Ephemera

Taken and The Mortgage Crisis

2011-11-10T15:24:00.000-08:00

I was sitting at home this evening and watching TV - something that I do a little too frequently these days - when I noticed that Taken, Luc Besson and Robert Mark Kamen's utterly satisfying film, was playing on FX. Let me pause and admit that I have become, over the last few years, an unashamed fan of action movies. For whatever mysterious reason I find that predictable plot lines and gratuitous pyrotechnics soothe me, no matter how badly executed they may be (perhaps this is an appropriate time to admit that I have seen Prince of Persia: Sands of Time...and didn't really regret it). I generally don't pay close attention to action movies while watching them, and yet, they heavily reward my periodic glances. That being said, among the general category of action movies there are those that do actually deserve close attention, and I think that Taken is an example of this small subset.

The first time that I had the pleasure of watching Liam Neeson tear Paris apart in the search for his daughter, I was sitting in Pittsburgh's Schenley Park. Admittedly, my recollection of that viewing is a little clouded thanks to the brandy fortified red wine that was, inexplicably, my summer drink of choice (ah, 2009...), but subsequent opportunities afforded by cable television have allowed me to fill in the blanks. To summarize: in the film, Liam Neeson plays a retired CIA operative who is utterly devoted to his daughter. Patriotic, self-reliant, ruggedly handsome and a family man - how can you not root for this guy?! Liam's daughter goes on a vacation to Paris with a friend, and they end up being kidnapped and shuttled into a hellish underworld of drugs, prostitution and cliched eastern European villains. Liam jets to Paris and uses what appears to be the stamina and skill of a UFC champion combined with an uncanny ability to dodge bullets to ensure that the baddies reap what they have sown. I hardly need to point out that Taken's moral universe verges on the Manichean, which is exactly what makes it so gratifying. There is no nuance to good and bad, which is why things that might appear brutal in other films (e.g. a jerry-rigged electric chair where the current is conducted through a pair of nails that also serve to secure the victim) seem like prudent justice, and why the (do I even need to write spoiler alert here?) absolutely predictable ending is still so, so excellent.

To my mind, the most interesting aspect of the ethical world presented in Taken is precisely who falls on the wrong side of the tracks, and why they've landed there. Aside from the stock Euro peons and an Arab sheikh who represents the ultimate source of mammon, there are two notable villains. The first is Jean-Claude, Liam's French counterpart and an old friend from the Cold War. No longer a field agent, he now collects bribes and lets the Albanians do what they want. The second is Saint-Clair, the organizer of a high class auction - one that traffics in beautiful young women. These men are not simply thugs, nor are they evil in the same banal way as Arendt's Eichmann. They recognize that what they do is wrong; they're simply able to justify it to themselves with a higher purpose: a perverted form of pietas (familial devotion). Jean-Claude rationalizes his corruption by arguing that he uses his ill-gotten cash to care for his family. In fact, the only way in which Neeson is finally able to bend Jean-Claude to his will is by threatening Mrs. Jean-Claude's life. The audience's view of Saint-Clair's motivation is not so clear, as he is only alive for approximately 227 seconds, but within that brief time we are informed that he has two children, and that he views his auction as a business, nothing more. Ironically, pietas is the same value that fuels Liam's bonfire of retribution. Really, the flaw that marks Jean-Claude and Saint-Clair as evil is their selfish inability to consider the consequences of their actions (and hence, alter their behavior) in the course of their pursuit of money.

I think that to anyone who hasn't lived underground for the last three years this sounds very familiar. It serves as an analogy (intended or not) with financial professionals who, while angling for a slice of the good life (the good life being a Rolls Royce, yacht, helicopter, Learjet, hoverboat, etc.), sunk the economy. My best evidence for this comparison is an exchange between Saint-Clair and Neeson:

SAINT-CLAIR : You must understand, it was just business!

NEESON : It was all personal to me.

What two line dialogue could better encapsulate the economic turmoil of the last few years?! As many accounts have detailed (I am largely indebted to Michael Lewis' The Big Short and Charles Ferguson's Inside Job) the mortgage crisis was built upon irresponsible and foolish financial behavior - behavior that was incentivized by the unholy amount of cash that the people working mortgage desks could make. Before it became clear that many of the mortgages were rotten, traders at large banks bought billions of dollars worth of them. After it became clear, those same traders started hedging and salesmen at the same banks began to push the mortgages onto less savvy consumers. Not only did the mere whiff of lucre associated with mortgage backed securities, collateralized debt obligations repackaging those securities and credit default swaps betting against those CDOs blind people to the responsibility that they had to assess the real value of financial instruments, it obfuscated the deeper implications of the market’s movements: the effect that business had on the personal lives of millions of Americans. Despite the fact that many of us never chose to invest in mortgages or decided to take out NINJA ("no income, no job, no assets" - a short hand description of the borrower) loans for ourselves, we have all felt the effects of the economic downturn, whether they are manifested through the job market, diminished government programs, poor stock performance or frozen salaries and cut hours.

