Greening

Technorati Tags: Meanwhile Back at the Ranch,Weather,Geography

On a quiet Shabbat morning as I took a rare cup of coffee on the porch I noticed it. I was looking across at LB, who had left the corral and was grazing on the bank of Freedom Ridge Draw.

Because of last year’s drought we are still feeding the cattle at the corral, and usually they stay there all morning, moving across to water in the early afternoon. But here was LB, grazing in the morning. The valley and the hillsides are greening finally, after three weeks of monsoon winds bringing moisture over from the Gulf of California, lifting it up across the Arizona desert,  building the clouds heavy over the Mogollon Rim, and dropping the monsoon rains down upon the Mogollon Slope and Continental Divide. This year a good monsoon season has begun, the clear, cool mornings with a hint of moisture and the clouds beginning to build to the west-southwest by 10 o’clock. In the afternoon, wave after wave of heavy clouds begin to move across our ridges and valley, some of them dropping showers and on some days, a cloudburst. It is a good start for the monsoon, clouds every afternoon, and showers and storms three or four days out of seven.

The greening season here in Southwestern New Mexico is different from where I grew up in Central Illinois. In Illinois, spring is the season of tender green shoots and new grass, with the deep yellow of dandelion flowers hailing the end of winter in March. The corn grows high, there, each plant cycling a quart of water or more a day, bringing the muggy dog days of August, the hottest part of the summer. As the corn matures, the days dry out, gold and brown in the fall.

In New Mexico, the spring is windy and dry, brown with dust and sand—Arizona blowing over to Texas—one of the two dry seasons, following the winter snow that falls mostly over the mountains. The warming days and wind, the return of the birds are harbingers of summer. But here on the Mogollon slope, there is no green, no soft colors. The land is hard and bright, straw and brown. 

When the winds die down in June, we have our hottest summer days. The heat comes up from the desert, south winds from Mexico, and descends into the valleys. Ours is a dry heat, and you can get relief in the shade, if you can find any. In good years, by the end of June, the winds shift, coming from the southwest, and we see towering white clouds forming in the southwest, moving slowly across the Continental Divide to the north. Nights become humid, and our evaporative coolers don’t work for a week of two. But if all goes well with the trade winds coming up from the tropics and across these horse latitudes, in a few weeks the afternoon humidity will become afternoon thunderstorms, making coolers unnecessary as they wash the humidity into the dusty earth, clearing the air, and greening the land.

Some years are La Nina years, and the Monsoon winds fail, and we have drought. Last summer, the clouds built and we got a few feeble showers in July, and then it stayed dry until September. The feeble trades dropped their sparse moisture quickly over the Mogollon Rim but did not reach New Mexico. Last year, we had late rains and early snows in September and October, as the days grew shorter, and so the land never greened up, and the grasses did  not grow tall. We had drought and fires, drought and fires.

This year, the monsoon seems full of promise. The land is greening, the first I have seen these two years. May the monsoon continue and grow in strength this year, breaking the drought and bringing life-giving water to a dry and weary land.

The greening of the land is rest for the eye.

A Season of Losses and Gains: Part II-Gains

Yesterday, I began the process of catching up with myself after a three-month blogging hiatus. That entry was all about the losses we experienced over that time and how one of them affected my desire to blog at all.  Today, is for the gains.

Firstly, we have gained a baby burro. Petunia and Ruger presented us with a little jill, whose picture graces the title of Ragamuffin Studies, so iconic of spring is she. Little Priscilla is watched over by both of her parents, and spends her time gamboling and playing while her parents focus on the mundane activities of getting food and water. Young mammals are a delight, and this one is no exception. She is getting used to our hands, although she does not  take sweet feed from us yet, as her parents do. It is funny to watch her traveling four and five times the distance from the corral to the stock tank than her parents do! 

This season has also been one of frustration and growth for me. When I determined that I would never finish my current doctorate studies at all if I continued with a quantitative study, my advisor and I thought about a combined qualitative-quantitative study. This meant I had to learn how to do “qual'”, which requires a very different approach. This spring I took a heavy-duty Qualitative Case Study course with an expert in the field who is also a very demanding teacher. And it very nearly killed drove me to drink. The problems began with coming up with a question, and continued as I tried to shoe-horn a literature I knew well into a question that was very different. Stubborn as I am, I finally saw that my whole approach had to change. I allowed forced myself to write the introduction as a first person (horrors!) narrative that demonstrated how I had come to my question. In the process, I learned how bringing myself into the research itself is one of the characteristics of qualitative research, and I saw how my narrative approach helped not only define the question, but also find the gaps in the literature that my study would address.

