The Casual Blog

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February 27, 2010

War and the unfortunate killers (our children)

We should recognize that the young people we send to foreign lands to kill others on our behalf pay a terrible price.  Killing, even when sanctioned by governments and rules of war, typically leaves soldiers with chronic problems of depression, anxiety, and self-loathing.  They are prone to substance abuse and suicide.  The individuals soldiers themselves often assume these problems are due to their own weakness of character.  At any rate, they seldom care to discuss this issue, and their psychological injuries from their wartime actions is not a popular media subject.

It isn’t surprising that this subject doesn’t get much airplay.  In military recruiting commercials, soldiering is shown as a chance to prove oneself, gain respect, and serve one’s country for the greater good.  Battle is depicted as an adventure, with incredibly powerful weapons.   The meta message is that battle is ennobling, socially beneficial, and also a lot of fun.  Hollywood and major media are complicit in amplifying this message.  Exploding the myths and making clear that killing in battle leaves soldiers permanently scarred would be highly detrimental to recruiting.

Every now and again, the NY Time has  piece about the trauma suffered by veterans who’ve done what they were trained to do.  Last week, it ran an op ed piece titled Distant Wars, Constant Ghosts by Shannon P. Meehan, an Army lieutenant who served in Iraq.  http://tiny.cc/zc2AP Meehan described her rage and self-loathing after calling in an air strike that resulted in several civilian deaths.  She explained that the killing caused soldiers to lose regard for human life, including their own lives.

The NY Times also had a story this month on increasing recognition that veterans who killed in battle suffer post traumatic stress and a variety of psychological problems. _ http://tiny.cc/7Mchz The piece focussed on the difficulty of getting therapy for these soldiers, who are often unwilling to discuss their problems or seek help.  We do need to work hard to help these veterans, who are themselves victims of war.

But we also need to address the larger problem of reducing the incidence of war and politically motivated killing.   I realize that sounds sort of obvious, and at time a bit utopian.  To be sure, universal peace is probably an unrealistic goal.  But what if we tried to have just a little less killing?  Wouldn’t most agree that that would be good?

Here’s a thought experiment:  for every death we administer or suffer, what if we asked, is this act achieving a clear objective worth the terrible cost to all the victims?   We need to devote scholarly effort to study of  the best alternatives to violent conflict.  We need to have some difficult conversations on this subject.  And to sustain us in this effort, we need to learn at an emotional level what war really means.  I highly recommend as one source  the sublime poetry of Wilfred Owen, who wrote about the battlefield experience in WWI.  http://tiny.cc/xypcN Owen died at age 25 one week before the end of the war.

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January 10, 2010

Frontiers of Terrorist Sociology

Why do individuals agree to strap on a bomb and blow themselves and others up?   The rhetoric of the “War on Terror” suggests that individual terrorists are soldiers, but such calculated self-destruction is not typical military behavior.  Indeed, it is so far outside the norms of any behavior I’ve encountered that it seems completely insane.  Yet it also seems increasingly commonplace.  A piece by Sarah Kershaw in today’s NY Times takes a quick survey of the state of research on this question.  http://tiny.cc/awmDM

No matter how much hatred an individual feels, it is difficult to explain the decision to kill unknown strangers and oneself.  The most intriguing perspective, I thought, was thinking of the terrorist less as an individual and more as part of a radical group.  The group’s self isolation allows for increasing radicalization.  The individual feels social pressure to conform to the group consensus.  Being part of the group allays feelings of loneliness and worthlessness.  A prospective bomber gains status once the decision made.  At the same time, the prospect of loss of face discourages changing one’s mind.

It was encouraging to learn that some radical terrorist recruits leave their organizations when they find the reality of  life in the groups is harsh and boring.  What can we do to stop creating more terrorists and get more of them to leave?

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December 31, 2009

Jocelyn’s latest epic journey

Last Saturday with much of the mid-section of the U.S. still in the grips of a devastating storm, Jocelyn, a new graduate of NCSU, loaded up the car with all her indefensible possessions and headed for Telluride, Colorado to start the next phase of her life.  She’d made the 30-plus hour drive to Telluride twice before, but never in the face of a storm.  We conferred on how to evaluate the danger and contingency planning, and then, with trepidation, I wished her good luck.  Sally and I left for our flight to Telluride a couple of hours before Jocelyn left, with our own travel anxieties, and no great confidence that our flight would either get into or out of Chicago.