It would be nice if we could watch the demise of financial institutions like Lehman Brothers, Bear Stearns, Merrill Lynch, Countrywide Financial and MF Global[1] with the same glee that Taken inspires in me, or at least some measure of schadenfreude. The truth is though, that, like it or not, our lives are all dramatically affected by what happens on the floors of stock markets across the world, on the desks of analysts in midtown Manhattan, on the screens of traders in bright, fluorescent offices.

If I may simultaneously paraphrase John Donne, and twist his words to my own ends: next time you walk by the NYSE, "never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

[1] Not of the same set, I know, but, in my opinion, just as blameworthy for being lax with customers' money and taking a highly leveraged, risky position.

Americorps Speech

2011-08-12T12:59:00.001-07:00

A version of the speech I gave at my "graduation" this August:

Congratulations! How y'all doing this morning?

It's funny to be back in this same room, 11 months later, having finished our
year of service. To be honest, I thought that our last "graduation" - the
swearing in and pin ceremony - was a little premature. It didn't seem that
there was too much to celebrate, aside from us surviving orientation, which
had consisted mostly of awkward ice breakers and justifying where we were
standing with respect to post-it notes on the walls. That being said, I was
very grateful for all the free lunches.

This graduation feels more deserved. Sometimes, it seems like only
yesterday we were drawing pigs that revealed how good our sex lives were.
But when I remember all the things we’ve done since August – the retreat,
the conference in Pittsburgh, the service projects and, most importantly, the
work we’ve done at our sites, I’m filled with a tremendous sense of
accomplishment. We’ve spent almost an entire year in service of others, and
that is worth being proud of.

Y’all will have to excuse me, I'm about to do something obnoxious. Before
I do it, I ask you to please remember that this is literally the only thing that
my high school Latin is good for.

Graduation comes from gradus, the Latin word for step. When you consider
that graduations can also be called commencements - that is, the start of
something - it is hard not to imagine yourself clambering up a sort of endless
staircase - definitely a depressing image. The interesting thing about the
etymologies of those two words is the focus that they imply. Graduations
and commencements, in the context of school, are all about the graduating
individuals. They’re obsessively concerned with two things, what the
people receiving degrees have done at school - the skills they’ve learned, the
grades they’ve earned, the extracurricular achievements they’ve racked up –
and what the graduates will do once they’ve been released into the world.

As we’re all well aware of by now, Americorps is very different from any
college or high school. We’ve had some member development, but the
organization’s focus is on serving. And so, I, too, would like to focus on the
idea of service – specifically, what we’ve done for others over the course of
these 11 months.

I’d also like to emphasize the best of this year. There are many unpleasant
things that I could speak about: adjusting to two different supervisors,
weathering an audit, switching sites, and the difficulty of holding down two
jobs.

I could speak about those things, but I won’t. The good we’ve done this
year far outweighs the difficulties we’ve encountered and surmounted.

As a secular Jew – a concept that, as I learned the hard way, you should not
try to explain to a proselytizing student – I’m not normally one to quote
religious texts, but I thought it was appropriate here. One of the Talmud’s
most famous passages reads: "Whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he
saved an entire world."

I won’t go so far as to say that we’ve saved lives through our work, but I do
think it’s possible, and maybe even probable, that we’ve changed them.

Brandon, Britni, Catherine, Adrienne and Abby have all provided students
with the knowledge and skills they need to pass the GED test. While
mastering fractions may not help people in their day to day lives, having a
GED can make all the difference when it comes to employment or a
promotion.

Toiling at New Orleans’ public libraries, Gail, Heather and Amy have taught
students how to use computers and the Internet. It’s hard to imagine a more
essential and empowering tool in this age of information.

Meanwhile, at YES in Orleans Parish and Even Start on the Westbank,
Rebekah, Julia, Kimberly, Michelle and Annie have worked to give their
students basic literacy and math skills - abilities that are indispensable in day
to day life.

Finally, there is Anthony, who, while stationed at Urban League College
Track helped to develop the character of the students in his care by
coordinating service projects and teaching a workshop entitled
“Brotherhood.”

Beyond these concrete accomplishments there is something else, which is
just as important. There is value in the act of serving itself, outside of any
quantifiable results. All of our students, even those who haven’t passed the

GED yet, or mastered a Google search, or learned how to sound out two-
syllable words, gained something from our service.