I am quite pleased with my research report, although I did revert to the ablative (this was done, that  was shown, etc.) in reporting my results. Still, I gained a new perspective and new tools, two very important things to keep this “grandmother” brain from hardening up to a stultifying degree. And the coolest gain, I saw a theme in the data that I had seen in data during a more congenial (to me) course that I took last spring. And in talking it over with my expert, demanding professor, I realized that this is the theme that will likely occupy me through the dissertation: resistance.

“ Resistance? You’re interested in resistance? Who’d have ever thunk it?” was the Engineering Geek’s somewhat acerbic observation.

The Engineering Geek himself has been working on some important projects for the ranch, and these projects require all of his engineering skills. The whole irrigation system needed an overhaul, having been put in by “rank amateurs” (his words) and used for 18 years. He has been busy designing a manifold for delivery of water, French drains for getting rid of unwanted water, and general improvements to efficiency and design. He is also designing a solar well pump system, and a solar system for the house in order to make us more self-sufficient as “energy prices necessarily skyrocket” as our dictator president promised they would in 2008.

The Engineering Geek has also gotten the first contract for his own engineering firm, NRG Options Engineering, LLC, since retiring from the labs. Since he was apparently more popular with customers than the lab management, it is no surprise that he was requested by one of his former colleagues, and received the contract with no argument from administration. This has been a balm to his battered professional ego, for he never felt truly valued for his work as an employee. It took a long time for the words of our business consultant to sink in: No one will value you like you will. That’s why valuable people go into business for themselves.

This spring has also been great for observing. The Engineering Geek is also an amateur astronomer, and we have had several wonderful events to observe in our environs. We drove north about 100 miles to observe the Annular Solar Eclipse from the centerline, which passed through New Mexico. We thought we might be a little south of the predicted centerline, but it turned out we were right on it! Two weeks and two days later, we set up on our mesa for the final Transit of Venus in our lifetime. This takes place about once a century in two 8-year apart events. It was exciting to see the shadow of Venus cross onto the solar disc in real time through a filtered telescope, although I will admit that watching the rest of transit we could see from our area was like watching corn grow. Still, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity! (We could not see the Transit of Venus in 2004 from North America). 

Finally, our new house-cat came to us on the evening of the eclipse. We were set up at an elementary school north of Gallup, near Yah-ta-Hey, New Mexico. There was a beautiful little kitty there that came around as we were watching the annula. She kept rubbing at my legs, and claiming me as I walked around showing people how to use the filters and the eclipse glasses. (We had attracted a sizeable crowd when we set up our telescope). A neighbor of the school said that she was a stray, so when she jumped into the car as we packed up, what were we cat lovers supposed to do? Of course we stopped at Wal-Mart in Gallup and bought a little cat carrier. Of course we took her to the vet, got her de-wormed, de-ear-mited and spayed. Her name is Moon Shadow (of course!) and she has moved in and brought poor lonely Binky out of his shell. Another gain, brought to us by serendipity! 

There is so much more to write about but each of them deserves a separate blog entry! Stay tuned!

A Season of Loss and Gain: Part I-Losses

I have not written anything at all here since Purim. Part of the reason is that we have been busy with our work on the ranch, and my work with the Gary Johnson campaign, with classes and courses, training and all the business of life. If I had thought that as the children grew up and began leaving home my leisure would increase, I have been shown to be wrong. The days are still just as packed as they ever were, if not more so.  

But another, deeper reason is that I have been challenged and tested this spring of 2012 with losses and gains that I was reluctant to write about because I had not yet resolved some of them in my own head and heart, and in some ways still haven’t.

We lost a total of four animals this past spring. The one calf born so far this year, was taken by coyotes, and a heifer died one night for reasons that we will never know, about two months after we transferred her to our partner’s farm on the Rio Grande. These losses caused momentary anguish and questioning, but not the anguish that two others created.

In late January, while we were away, the eldest of our two house cats died unexpectedly. Cloudy, our most beautiful cat—the one with the unique aquamarine eyes--laid down in his favorite winter sleeping spot and never woke up again. He was found by the CIT, who saw him born 11 years before. It seemed the  circle was closed that night and the next day when we buried him on the sunny south-facing hillside behind the house, under a twisted pinyon tree in view of his favorite window perch.

 

But the hardest loss by far happened on February 8, 2012. It was a sunny, early spring morning, when I fed the dogs, and as was my habit, hugged Umbrae—our big, black Newfie cross hard so that he would “talk” to me. Later that morning, busy with computer work for a class that I was leaving to attend in Albuquerque, I did not notice that he and Lily had gone on walk-about. When he did not return, I drove the county road looking for him, returning empty to the ranch. After Lily returned, I reluctantly left for two days, hoping that he would return that evening. He never did. And I am left with a huge hole in my heart, wondering what happened to him, and thinking about what I could have done differently that morning. He may have been stolen, he may have been attacked by a wild animal. He may be alive still, and he may not. We just don’t know. And that is the hardest loss of all. As I drive around the Red Hill area, I still have one eye on the pastures and roads, the hills and the houses, hoping to catch a glimpse of my big, black dog. In my mind’s eye I see him, in the periphery of my vision, dancing on the big rock on the hill above the house.  