Chicago was snowy, and the de-icing procedure was prolonged, but our flight made it, as did all of our luggage except for my skis.  Jocelyn and her friend Britt reported in every few hours that skies and roads were clear and they were steaming ahead. I tried to convey confidence and good cheer, and not to think of the many hazards of the road.  At about the halfway point, she reported that she’d arranged for a place to live located near the gondola in Telluride.

It was of course a sweet relief when she finally arrived Monday afternoon.  She and Britt, after little sleep and minimal food, were amazingly cheerful.  We went to a Mexican place for dinner and had margaritas, burritos, and a few too many corn chips.  Jocelyn said she would be seeing friends, renting skis, and starting the job hunt the next day.  My beautiful daughter is on her way.

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December 25, 2009

An Xmas Carol

As a nonbeliever, I feel a deep ambivalence about Christmas.  The customs and traditions are strongly evocative of a many happy episodes in my childhood — longed-for toys, rich food, friendship and love.  But it also evokes memories and feeling of sadness and loss for loved ones now gone, who were integral to those early years.

And I’m deeply ambivalent at the sweet and absurd idea of Santa Claus.  The red felt suit, the jolliness, the limitless generosity are all great ideas.  But even now, I feel a slight bitterness and chagrin that my normally reliable and credible parents, when I put the “Is he really real?” question  to them squarely, gave some type of yes and set me up to make a fool of myself in defending the existence of Santa to the neighborhood kids.  I trusted them to tell the truth!  There may be, as recent studies suggest, some value in Santa for developing children’s imaginative powers.  But for me, even years later, there was a cost in terms of injured trust.  My Mom’s solution was to let me read the old chestnut Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus, which proposes to escape the problem of no Santa by redefining Santa as the Christmas spirit.  Really?

I know I’m not the only one with complicated feelings about Christmas.  Some love the shopping and the happy surprises, some love the story of the baby Jesus, some love being with family.  With all the pain and confusion in the world, I have no wish to add to the store without good reason.  I usually keep a low profile about my own irreligion, and especially so at Christmas time, when it seems that Christian beliefs are  for many on balance a source of joy.  But I don’t like flying under false colors, and I feel less than forthright when I say Merry Christmas.  There’s no problem with “merry,” but I don’t care to suggest I’m on board with the Christ part.  I usually go with “happy holidays” or something like that, but really, that just doesn’t sound as happy.  Yet another problem with no good solution.

Still, yesterday, after playing some really rich and beautiful music of Debussy, I found myself digging through the bottom of the music pile for my rarely used Xmas sheet music, and without any particular internal discussion I was soon playing through some favorite carols of my youth:  Angels We have Heard on High, Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Come All Ye Faithful, Joy to the World, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and the Chipmunk Song.  It was a bit like Proust’s madeleine:  memories of family gatherings caroling, happy shopping, beginner band concerts, presents, vacations from schoolwork, trips to see grandparents, fresh smelling decorated trees, wrapping presents, and houses smelling of fresh-baked cookies hit me all at once.  I felt the pure childlike joy of Christmas.

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December 24, 2009

A scuba voyage of discovery

Sally and I got back late last night from a four-day trip to Ambergris Caye, Belize.  We accomplished our primary objective of scuba diving the beautiful coral reefs, and had several unexpected pleasures in addition.

Travel consumes a lot of physical and emotional resources.  Even when things are going well, they may at any moment suddenly stop going well and require swift and decisive action.  There are many ups and downs. I’ve gradually refined by baseline holiday travel model, so I usually remember to bring the essentials, anticipate the common annoyances, avoid the greatest risk of infectious diseases, and leave reasonable space for some relaxation and reflection.  Especially when travelling, I love my iPod and noise-canceling headphones.  Lately on the road, I’ve been listening to Mozart operas, which I find at once nourishing, comforting, and exhilarating, and I’m happy to have the time to listen.  I always carry at least a couple of books, and appreciate a chunk of uninterrupted time for reading.  But it isn’t completely relaxing; there’s always some residual vigilance.  I generally notice if the plane, or another passenger, starts making strange noises.  I always note the location of the nearest exit.