To explain exactly what I mean, I’ll need to tell a short story. During the
summer of 2003, I went on a four-week backpacking trip in Wyoming. One
day, about half-way through the trip, a boy named Chandler started having
difficulty breathing, and our instructors decided that he needed to be
evacuated. Stacy, the lead instructor, took him, along with two other
students (Braden and me) down a dry riverbed to the nearest campsite. Even
with our lightened packs, it was a long 8 mile hike through falling snow.
We reached the campsite by nightfall, and Stacy left to find a phone.
Braden, Chandler and I were sitting miserably by our tent, contemplating our
empty stomachs, when a man approached us. He was the leader of a group
of older teenagers who were camped a few hundred yards away, and he
invited us to come eat dinner with them.

It was such a small thing – black bean soup, twizzlers and companionship –
but it meant the world that night. We were complete strangers without
anything to offer, and yet this man freely gave what hospitality he could. I
cannot remember his name or anything about him, yet I doubt that I’ll ever
forget what he did. On that evening I felt valued simply because I was
another human being, and I also caught a glimpse of the incredible altruistic
kindness that men and women are capable of.

Clearly, feeding a few hungry teenagers one dinner and spending a whole 11
months teaching adults are two very different things, but I think that both
actions carry the same message. Through the act of serving we
communicate to our students that they are worthy of our efforts, and we also
demonstrate the best in human nature.

There is one more thing that I’d like to point out about service. Though
Americorps may have decided to call us ‘volunteers’ in order to justify our
meager living stipend, there is some wisdom in separating what we do from
normal employment. Service can certainly be a career, but at its base it is
action inspired by kindness and empathy. As corny as it may sound, I think
that service is more a way of life than type of work.

So, for those of you who have decided to spend another year with
Americorps, I commend you, and hope that you find it as rewarding as this

one. For those of us who are moving on, I hope that we retain our desire to
serve, and find fruitful outlets for it in the future.

Once again, congratulations.

Fingerprints and the Facade of Science

2010-07-06T09:00:00.000-07:00

While perusing the internet today, I stumbled upon an incredible article in The New Yorker entitled "The Mark of a Masterpiece." Over the course of the piece, a tale unfolds that centers on a man named Peter Paul Biro, who has made a reputation and fortune for himself by authenticating paintings and drawings as the works of famous artists through the analysis of fingerprints that he finds on the work.

More than anything, this story brought to mind the blind reliance that many of us place on science. Biro himself is a sketchy character and his work appears to have little validity, but it is also worth noting that the discipline of fingerprinting itself is not entirely reliable. For one thing, it has never been definitively proven that every human being has a unique fingerprint. No two identical ones have ever been found, but that is a far cry from making the fundamental assumption that every fingerprint is one of a kind (Zabell, 164). Additionally, most fingerprints taken from crime scenes are 'latent prints,' meaning that they are accidental impressions left by friction ridge skin (I'm not entirely sure exactly what that means, I copied it from Wikipedia). The import of this is that most fingerprints are partial, overlapping, smudged or distorted, and that all of these transformations greatly increase the chance of error on the part of the analyst. And indeed, analysts do make mistakes. In a proficiency test designed by the IAI (International Association for Identification) and administered in 1995, 22% of the participants made 'erroneous identifications' (i.e. identified a latent print incorrectly as matching a finger that it did not come from) and only 44% correctly identified every latent print (Zabell, 167 - more reports on the proficiency of fingerprinting analysts can be found here).

Over the course of the article, it becomes clear that Biro's operation is really a simple scam, cloaked in the authenticity of science. Very few of his clients (or critics) have taken the time to actually examine the science of fingerprinting and how he employs it. David Grann, the reporter, writes, "Biro told me that he was now “pushing into the gray areas.” When he first revealed his findings on “La Bella Principessa,” Biro did not use the term “match,” as is standard among law-enforcement analysts, and as he had done in his reports on the paintings owned by Horton and the Parkers; rather, he said that the fingerprint on “La Bella Principessa” and the print on Leonardo’s “St. Jerome” were “highly comparable.”" This stands in stark contrast to how Biro has characterized his work elsewhere ("Biro asserted that he had uncovered the painting’s “forensic provenance,” telling a reporter, “The science of fingerprint identification is a true science. There are no gray areas.”") as well as what the science of fingerprinting aims at: "Science is not just one of several competing, equally valid forms of knowledge. Scientific procedures have evolved, and science is accorded great respect precisely because it is recognized that one can only obtain truly reliable knowledge by using its protocols and practices (Zabell, 152)." At this point, I must take a step back and point out that if some of the world's wealthiest people and most storied cultural institutions cannot take the time or expend the capital to identify bad science and simple fraud, then I don't see what hope there is for the valid use of fingerprint evidence in our criminal justice system, and (even more disturbingly) the sound use of any technology in the future. Admittedly, I must qualify this last statement. It seems to me that fingerprinting is a prime example of a science that promises the truth, particularly in arenas where that truth is hotly contested because of the substantial individual interests that are tied up in it (i.e. in a courtroom life and death hang in the balance, and in the world of international art sums of money that might suffice to purchase small tropical islands are at stake).