More than any other reason, I  think I have not posted here for so long because on some level, I wanted to wait for good news about Umbrae. Writing about his loss, I knew, would open up the wound of not knowing, to bring that awful sinking feeling in my gut, the pain of loss that seems unendurable even as it must be endured. And it would make his loss seem final and permanent in my mind.

There have been other losses, but they are smaller, less permanent, more reconcilable. There have also been many gains, some wonderful and amazing, and some small and satisfying. The gains, I think, deserve their own entry and their own honors. Tomorrow.

I have undertaken the discipline of blogging again, as we move into the summer and as I embrace more and more fully this life we have chosen, way out here.

Purim: The Diaspora Mentality

 

“It can’t happen here.”  

“Come, let us wipe them out from among the nations so that the name of Israel will not be remembered.”

Psalm 83  

“So many Hamans, only one Purim.”

 

Once again Purim is upon us, a time of spring-fever hilarity and drunken silliness. The only holiday of the Jewish calendar when it is not only permitted, but practically commanded that we drink enough so that we do not know the difference between Mordecai, the hero, and Haman, the villain. And what’s not to celebrate? On the surface, Purim is another one of the quintessential Jewish holidays that can be summarized thus:
They tried to kill us. We won. Let’s eat.     

But scratch below the surface of the formula, and look again. Purim is antithetical to the joy of Pesach, when we rejoice in our liberation from slavery, and our obligation in every generation to understand that it was we, ourselves, who came forth from Egypt. Rather, Purim is more than slightly hysterical, as we read the Megillah and remember that in the Diaspora, the Eternal G-d of Israel is silent, hidden even in the face of our total annihilation.  Even the circumstance of our peril in Shushan was governed by the capriciousness associated with the false gods of the nations, the date of our destruction—13 Adar—being chosen by the casting of lots, called purim.  And the villains do not have the solemn power of a Pharaoh and his priests, ready to duel, gods against G-d, over the fate of Israel. A drunken king willing to mortgage away his kingdom for the price of a half-year long drinking party and his vain chancellor who struts and fusses his way to the destruction of the Jews of Persia; that’s what we get in this Diaspora tale of precarious redemption. And even that is not accomplished by the strong hand and mighty arm of the Eternal, full of power and glory. No, in our Diaspora redemption, the King is too weak to even rescind the death decree, but the Jews of Persia are granted a special dispensation to defend themselves against those commanded to destroy them.  

Purim is very much a Diaspora tale, and in the Megillah itself we see all of the stereotypical manifestations of what R. Soloveitchik calls “the galut (exile) mentality.” The tale could be pulled right out of a newspaper from Europe today, or any other place and time in which a highly assimilated and comfortable Diaspora Jewish community is suddenly made aware of how small, vulnerable and hated it really is.

Even the heroes are Diaspora heroes. When Hadassah is entered into the “Miss Shushan” contest to get the king a new queen, she goes with a less “Jewish”name, Esther, which means “hidden.” Her uncle, the Court Jew Mordecai, counsels her not to reveal her identity, so that she remains hidden in the court of the King. The attitude of the Jews of Shushan is also typically that of assimilated Jews of the Diaspora. As R. Irving Greenberg puts it, when Mordecai refuses to bow to Haman in the street:

“. . . they were confident they had nothing to do with ‘Mordecai the Jew’ types who would not go along with Persian rules. It was a rude awakening to discover that Haman designated all Jews as his target. Even more shocking was the discovery that the respectable [King] Ahashverosh, who would never kill Jews—some of his best friends were Jews—passed the ring to Haman without hesitation and was ready to stand by indifferently while the mass murder proceeded. The Jews of Shushan discovered the bitter lessons of the Diaspora: It can happen here, and we are one. (The Jewish Way).

When the destruction of the Jews of Shushan is announced, Esther and Mordecai’s responses are echoed down through the whole sorry history of Diaspora Jewry. Mordecai weeps, Esther decides that it is better not to stand out (“Shah! Be shtill!”), and the Jewish community is divided on the seriousness of the peril (“They don’t really mean it.” “This is the land of Schiller and Bach.”) It is only when Mordecai takes action, sending a message to Esther in which he says:

“Do not think that you alone of all the Jews, will escape into the King’s house; for if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another place, and you and your father’s household will be destroyed. Who knows but that you have come into the King’s Household for just such a time as this?” (Esther 4: 13 – 14)

And so Esther does act, and deliverance comes because of her action. But her actions are not the confident and direct acts of a prophet like Moses, but the careful and hesitant self-abasement of a court Jew in the uncertainty of exile:

“If I have found favor in your eyes, O King, and if it pleases the King, let my life be given to me at my request and my people spared at my pleading . . . If only we had been sold to be slaves, I would have been silent for merely suffering bondage, I would not have wanted to cause damage to my king . . .” (Esther 7:3 – 4).