We flew from Belize City to Ambergris Caye in a single-engine plane in which I was able to read the pilot’s instruments (we flew at 2100 feet).  We stayed at the Mayan Princess, a clean, unfancy, and convenient hotel in San Pedro, a bustling little town with hotels, restaurants and bars along a narrow beach.  San Pedro has an interesting stew of cultures — Hispanic, English, Indian, West Indian, creole, and of course tourists from all over.  At first, I thought that everyone who greeted us in a friendly manner was hustling to sell something, but I soon figured out that that many people were just being friendly (though others were hustling).  The streets were narrow with few sidewalks, and at times we had to dodge heavy traffic of golf carts and minivan cabs.  We saw more people who seemed to be working for a living than we did tourists.  As Sally observed, the local vibe was very casual.  All the men’s shirt  tails were out.  The buildings were bright but many could have used a new coat of paint.  Over all, it seemed a little down at the heels, but full of life.

We did all our diving with Amigos del Mar, which was located about 50 yards from our room.  On the first and last diving days, we did short boat trips to local reef hot spots.  They did not disappoint.  The coral was abundant and varied, and the wall and canyon topography was fascinating.  We saw several nurse sharks at close hand, and at one point were in the midst of a dozen of them in a feeding frenzy.  Like many people, from long socialization I’ve inherited some fear of sharks, but very quickly I felt comfortable with the sharks swimming close enough to touch.  They seemed curious about us.  I suspect part of the explanation is that some dive operators feed them.   At least these particular sharks seemed a lot like our cats, except much bigger and with more teeth.  We also saw swimming green moray eels, sting rays, barricudas, a scorpion fish, and many gorgeous smaller species.  We also encountered a couple of lionfish, which are poisonous and highly destructive, and which our guide captured.

Our biggest adventure was a trip to the Blue Hole, a circular reef formation that is about 60 miles from Ambergris Caye.  On the trip out, it was drizzly and windy, and the seas were very choppy.  It was even choppier coming back, and we were wet.  All told, we had around 8 tough hours on the water.   We did not get sick, though others were not so fortunate.

The main draw of the Blue Hole is stalactite formations, which are about 130 feet down.  There was not much except the divers swimming at that depth.  We had better luck seeing fish at 60-80 feet at Half Moon Caye and West Point Wall at Long Caye.  At lunch time, we also visited an observation deck at tree top level where there were hundreds of roosting magnificent frigatebird pairs, with males displaying enormous bright red inflatable throats.  There were also many roosting red-footed boobies.

At dinner after the Blue Hole trip, I asked Sally to explain how it is possible that some people do not care for scuba diving.  Her theory was that it does not suffice simply to have a love of nature, the absence of certain phobias, and a modicum of courage.  As she said, you have to be a trooper.  Put another way, you must have some fortitude.  I suddenly realized that fortitude is a necessary but seldom discussed virtue that makes scuba, and other adventures, possible, and makes them richer.  WIthout fortitude, a significant part of the experience could be counted as unfun.  But developing and exercising fortitude is part of the satisfaction of the thing.

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December 6, 2009

The China Study Shows Why We Should Eat Plants

Anyone who is interested in health and nutrition should read The China Study by T. Colin Campbell and Thomas M. Campbell.  http://tiny.cc/rnQye The Campbells bring good news and bad news.  The good news is that by changing our diet, we can dramatically improve our risk profile for the deadliest diseases in the developed world.  The bad news is that if we continue eating a normal American diet, we will continue to increase our risk of cancer, heart disease, obesity, and other killers.

The basic message of The China Study is simple:  a plant-based diet is much healthier than an animal-based diet.  The book backs up this claim with abundant scientific research.  The China study of the title was a huge epidemiological study of diet and health, but a number of other studies cited.  What is striking is the coherence of the results over time and different populations.  There is massive support for the proposition that eating animals and their products as food is bad for us.

Admittedly, as a vegetarian I was particularly open to this message, but my reasons for adopting this diet were primarily ethical rather than nutritional.  If the Campbells are right about the science, and we want to take reasonably good care of our health, we need to find a way to quit eating animal-based food.

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October 25, 2009

Human beings in our prisons

The Raleigh News & Observer’s headlines for the past few days have blared the news that several dangerous persons in the state’s prison system are about to be released.  I ignored the story initially, on the theory that this surely happens every day without devastating consequences.  Prisoners serve their time, and they get out.  It’s very common.