Ironically, it seems that science, initially meant as a method and procedure for observing the world and divining its underlying mechanisms, lends itself easily to deception in our modern era. The acronym DNA and other forensic fireworks (all of which we have become accustomed to in the course of watching CSI or Law and Order) appear not as tools for discovery, but instead as magical words that conjure our credulity. One need only conduct a simple Google search in order to find that the same charlatans and snake-oil salesmen who litter human history still exist, only now they mask their miracle panaceas behind the opaque facade of science.

Toy Story 3

2010-07-01T03:19:00.001-07:00

It's been a long time since I last posted - longer than I would like - but between interning with the Michigan State Bar, attempting to tackle my summer reading list (I have finished Insectopedia, and am now working on Memoirs of Hadrian) exploring the UP with Mara and paying a visit to the Stratford Shakespeare Festival I've been quite busy. Beyond that, my mode of living seems to have shifted this summer. Usually I find myself unable to not reflect on my life. At the very least (and I think this is somewhat related - mostly because my tools for self-analysis are directly transported from what I've learned about analyzing texts; a notion that, as I write it, strikes me as slightly disturbing, all the more so because "analysis" derives from the Greek ανα-λυειν, meaning to take up and destroy, which is sometimes what I find my analysis doing to my experience), I'm always looking forward and impatiently anticipating what's coming next. It's the same force that compels a reader in the grip of a thrilling novel to continue reading, no matter how many hours past their bedtime it is (I don't mean to imply that my life is thrilling). This summer has been entirely different though. I find myself much more content to live in the moment and enjoy events simply, without reflecting on them afterwards. None of this is to say that I'm not looking forward to events over the summer (or even in the fall), or that I've been intellectually unengaged. It is tempting to conclude that I'm so content right now that I feel no desire for the future, or need to reflect, but I don't think that's it either. And, as this post itself attests to, that state of mind may be gone already, and so I will never quite suss out what inspired it. Fittingly enough, this current fit of self-examination was brought on by a narrative text (and a masterful one at that): Toy Story 3.

I sat down to watch Toy Story 3 last night with Mara and her mother Janet, a tub of popcorn and box of Junior Mints at the ready (both remained untouched for longer than usual; we had all just consumed generous portions of Italian food). Having read the laudatory Times review and noted what people were saying on Rotten Tomatoes, my expectations were high. And the movie didn't disappoint. I found it whimsical, hilarious, poignant and profound. I won't delve too much into the plot of the film, because that wasn't the interesting part. This movie, more so than the previous two (It's been a while since I've seen them), confronted the question of why toys are meaningful to us. Of course, through a sort of categorical metonymy, toys can be understood to stand in for a certain type of material object: those that had much value in the past, but are no longer quite as loved (I actually think that the film-makers try to cast an even wider net - there is an interesting scene to this effect near the end of the movie where Woody watches on while Andy's mother bids him farewell before he drives off to college).

Almost everyone experiences reluctance when asked to throw out objects from their past, and on the surface it seems a logical response. But I think that it's actually a bizarre reaction. Why do these objects hold value for us? Objectively, old toys have very little value. They're usually beat up and outdated. They have little functional value to older children, who (probably) don't play with toys at all. The meaning, I think, lies in the relationship that these objects have with the past, and the access that they give us to earlier stages of our life. Objects from the past definitely have value as aids to memory. Much in the same way that photos provide us with a portal to the past, even in a physical sense (the light captured through the aperture creates a chemical reaction - a physical process), objects from our past allow us access to what has already happened. While photographs document, old toys strike me much more as totems (I would almost call them magical items) that can be used to summon lost memories and mental states. I think that this status, as an aid to memory, is the basis of our ongoing relationship with old objects that have "personal value." Toy Story 3 presents a picture of our relationship with toys that is much more closely modeled on human relationships and, I would argue, not quite accurate (though certainly necessary in a movie that personifies toys).