The hysterical hilarity of Purim is a celebration of the momentary relief of a people who know that evil has been averted but not destroyed; that the wheel is still in spin. Haman hangs today, and the Jews are saved, but tomorrow there could arise another son of Amalek--who embodies the pure, destructive will to annihilate the Jewish people—and genocide come upon them like a bolt out of the blue.

This Purim, as I drown out the name of Haman with a swing of the grogger, and eat my Hamantaschen accompanied by a nice Moscato, I also remember this about Amalek: he is the symbol of idolatry, the claim to an absolute power that is contradicted by the very existence of the Jew. As R. Greenberg puts it:

“Premature messianists. . . are angered by the persistence of the Jew who thereby gives the lie to their presumptions. Idolatry is tempted to make the Jew disappear and thereby clear the way for its own, uncontested dominance. The twentieth century has made the matter even clearer. Whosoever would be God must destroy the Jews totally. As long as one Jew is alive, the Jewish denial of all but God remains . . . the temptation to become God is overwhelming, therefore a plan to murder every last Jew becomes conceivable—and doable.” (The Jewish Way).

And I think about the rising unrest in the world, and the empty promises of Utopia that come from the right, the left, the Islamists, the trade unions, the political personality cultists, the Occupy movement and the idolater in the White House who said: “We are the ones we have been waiting for.” Is it no wonder, then, that we are seeing a rise in Jew-hatred all over the world, from Achmadinejad’s call to “wipe Israel off the map, to the Occupy Los Angeles teacher who wants all Jews expelled from the United States. SSDD.

And the Jews of the United States, confronted with a maniacal hatred of ourselves and our country, act just like the Jews of Shushan. So many liberal Jews refuse to see Obama’s hatred of Jews and Israel. So many libertarian Jews help Ron Paul sweep the overt anti-Semitism in his campaign under the rug. Jewish self-hatred abounds in the press, in the media. It is hard to understand. It seems crazy. It seems suicidal. It is irrational.

“Do not think that you alone of the Jews will escape into the King’s house—(the party, the movement, the collective) . . .

Utopia is an idol; beautiful at a distance, but corrupt and deadly close-up. And no matter how much the individual Jew might protest and argue that it is not he who contradicts assimilation, the collective, the perfection of human kind, Amalek sees his very existence as a threat, saying:

 

“Come, let us wipe them out from among the nations . . .”

So many Hamans. Only one Purim.

“Mic-Check”: Verbal Terrorism and Pushback at UNM

Last Thursday evening when my class on Case Study ended, I stuffed my papers in my notebook and hurried across campus to hear Nonie Darwish speak. I expected a good, tightly focused talk by a woman who has experienced the oppression of Sharia Law firsthand. I did wondered briefly as I approached the Anthropology Building from the rear and cut through the side-hallway where the labs are, whether anyone would attempt to block me getting in, but the night was quiet as a brand new moon dropped in the west.

Nonie Darwish is the daughter of Egyptian General, born during the Revolution of 1952, and is now an American by virtue of her passionate love for liberty. She has spoken at many universities, as well as before the United States Congress, the European Union Parliament, and the British House of Lords.

She was brought to the University of New Mexico by two campus groups, the UNM Israel Alliance and the UNM Conservative Republicans, with funding from the David Horowitz Freedom Center, and sponsorships from organizations affiliated with local synagogues and churches. Her talk was entitled Why the Arab Spring is Failing and How Israel is Involved.

I walked past a dessert table set up by the Israel Alliance, and took a bottle of water on the way in. I was just in time for the talk, so I did not linger. As I went by the table I noticed a young man standing holding a sign that read: “Stop Israel Apartheid.” I swept past him and sat down next to fellow members of Congregation Albert with whom I share almost no political views except support of Israel. We greeted one another with Shalom’s and Howdy Do’s and settled in as Nonie was introduced.

Nonie came on stage, a small, round woman dressed in slacks and a simple red top, full of energy and passion. From the moment she launched into it, her talk was not disappointing. Her thesis was that no Muslim country can expect anything from revolution other than more tyranny because of the structure of Sharia Law, which dictates all aspects of life for Muslims, including the structure and practices of the Islamic state. Throughout her talk, she reiterated that her hatred was not for Muslim people as individuals, but rather for the Sharia Law that keeps them enslaved to a brutal system, one that openly preaches violence against women and non-Muslims.

