of a sixty-nine-year-old; though it is not often said.

My wife, at least on this physical front, is much more vigorous in her defense; marshalling legions of lotions and potions, trainers and stylists, and a full embrace of the wonders of cosmetic dermatology. This is (shall we say) not my style. No Rogaine or Botox for me. I choose to rely on my “natural beauty” to carry me through.

About twenty years ago, I started doing a “birthday ride” on my exercycle: one mile per year of age. I kept it up (going through several such machines along the way) until a couple of years ago when I shifted to one kilometer per year. I don’t think even that is feasible at this point, so I will need to adjust and adapt and come up with a new, more plausible “stretch” target.

At some point, I will “run out of gas” (or whatever metaphor will be adopted in the upcoming all-electric age). We a few months ago we visited a close friend of the family who made it to 100, but his path was pretty clearly marked (and has since concluded). I have no idea how may path will be shaped: its length or detours, its angle of decline. All I can say is that things don’t look imminent, there are no visible icebergs ahead, and the demographics are encouraging. Everything else is speculation with a heavy reliance on wish projection.

I will omit the full range of aphorisms and philosophical insights usually trotted out in such discussions; bar one.

Montaigne said: “Count no man happy until he is dead.” So, I guess since that date is somewhere between tomorrow and whenever, I should concentrate on maintaining my happiness—day-to-day—in the hope of completing my run in such a state.




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    Condemned to Repeat It --
    Musings on history, society, and the world.

    I don't actually agree with Santayana's famous quote, but this is my contribution to my version of it: "Anyone who hears Santayana's quote is condemned to repeat it."

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