One of the greatest anxieties in the film - one that, in real life, is not limited only to toys - is the notion of being replaced. During a noir-style flashback, one toy recalls how, having been accidentally left along the side of the road, he and and his compatriots struggled back to their original owner and found that she had replaced one of them with an exact replica. The toy turns away, disillusioned and heartbroken. I don't think that it's too much of a stretch to read into this scene the concerns of a self-aware consumer culture. How much meaning can objects, and our relationships with them, have if it is all replaceable? Beyond that, if we cede that we define ourselves (partially or totally) through what we buy, what does it say about our conceptions of our own identities if they are constructed out of identical parts? I think that the notion of these objects as aids to memory and physical connections with our past provides a satisfying answer. If that toy had returned to its owner it still would have had value and meaning for her. In that same vein, it is important to note that initially we are the ones who imbue objects with meaning, not vice versa. A purchased object, particularly a toy, seems to me to be always already a subjective object, one that is unique from all others because of what its owner attributes to or connects with it (and the memories and emotions that attach to an object accumulate over time).

Tangentially: having lost my favorite pair of sunglasses, I found them under the pilates machine in Mara's room, and am very happy about it.

A New Summer

2010-06-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

Much like this entire blog, this post is as much self-directed as it is targeted at any hypothetical audience.

Though I've absolutely ignored this blog over the course of the past academic year, I feel that it is essential that I rediscover and utilize it over the course of this coming summer, and through next year. In the pursuit of that ambition, this post serves as an ice-breaker, and a signal of my commitment (on top of all that, I can't sleep).

For my entire life, a prescribed path has been set out before me. Elementary school, high school, college...I was blissfully free to choose what I wanted to do with my summers, but never as free as I am now to choose my direction and occupation in life. To inaugurate this new phase of my life, I've decided to make a renewed commitment to living consciously and actually doing what I tell myself I want to do. This blog is essential in both of those endeavors. The former I feel is self-evident. As for the latter, I've always identified myself as a writer to some extent, though I think that in many ways my tendency to write for pleasure was stifled at Yale. As the year progresses, I hope to use this space as a place where I can entertain any thoughts I have (no matter how outlandish). Perhaps I'll return to fiction or academic writing at some future point, but at this moment I hope to write essays (in Montaigne's sense); delving deep into my own experiences and thoughts in the process.

July 14th - Section 2

2009-07-14T21:29:00.001-07:00

This section of the report is nowhere near complete (I still need to draw parallels with Madrid v. Gomez, Ruiz v. Johnson and Jones 'El v. Berge) but I felt that the sections that I've excerpted from the letters I've received from inmates ought to be put up as soon as possible.

In this section, I’ve decided to let the letters that I’ve received from prisoners speak for themselves. While reading, it is important to keep in mind that the majority, if not all of these reports are credible (if only because of the frequency with which these sorts of things are reported, as well as the fact that conditions like these have been verified as endemic in the correctional institutions of a number of other states[1]), that inmates have a tendency to downplay their own mental health issues,[2] and also that the type of inmate that decisions in Madrid v. Gomez, Ruiz v. Johnson, and Jones 'El v. Berge were primarily concerned with (i.e. inmates with serious mental illness) are the least likely to be able to formulate a coherent response to a mailed questionnaire.[3] Because there is no actual court case, it was impossible to visit any specific prison and interview the inmates within that prison’s RHU or SMU. These letters come from a number of Pennsylvania’s correctional institutions, and it is my hope that they will provide an accurate picture of Pennsylvania’s correctional practices as well as clearly parallel the types of abuses that prompted judicial action in Madrid, Ruiz and Jones 'El.

Conditions of confinement

Inmate 1: “The cell I was housed in was filthy with urine and feces on the walls, the sink wasn’t hygienic enough to drink out or bathe in. The light stayed on 24 hours a day…”

Inmate 2: “Conditions vary from cell to cell…usually dirty sink, toilet, floor. Peeling paint, leaking water, too cold or too hot…out of cell for 1 hour Monday – Friday for yard. Only access to the outside world is through the mail. DC [Disciplinary Custody] no phone calls. AC [Administrative Custody] one call per month if you beg for it. [What was the lighting in the cell like?] Bright, and night light is on 24/7… I’ve spent many nights naked without mattress or blanket and sheets for days in ant infested cells without heat.”

Inmate 5: “The cell is bare, with a bed, desk, toilet with sink. You are allowed 1 hour exercise period, but you might sign up for that 1 hour period in the morning with your light on. You can write and receive mail and reading [sic] books. The lights stay on all day and night. The inmates make noises all night long. Also you now have a bad case of throwing feces around…this is what troubles me the most I never seen anything like this before where’s another man throws feces and urine on another. This takes place often, so you can imagin [sic] what the unit smells like.”

Inmate 6: “I am sleeping on a mattress that has the cover ripped completely down the side exposing all of the filling which is essentially the same as using the same sheets unlaundered that every other inmate has used that slept on this mattress. Once a week we get to so call [sic] ‘clean our cells.’ We get offered the use of a toilet brush and a small round tub with some diluted disinfectant. That’s it! No broom, no mop, no cleanser, no rags, no paper towels…When they pass this toilet brush…out they use a black milk crate…this milk crate is placed on top of a rolling cart…I noticed…that the guards that serve us our food are using all of the carts for all of the various uses including using the same bacteria infested cart that is used to transport the used dripping toilet brushes on.”