At the point where Nonie began speaking about the duties and responsibilities of a Muslim dictator under Sharia, there erupted from the back of the room a chant: “Mic Check!” a small group yelled, “Israel is an apartheid state!” I stood up to get a better idea of who was doing what, and I had a terrible sinking feeling that we, the people who had come to hear Nonie Darwish speak, would see her silenced. This initiation of force against those they wish to silence is a favorite tactic of the left. The call for “mic check!” became a favorite method of the Occupy Wall Street “movement”, who have such a sense of entitlement that they act on the belief that only they have freedom of speech because only they have something to say.

So as the disruptors continued their chant, I began chanting: “USA! USA!” I had learned this tactic to counter disruptions when I was trained to monitor Tea Party rallies. But New Mexicans are so generally laid back that we never had occasion to use our training at the Tea Parties. Other audience members had the same idea, and it seemed like many of us started chanting back at the same time, turning to face the disruptive element at the back of the room.

As we stood there chanting, I looked around for security or the UNM police, but neither were anywhere in evidence. (Apparently no one thought it was needed, because those with opposite views in the past had politely tolerated each other’s events). Instead several older men approached the disruptors in a businesslike fashion, and it looked like they were going to force them from the room. One man tried to grab the script from the hands of the leader, but failed. Another seemed to trip over feet or a chair and landed on some of the disruptors. I saw one female disruptor shout “No violence! No violence!”, as these men forced them whole lot of them out of the room. I remember thinking to myself: Sweetie, you asked for it when you used violence against Nonie’s freedom of speech and our right to hear the talk we came to hear.” She looked like one of the (un)Occupy Wall Street chics I had seen last fall, the one who thought it was not okay to occupy except when she was the one doing the occupying.

As soon as the little barbarians were out of the room, people settled down, and Nonie commented: You must feel sorry for them. They cannot stand to have their prejudices confounded by the truth. They hate anyone who disagrees with them, and call them vile names, but they call me the hate monger.” She then continued her speech.

There was one other disruption that came when the President of the Faculty Senate got up and first accused Nonie of hate speech, citing a You Tube video of her speech at a rally honoring an honor killing victim. As Nonie responded that the video had been edited, the dimwit professor went on to interrupt her, and then began to make a speech. The audience was once again on edge, and angry at this professor who had apparently forgotten that the floor was his only to ask a question. There was some booing, but he went on in his ignorant arrogance, until I called out: “What’s you question, sir?” Then another audience member took the microphone from him, and handed it to the next questioner in line.

From that point on, there were no further disruptions, although many questioners disputed Nonie’s talk, and one called her a “bigot.”

Later I learned that the disruptive element came from a campus group, Students for Justice in Palestine, and the (un)Occupy Albuquerque movement. (That familiar looking chic was exactly who I thought she was). Both groups have a very privileged view of rights, believing that they have them because they are right about everything, and nobody else has rights. Therefore, they believe that they have a right to occupy a lecture sponsored and paid for by someone else, and try to shut the speaker down. Of course, the Heckler’s Veto*, as it is popularly called is the initiation of force against the speaker and those who came to hear her. It is violation of the rights of everyone else in the room. As a UC Irvine law professor states:

“You have the right – if you disagree with me – to go outside and perform your protest. But you don’t get the right to come in when I’m talking and shout me down. Otherwise people can always silence a speaker by heckler’s veto, and Babel results.”

Babel did result, but only until the entitled barbarians were forced from the room. No one was hurt, and the men who removed them used only as much force as was necessary to remove them. That force was invited by the disruptive ones themselves, when they initiated force against the speaker the audience came to hear.

This incident leads me to believe that taxpayer money is being wasted at the University of New Mexico. Students there clearly have no idea what rights mean, and believe that they are entitled to shut down a speaker invited and paid for by a campus group because they happen to disagree with her. Others claimed that: “This is OUR university”, to which the audience rightly replied: “No. It is our university. Our tax money built it and funds it.” I would suggest to the dimwit professor who believes he has the right to turn a question into a speech that perhaps he ought to spend his time learning what his contractual responsibilities are, and what the definition of a public lecture is. The event was not a public forum. But even in a public forum, individuals must follow the rules of decorum, taking the floor only when it is yielded and for the purposes defined by the speaker or moderator.

I will be voting no on every bond issue or other allocation of money to UNM until the New Mexico Legislature gets control of the place, and requires all students and faculty to take courses and demonstrate competence in respect for rights, the understanding the difference between rights and privileges (hint: attending university at public expense is not a right, it is a privilege), and in the manners and mores required at public lectures, forums and other events.