Thinking about prisons and prisoners is painful, and it’s easy not to think about them.  They’re usually well out of sight.  I drive past Central Prison on the way to work every day, but I barely see it, because it’s unsightly and I’ve gotten in the habit of looking the other way.  But the N&O stories reminded me that we need to deal with a terrible situation.

Imprisonment as we in the U.S. now practice it is in many cases horrific for the prisoners and it’s hard to say if it makes us any safer.  It locks away some dangerous people, but it also creates more dangerous people. We lock people up for years in dehumanizing conditions, which has a tendency to make people angry and violent, then let them out.  Many then commit more crimes, so we send them back to prison, and repeat the cycle.  Multiply this by millions.

Depressing as it is, it’s even worse that our governor and our newspaper are seeking to whip people into a frenzy about particular convicted criminals getting out.  The particular circumstances relate to a new case interpreting the meaning of  a “life sentence.”   For a lot of years in many places, it didn’t mean “till the prisoner died.”  The North Carolina courts found it didn’t mean that for these prisoners, but rather meant 80 years minus good behavior time.  So a group of felons who’ve served at least 40 years are due to get out.

The problem is similar to Guantanamo, where even after we admitted what we did was wrong, we’ve got a problem with outplacement of the prisoners.  They may not have been dangerous when they went in, but in whatever case, they’re likely to be more dangerous having spent years with fellow prisoners who are violent jihadists for their only friends.

In terms of human misery, the U.S. prison system is enormous.  We’re at or near the top in per capita rates of imprisonment.  We have no concept of what we’re trying to accomplish other than punishment.

We need to reserve our prisons for the truly dangerous.  And we need to treat those people humanely to see if we can help them become less violent.  It doesn’t matter whether you argue the point in terms of human rights or pure self interest — the result is the same.  But we’d feel more like decent human beings if we got rolled up our sleeves and got to work on this.

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October 17, 2009

Returning to swimming

Swimming has always seemed to me  like it should be easier and more fun. Our distant ancestors were all water creatures, and our bodies are mostly water, so it seems like something we’d enjoy naturally.  Immersion in a different element is naturally exciting.  Water does all kinds of interesting things, and splashing in it is fun.  But actually traveling under human power for any distance is hard.  I find it much more difficult than running.  Also, it evokes in a small way a primal fear (drowning).

I first took swimming lessons at age 9 at a YMCA.  Initially, and in retrospect, it seemed strange that they required the little boys to take the class naked.  The stated explanation for this was that it was for hygienic reasons.  More likely, of course, it was a matter of some adult pedophiles getting a thrill.  At any rate, I was never molested and had no lasting ill effects.  I was initially successful in the class, and won the prize for holding my breath under water the longest.  But moving from one end of the pool to the other was hard.  Our graduation ceremony involved swimming the crawl up and back for our assembled families (with suits, despite the possible risk to health).  I hit the exhaustion/panic wall on the last (that is, the second) length and had to get towed out with the long handled hook.  It was an embarrassing disappointment.

But I did not give up.  I participated in the swim team at our pool at age 13.  The practices were exhausting, but it was good to be with other kids and talk to girls.  I’m confident I never won a race,  but I believe I collected at least one ribbon for third place in the breaststroke.

The next summer, at Boy Scout camp, I obtained the swimming merit badge and undertook the mile swim with my friends Jimmy and Don.  The mile was across the Raven’s Knob lake and back, and was done with a row boat escort.  Jimmy and Don quickly determined that we could possibly set a new camp record, and we began to pass other groups and their boats.  Unfortunately, I hit the wall again, and had to limp along with some side stroking to regroup.  We didn’t set a record.  I’ve always felt I let the team down on that one.

Perhaps that feeling of a job undone was always in the back of my mind.  Certainly I’ve always believed that swimming was a healthy exercise, with low risk to the joints and large benefits to the cardiovascular system.  Last January I decided to take the plunge and do some regular swimming in the pool at Lifetime Fitness in Cary.  I quickly discovered that it was every bit as exhausting as I remembered.  My heart felt quickly reached the red zone.  I set a goal of swimming a mile.  Two or three times a week I got up at 5:30 a.m., headed to the pool, and pushed ahead.

This summer I observed a group of master’s swimmers at the pool being coached by a young fellow who seemed both knowledgeable and pleasant, and I asked him if he’d give me some private instruction.  He agreed, and ultimately I took four lessons.  It was a good move.  There are definitely better and worse ways to move through the water.  I learned some better ones.  It didn’t suddenly become easy, but it was definitely more pleasant.