“I have been infected by bacteria…I have been getting…bleeding, pussing sores about my body for no apparent reason other than the poor sanitary conditions…I have no trash container in my cell to place my garbage so I have been just stacking it in the corner by the door. Now there are bugs and mold growing in the corner. I have asked…guards repeatedly for a garbage bag and have been told that there are none.”[4]

Inmate 8: “The cells are about the size of a bathroom. There’s a metal bunk welded into the side wall. Across from the bunk is a desk and stool and a few feet away from that is the toilet and sink. There’s a long skinny window on the back wall which gives you a glimpse of the outside…I actually lived under these conditions for 23 months straight 24 hours a day. This is where I ate at, went to the bathroom at, exercised at and slept at, 24 hours a day and 23 months straight…the lighting fixture is welded to the wall and stays on 24 hours a day. It can definitely cause one sleep deprivation…there’s loud noises around the clock. In solitary confinement no one sleeps it seems. All day and night there’s loud banging, hollering, kicking on doors, fussing and just about every rowdy thing imaginable…”

Inmate 9: Picture staying in a cell and a bunch of insects lives [sic] with you and have no problem crawling on your bed, up your nose etc. And when you complain the exterminator comes around and spray [sic] the insect killer outside your door only…so what happens next is I get…more insects in my cell because the spray chases them from outside to the inside (my cell)…I’m now in a cell…that’s infested with ants, mices [sic] and rats…I’m sleeping on a concrete slab along with a thin mattress. There’s no kind of ventilation except for when the guards chose to open the window outside my cell…the light gives me a headache all the time because of the 24 hour brightness. There’s only a broken toilet that water leaks out of onto the floor. A sink that only cold water comes out of a little bit and the drain is stopped up. A small desk and stool that I place my personal property on because there’s no shelves…”

Mental Stress and Illness

Inmate 1: “My sleep patterns were different…in solitary confinement, due to constant noises and leaving the lights on all day and night, which deprived me of sleep. My mind couldn’t distinguish the difference between night and day! Plus, the guards would every half hour rattle the doors acting like they were making security door checks, but in reality it was done to keep us awake and off balance.”

Inmate 2: “[While in solitary did you ever have an impulse to hurt yourself? Did you act on this impulse?] Yes. I ate my eye-glasses and needed emergency removal… I could not sleep for months.”

Inmate 3: “I have LITERALLY cut open my wrist requiring 8 stitches so that I would go to the SSNU where there was a radio and not to the hole…my night terrors become so intense that I try not to sleep at all…I get no counseling besides someone coming to my door expecting our interaction to be over with in under 5 minutes and for me to share my condition with them and be ridiculed the rest of my days by the inmates within earshot…If I write to the psychiatrist it takes at least two weeks to be seen…by the time I get out of the hole my nerves are so shot that for weeks I can’t sleep, experience motor tics and heart palpitations.”

Inmate 4: “I suffer from paranoia schizophrenia, post traumatic stress disorder and bipolar disorder, I have had these diagnoses since an adolescent [sic]. Now the Department [of Corrections] has decided to change them to the following: Anti-social and borderline personality disorder, borderline intellectual functioning level, adjustment disorder, depressed mood, impulsive disorder. Being in the RHU has caused me major problems because of C/Os [Correctional Officers] and psychologist [sic]…disclosing my issues on the door where other inmates hear and harass me.”[5]

Inmate 8: “Not once did I entertain the thought of doing harm to myself…I have witnessed those type of instances…some [inmates] would slash their wrists, some swallowed large amounts of pills, a couple dudes even hung nooses around their necks. It was like a norm for some…there’s nothing to see a literally mentally ill inmate playing in his feces. Yet they’re quick to say there’s no mentally ill inmates [sic] in solitary confinement. There are guys who keep toilets full of feces. They are the ones who play chemical warfare games…they’ll wait until the guard open [sic] their tray slots and then splash him with feces. These type of things [sic] occur daily…I haven’t been in a general population since ’06…the 3 months I was in population was strange. I would walk with my back to the wall from my block to wherever I was going. I would always position myself so that I could see everything within my proximity.”