I’d say that these kinds of events definitely turn the Town against the Gown. Taxpayers begin to understand why in days of old, the town used to lock the barbarians inside the gates of the University each night at sundown, letting them out on rare occasions and only when they minded their manners and respected their betters—the ones paying for it all.

Hmmm. Maybe we should build a wall around Redondo Drive. A cast-iron gate decorated with gargoyles would be fitting right in front of Sholes Hall.

But until then, I am glad that pushback has started against these barbarian tactics aimed at quashing speech that certain elitist academics have decided must not be heard. And in the process, they demonstrated quite well the truth that Nonie Darwish came to speak.

*This popular notion of the Heckler’s Veto is different than the legal definition, which is the unconstitutional silencing of speech by the government because of a threat of violence on the part of the speaker’s opposition.

____________

A video of Nonie Darwish’s entire speech at UNM may be found here.

The Tea Set Has an Heiress

 

In my china cabinet, on the  top  shelf sits an antique Polish tea set. It consists of a small tea pot, a cream pitcher and a sugar bowl. It is very old, and somewhat battered, having been passed from oldest daughter to oldest daughter, down to me—the 7th in my female line.

It does not belong to me, although I am its current keeper. When I used to gaze at it, in the built-in china cabinet of my grandmother’s craftsman home in northern Illinois, it did belong to me, having passed into my ownership on the day of my birth. And it passed on to my firstborn daughter on the day of her birth, even though at that time it resided on my mother’s display case in her home in Central Illinois, far from the duplex where the Chemistry Geek Princess was born. 

The CGP became the eighth in the line of oldest daughters to whom the tea set passed. It was brought from the old country, one of the few things of beauty and value to survive the misfortunes of the old country, and the slow building of new lives and fortunes here, in the Golden Land. I can imagine my great-grandmother lovingly and carefully placing it on the shelf behind the square-cut craftsman leaded glass doors of the dark china cabinet in the corner of her dining room. Anna was her name, but I don’t know the name of her mother, the woman who carefully packed it for the journey across the Atlantic in days long ago. Mara, perhaps? I never knew her and I may be getting her name mixed up with the name of my mother’s father’s mother. And before her, three other women, oldest daughter to oldest daughter to oldest daughter, back to the one who acquired it, the circumstances of which are shrouded in the silence of the long past. But from Anna it went to Esther, and from Esther to Madeline, and from Madeline to me. And then it belonged to my daughter for twenty-six years, most of which passed while it stood on my mother’s shelf.

It came to me about seven years ago, when I got a china cabinet and my mother decided to send it back with me, after a visit we made to Illinois.

And now it no longer belongs to my daughter, even though she will one day become its keeper and carefully unwrap it and put it in her own Italian cherry wood china cabinet.

Last week, the tea set got a new owner when the 9th in the line of oldest daughters arrived, although we knew on her mother’s birthday last fall that the tea set was going to have an heiress. She is indeed the Princess Heiress, a tiny little thing compared to her mother, with dark hair and a sweet disposition.

And I gaze at it now in wonder, amazed that somehow the golden-haired little girl in the pink sailor dress got big enough bring a new little girl into the world. There it sits, the Princess Heiress’ tea set, right next to my Bumpa’s Birthday Angel, who bears a bouquet of snowdrops and has a garnet set into her skirt, for she is the January angel. She shows that I share my birth month with the husband of Anna, even though he was gone when I was a little girl. Behind the tea set is a “Welcome, Baby!” card, in the distinctive style that marked the middle of last century, a card from my grandma Esther’s neighbor, one Gal Mignone, who brought it over along with baked goods upon the occasion of my birth.

Generations come and generations go. The tea set is a visible sign of the more mysterious unbroken chain of mitochondrial DNA passed on for at least nine generations, mother to daughter. Nine generations, about 200 years. As as I look at it’s beauty and marvel at its age, I wonder what the life of the new Princess Heiress of the Tea Set will bring. I can expect to see her daughter, the 10th heiress born to the Tea Set sometime around 2035, but it would to take great luck to see that woman’s daughter born to it somewhere around my 100th birthday. And beyond that, I will not have even a glimpse of those girls.

I wonder, though, what perils and wonders will the keepers of the tea set see beyond my lifetime, in the generations of the tea set, the 11th, the 12th and the luck 13th, who will be born somewhere around the turn of the 22nd century.

In the meantime, I am the keeper of the tea set, holding it in trust not only for my daughter, but for my granddaughter, who sleeps contentedly in her mother’s arms, protected under the roof of her doting father’s house. She is such a tiny little girl, but she bears a big name and an even bigger inheritance.

May this little one grow great! May she in her time bequeath life and beauty to the generations who will come after her. And may she in her turn relinquish the tea set to her daughter, and her daughter’s daughter, in the great chain of life.