My coach advised the following approach to the 1500:  25 meters (one length) and 5 seconds rest, 50 meters and 10 seconds rest, 75 and 15 seconds, 100 and 20 seconds, 125 and 25 seconds, 100 and 20 seconds, 7 and 15 seconds, 50 and 10 seconds 25 and 5 seconds, and repeat till finished.  It worked.  Last week I set a personal best for 1500 meters of 33:07.

I’ve had a small taste of the satisfaction of greater efficiency and grace in the water, but it’s still true for me that the best thing about a hard swim is the aftermath.   The endorphins are terrific.  It feels good.

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October 4, 2009

Celebrating completion of the Bilski brief with interesting drinks

Last week I finished and filed an amicus brief in the Supreme Court for Red Hat in the Bilski case.  The case concerns a difficult line drawing issue in patent law:  the line between a process that is patentable and one that is not.  The Red Hat brief argues that patents on software hinder innovation.   We challenge conventional wisdom on patents in a way that I hope is provocative.  Anyhow, I think it says some things worth saying.  Here is is:  http://tiny.cc/e8XvW

Filing a Supreme Court brief feels a bit different from other projects.  There’s a sense of being a participant in history, of possibly leaving a footprint in the sands of time.  It took a lot of effort to get the thing done, and most of that effort had to be exerted in addition to my normal work routine.  In the end, it happened mostly at night and on weekends.

Sal and I celebrated last night by doing a neighborhood pub crawl and dinner.  We started at Foundation, a tiny, downstairs bar on Fayetteville Street that features handcrafted martinis and has nothing but American ingredients.  There appeared to be at least three dozen types of bourbon, of which Sal tried one.  I tried a cocktail involving moonshine and sparkling wine.  It sounded more interesting than it actually was, but it was worth a try.  We had dinner at Dos Taquitos, where we had fantastic pure agave margaritas.  Afterwards, we stopped by the Busy Bee, where the crowd was mostly young and hip.  Then we walked over to Glenwood and went in Amras.

We were surprised to find an older crowd there, and a band playing hits of the 70s.  It was good to see people with more gray hair who were still having some fun.  Some even danced.  The crowd as Busy Bee was, of course, more attractive, as young people usually are.

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September 26, 2009

Death is the mother of beauty

Wallace Stevens writes, “Death is the mother of beauty.”  The line, read in context in the great poem Sunday Morning, is dense with meaning.  I’ve pulled it from its context (sorry, Wallace)  to illustrate the difficulty of thinking and talking about death.  Doesn’t just saying the line make you feel strange?   Think of saying it to a group of friends.  A conversation killer, for sure.  The point is, it’s hard to talk seriously about death.  Bringing up the subject in polite conversation is generally taboo.  If you insist, you may be viewed as lacking in good taste, morbid, or depressed.

Artists are given special license to deal with death.  Where would art be without it?   Count the crucifixions in the Metropolitan Museum.  Or the great books, plays, and operas in which death is the central event.  And death is very common.   As Lenny Bruce famously said, we’re all gonna die!

It is kind of funny that death is so ordinary and so frightening at the same time, but not laugh out loud funny.  For most of us, death is scary.  In fact, terrifying.  It serves to define the ultimate in fear:  to be frightened to death.  It’s emotional in other ways, too.  To think of the death of someone else causes feelings to sadness or despair.  Death is not to be trifled with.

Even so, avoidance is not the best strategy.   Not thinking about it will not make the problem go away.   Not talking about it will not help anything.  We need to deal with death like grown ups.

The current health care debate provides a case in point.  Right wing opponents of reform cleverly started a false rumor that reform would make euthanasia official policy.  This outrageous and on its face absurd, lie set off a huge panic reaction.  The reaction suggests how hard it will be to address the real problem of our spending enormous sums to put off death when it is inevitable and the amounts spent yield nothing in terms of quality of life.

I was happy to see that last week Newsweek had a cover story entitled “The Case for Killing Granny:  Curbing Excessive End-of-Life Care is Good for America.”  It is possible to discuss this issue and to make good choices.  It is possible to be sensible and courageous.  Both my parents, when confronting terminal illnesses, thoughtfully and courageously refused low-probability-of-success treatments.   Others have done likewise.  Maybe good sense and strength will increase and spread.  One can always hope.

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