Inmate 9: “I’ve gotten bitter over this obvious mental torture…I only gets [sic]…2 hours of sleep a day. I’m losing my vision, can’t stop shaking and I got the jumps. I’ve truly turned into an animal man…”

Inmate 10: “I am going through a crisis involving staff members and unknown rituals upon my person that are alien to me, but believed to be either Santeria, Voodoo-Hoodoo or Black Magic that’s unexplainable, and the only way for me to explain it is to say, there are/is the presence of unforeseen-visible persons in my cell space. I can hear them communicating daily, and they’ve even made threats upon my person. They have entered and exited my body and performed illegal surgical procedures upon my person, both external and internally, i.e., my neck, throat, stomach, lower torso and legs. I have visible surgical incisions all over my neck, arms and legs that are unexplainable and a close examination of facility’s medical files will reveal that I have not had any surgical procedures done upon my person…”[6]

[1] See, for example, Pugh v. Locke 406 F.Supp 318

[2] Grassian, Stuart. “Psychopathological Effects of Solitary Confinement.” In The American Journal of Psychiatry, 140:11, November 1983, p. 1451.

[3] The questionnaire I used has been attached as an appendix.

[4] This inmate was not replying to the questionnaire.

[5] This inmate attempted suicide.

[6] This inmate was not replying to the questionnaire. It seems clear that he was hallucinating.

Not Much Going On: July 7 - 13

2009-07-13T15:46:00.000-07:00

The title says a lot of what I want to say. Things are quiet around here. I had a great stout last Tuesday (East End Brewery Blackstrap Stout). Went out Friday evening with Ian and some people from his lab to the Harris Grill, which has a great happy hour deal (half priced draft beers from 4:30-6:30) as well as really tasty pierogis. This weekend summer league games were rescheduled, so we had two Saturday and two Sunday. It was pretty exhausting. I only sat three points all weekend and played pretty well for being exhausted. Found out that Ian and I didn't make Forge, which makes sense (seeing as the only other time we could play with them would be sectionals and regionals). I also read Newjack by Ted Conover in about three days. It's about his experiences as a corrections officer at Sing-Sing. Really intense and really good. Aside from all that I've started my report for HRC, and I've decided to post sections of it as I finish them. Hopefully I won't bore whoever is still reading my blog to death. At any rate, here's the first one. It's hot off the press (read: unedited) and is just a quick overview of the history of solitary confinement in America.

Solitary confinement is a penal practice that has a long and complex history in America. In the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries the United States’ system of punishment for criminals was largely inherited from Europe. The system was based upon corporal and capital punishment: “Before independence, Americans generally flogged, branded or mutilated those felons they did not hang. Except for debtors and such minor miscreants as vagrants and drunkards, people were held behind bars only to await trial or punishment, and not as punishment.”[1] The use of incarceration as a form punishment began in 1682, when William Penn founded the province of Pennsylvania.[2] Penn instituted a criminal code that featured imprisonment, labor, fines and forfeiture in the place of punishments like branding, the stocks and death. In the years after independence prisons gained much support. In theory, they were meant to deter criminals, as well as rehabilitate them by allowing “prisoners to engage in penitent reflection.”[3] By the early 19^th century, two dominant methods of imprisonment had arisen: the Pennsylvania system and the Auburn system.

The Pennsylvania system originated in 1790 at the Walnut Street prison in Philadelphia, and was later instituted throughout Pennsylvania, notably in the large Western and Eastern State Penitentiaries. Prisoners were locked into single cells alone with a Bible, and were allowed to engage in manual labor (e.g. carpentry, weaving, shoemaking and tailoring) within their cells.[4] The Auburn system was developed at its eponymous prison in New York. The new system came about after Auburn prison had attempted to institute a modified version of the Pennsylvania system, where inmates were not allowed to work.[5] The results were disastrous. Gershom Powers, the superintendent of the prison, observed that, “a number of the convicts became insane while in solitude; one was so desperate that he…threw himself from the gallery upon the pavement, which nearly killed him…another beat and mangled his head against the walls of his cell until he destroyed one of his eyes.”[6] In contrast to the Pennsylvania system, the Auburn system allowed prisoners to work and eat together during the day, though silence was strictly enforced. The Auburn system soon became the dominant form of incarceration in the United States; it drove less men mad than the Pennsylvania system and produced more goods that states could sell.

By the late 19^th century though, the Auburn system had fallen out of favor. The system entailed the liberal use of flogging, and was marked by other ignominious practices, like forcing inmates to march in lockstep (with their arms locked to the inmate in front of them). These inhumane aspects led to its unpopularity and eventual reform. America’s distaste for the Auburn system and solitary confinement in general is powerfully demonstrated by In re Medley, a case that the Supreme Court decided in 1890. In Medley, a man convicted of murdering his wife and sentenced to death challenged the legality of his punishment. Colorado had passed a new law governing the treatment of people who were about to be executed after Medley had murdered his wife, but Medley was still punished according to the new law. The new statute differed from the older one in a number of ways, most notably in that the criminal was held in solitary confinement before the execution. The Supreme Court found that this constituted substantial additional punishment, hence Medley had been subjected to an ex post facto law, and they set him free. In the majority opinion, Samuel Miller reflects briefly on the use of solitary confinement in America:

But experience demonstrated that there were serious objections to it [solitary confinement]. A considerable number of the prisoners fell, after even a short confinement, into a semi-fatuous condition, from which it was next to impossible to arouse them, and others became violently insane; others still, committed suicide; while those who stood the ordeal better were not generally reformed, and in most cases did not recover sufficient mental activity to be of any subsequent service to the community.[7]

In Medley, the Supreme Court recognized solitary confinement for what it is: an incredibly harsh punishment that causes dramatic mental suffering and damage, and serves almost no penological purpose.