Ron Paul and His Personality Cultists

In the past few days, we have seen another go around with the Ron Paul Cultists at a New Mexico FB page for libertarian discussion. On this page as elsewhere, posts and discussions about Ron Paul’s candidacy for the GOP nomination, and the recently rediscovered baggage he has have been topics for discussion. There are those libertarians who have decided to support Ron Paul despite the anti-libertarian claims made by a ghostwriter in his newsletters and reports, because of his libertarian stance on economic issues. Others won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole because they don’t like the moral and character implications of the openly anti-Semitic and racist rhetoric of some of his followers, as well as the weak excuses given for the newsletter debacle.

For the record, I do not and will never support a candidate who tolerates the kind of ubiquitous and open anti-Semitism that can be found on every Ron Paul chat, discussion board and forum that I have seen. The ideology to be found there is profoundly anti-libertarian in its nature, and reveals a darkness that surrounds the Ron Paul Campaign. That Ron Paul has not had the political acumen nor the moral decency to confront the vocal anti-Semites and racists among his followers does not speak well for his leadership ability and makes me wonder about what he really believes. Since he has been recorded saying that “Israel is more trouble than it is worth” and that Gaza is one big “concentration camp”, I have good reason to suspect that Ron Paul agrees with his followers’ anti-Semitic ideology in substance, even if he does not match them in meanness of spirit.

For these reasons, I dropped any support of Ron Paul and any organization—such as Campaign for Liberty—as soon as I became concerned about what I was reading and found the newsletter story and other corroborating evidence both on and off the internet. My letter withdrawing from Campaign for Liberty can be found here. In it, I detail my concern about the anti-Semitism, the fallacies of thinking that it reveals, and the fact that Ron Paul has never meaningfully addressed the issue with his supporters and followers or those of us who had supported him until we found this darkness in the middle of his campaign.

Since that day in 2010 when I formally renounced any connection to Ron Paul and his associates, I have also stated my concerns about his Presidential Campaign, because I don’t think that a man who cannot—at minimum—confront the brownshirts among his followers should be elected President of the United States. That certain of his followers behave like brownshirts is painfully obvious to anyone who frequents Ron Paul Meet-Ups, message boards and chatrooms. For those who do not, the C-PAC 2011 conference was a major wake-up call. Although Ron Paul did not participate in the thuggery that included shouting down scheduled speakers and the anti-Semitic harassment of David Horowitz’s Freedom Center displays, neither did he censure the behavior or admonish those over whom he has a tremendous amount of influence for their behavior.

Yesterday, in response to a post at the libertarian FB site by a conservative who is equally dismayed by the tactics of these Ron Paul followers, I posted a short essay explaining the reasons that I do not think Ron Paul will win the GOP nomination. Those reasons include the way the GOP establishment has worked to disenfranchise the conservatives and tea-party voters, as well as the fact that the largest opposition block to the GOP establishment are conservatives who do not like Ron Paul’s foreign policy stands and his abandonment of Israel. The whole post with comments can be found here, for those who wish to see the whole argument.

Although my post dealt with a political argument, and only mentioned the issue of the newsletters and the rampant anti-Semitism of many Paul followers in that context, I was immediately called a “bigot” by another commenter who is a Ron Paul follower, and has made outright anti-Semitic claims on the same forum. This man, who writes on this public forum as Gene Crouch (which I believe is his real name) has stated that he believes that “the Jews control the media” in the US, and that “the Jews” control the banks. When challenged on this, he maintained his statement, claiming that his “research” had shown this to be true, although he provided no evidence at all. Gene almost immediately altered his comment, taking out the line “bigot” and replacing it with “negative and close-minded (sic)”, which does not substantially change anything.

What I find most interesting about Gene’s approach is that it is similar in both form and substance to the way that a great number of Ron Paul fans respond to any criticism of their hero. Whether on an internet forum or chat, or calling in to a live radio talk show, certain phrases and accusations have become so common as to identify the source as a Ron Paul follower (Listen, for example, to this caller accusing Glenn Beck of being in the pay of Israel). It is almost as if, when they hear or read a certain phrase opposing Ron Paul, they immediately stop thinking and pull out Talking Point No. 3. Or No. 5 or No.7.

Further, few of them know or understand anything about the origin of the ideologies they are espousing, and insist on calling themselves ‘libertarians’ while spouting on cue extremely anti-libertarian positions. To state that “the Jews” control the banks and the media is not only anti-Semitic, but it is deeply anti-Capitalist, indicating that the intellectual fathers of what many have taken to calling the “Paul-bots”, are not particularly libertarian in their thought. Capitalism demands that individuals be treated as individuals, relying as it does on the Enlightenment values of individual rights and personal responsibility.

This ideology that “the Jews” want to control the world is the classic European anti-Semitic trope, straight out of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a Russian forgery that was extensively used by the Nazis. (Show me your intellectual roots and I will show you your future). The Nazis were, in turn, the intellectual mentors to the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, and these libels and their unforgettably anti-Capitalist images spread into and were then fused with a more traditional Islamic Jew-hate taught in the Koran and Hadiths. Further, the use of collective language (esp.'the Jews') by Paul followers like Gene, also demonstrates a collectivist world-view in which individuals are characterized and made responsible for the purported actions of others who happen to share the same religion or race.

Modern anti-Semitism is itself racist, implying that all Jews have certain ethical and moral characteristics that are unique to them as a group, a "taint in the blood" as it were. This predates the Nazis, but not by much, and does come out of a peculiar race theory that has no scientific basis. (The genetic differences among the so-called “races” are miniscule and the phenotypes vary as much, if not more, within each population as they do across them). We are seeing similar attacks on the religion of the Catholic Rick Santorum and the Mormon Mitt Romney. Both are accused of belonging to religious organizations that are claimed to have conspired to achieve world domination. However, there is no racist implication in these religious prejudices. (That anti-Semitism, among all of the hatreds based on religion, is uniquely based on racist ideology may be because there is no central Jewish organization that can be pointed to in the way that the Catholic and Mormon churches have been. So for the tin-foil-hat and black-helicopter set, it’s got to be “them Joos” who aspire to dominate them, because they certainly cannot be responsible for their own predicaments). Regardless, both ideologies— whether race or religious affiliation based—are nefarious, focusing as they do on collectives and prejudging individuals based on the standard creed (and often a twisted version thereof) of their religion and on family histories instead of on their ideas and positions. And religious anti-Catholicism/anti-Mormonism, and racist anti-Semitism are often found espoused by the same people.

What is really indicative that Ron Paul has inspired a personality cult, however, is the knee-jerk response of personal attack against anyone who puts out an argument about the political fortunes and future of their hero. Such an argument is not a personal attack, and in fact, invites a discussion of argument/counter-argument. Such a discussion can result in winning friends and influencing people to vote for one’s chosen candidate. But that does not seem to be the desire of the Ron Paul true-believers: their first response is almost always a personal attack, which will do the opposite, whether that is their calculated intent or not.

In this example, by putting forth a strictly political argument, which is well in the mainstream of normal discourse and was not in any way an attack, I was called a bigot. My guess is that if I had put forth that same argument about one of the other GOP candidates, Paul-bots would not protest, and would in fact pile-on, reviling those candidates beyond what is necessary in a political discussion. In fact, I have seen Ron Paul followers do exactly that. But in any discussion in which someone does indicate a shared true-believer-in-Ron-Paul status, they revel in baseless conspiracy theories used to demonize Ron Paul's political opponents. At the same time, though, they ignore and/or excuse any flaw in Ron Paul himself.

Rational Ron Paul supporters do not act this way. Rather, they indicate by their arguments that they recognize Ron Paul as a human being who is not the perfect answer to their concerns, but who addresses the majority of them or the most important among them. They do notice the areas where they do not agree, but they do not think they are as important as those with which they do agree.

Unfortunately, the number of rational Ron Paul supporters that I know and have experienced is small. In my circles, it appears to be growing smaller as more and more people discover for themselves how ubiquitous and nasty the racist/anti-Semitic rhetoric in the Paul movement has become, and how divorced from reality the conspiracy mongering is. The intellectual bankruptcy of the Ron Paul Cult makes it difficult to have any honest discussion about Ron Paul’s qualifications to be President of the United States, and still come away differing on the issues, but with a sense of perspective and respect. (I find this similar to the rhetoric among certain left-leaning Democrats, but they elevate the whole socialist/collectivist ideology to messiah status, rather than a person).

I think Ron Paul’s unwillingness to address his cultists and their libels is the greatest reason why, in the end, there can be no discussion or dialogue. I cannot respect or tolerate the kind of discourse that is common in the Paul camp, and my respect for those who continue to support him is diminishing rapidly, as I watch them excuse outright racism and anti-Semitism, twisting their own values into pretzels in order to refrain from directly confronting it. I cannot understand it. Rational people ought to be able to disagree, and Americans who want to restore our liberty ought to put values and principles above personalities.

Ron Paul could have chosen to nip this all in the bud without making any excuses, by simply disavowing the ideologies and confronting his personality cultist followers. But he did not.

That Ron Paul has not done so is a massive character flaw. Apparently, he likes the role of "messiah." That he excuses such behavior rather than calling it into account indicates a lack of leadership ability, if not something worse. After four years of a personality-cultist Chief Executive who is long on rhetoric and short on the ability to execute, I think the last thing the United States needs is another of the same from a different party.