From the late 19^th century until the 1970s solitary confinement was not used as widely or constantly as it is today. This all changed in the mid-70s with the passage of harsh laws concerning the possession and use of drugs and mandatory sentencing statutes, as well as a distinct shift in penal philosophy away from rehabilitation towards retribution and warehousing.[8] These changes led to overcrowded prisons and a lack of positive incentives (i.e. educational and vocational programming) with which to influence inmates’ behavior. Craig Haney observes, “In systems whose raison d’etre was punishment, it was not surprising that correctional officials turned to punitive mechanisms in the hope of buttressing increasingly tenuous institutional controls.”[9] Solitary confinement became one of administrators’ main tools for influencing and controlling inmate behavior. Isolation is certainly a punishment that can deter infractions, but beyond that it has become a behavior management strategy. Instead of working to rehabilitate inmates and attempting to change them, penitentiaries can now simply lock up troublesome prisoners and forget about them.

This trend is most clearly illustrated by the appearance of a new penal institution: the supermax prison. The supermax system began in October 1983, when two guards were killed at Illinois’ Marion Penitentiary and the entire prison was put on lockdown. Inmates were simply shut in their cells and all communal activities were abolished. The lockdown was never lifted. The growth of supermax prisons has been staggering. As of 2006, there are “at least 57 supermax prisons that house approximately 20,000 inmates.”[10] It is important to note that the vast majority of maximum-security prisons have their own segregation units where inmates are subjected to much the same treatment that a prisoner in a supermax prison would experience.

The circumstances of incarceration in modern supermax prisons and segregation units are shocking. Peter Smith writes,

[C]onditions typically include solitary confinement twenty-three hours each day in a barren environment, under constant high-tech surveillance. Inmates are sometimes able to shout to each other but otherwise have no social contact…Communication with the outside world is minimal. Visits and phone calls are infrequent and are severely restricted if allowed at all…The physical contact available to an inmate…may for several years ‘be limited to being touched through a security door by a correctional officer while being placed in restraints or having restraints removed.’ These facilities typically claim to operate a regime of behavior modification, but most provide few program activities such as work or education.[11]

Later in this article I will expound more fully on the physical conditions of solitary confinement, as well as its psychological effects. Suffice it to say here that this sort of isolation, experienced over a long period of time, cannot fail to produce mental distress, resulting in neurosis and even psychosis. It is also important to bear in mind that isolation is often not the only ordeal that prisoners must weather while in solitary confinement. Verbal and physical abuse, cleanliness of the facilities and inadequate medical care are only a few of the other hardships of prison.

[1] Kunen, James S. “Teaching Prisoners a Lesson.” In The New Yorker, July 10, 1995, p.35.

[2] Lewis, Orlando Faulkland. The Development of American Prisons and Prison Customs. P.10

[3] Conover, Ted. Newjack. New York: Random House, 2000. P. 173

[4] Lewis, 30

[5] Conover, 173

[6] From Powers, Gershom. General Description of Auburn Prison, 83. Found in Lewis, 82.

[7] In re Medley, http://supreme.vlex.com/vid/in-re-medley-20057606

[8] Haney, Craig. “Mental Health Issues in Long-Term Solitary and ‘Supermax’ Confinement.” In Crime Delinquency, 2003, 128

[9] Ibid, 128

[10] Mears, Daniel P. and Watson, Jamie. “Towards a Fair and Balanced Assessment of Supermax Prisons.” In Justice Quarterly, Volume 23, Number 2, June 2006. P. 232.

[11] Smith, Peter Scharff, “The Effects of Solitary Confinement on Prison Inmates: A Brief History and Review of the Literature.” In Crime and Justice, 2.

Tempe and How We Live: July 2 - 5

2009-07-06T12:14:00.000-07:00

I woke up awfully early Thursday morning (5:50 am), head still pounding from the night before (red wine and brandy while watching 'Taken' at Schenley, followed by Irish poker), and caught the 6:30 bus to Pittsburgh's Airport. I boarded my flight and flew to Phoenix via Minneapolis to spend the weekend with Mara. Despite the weather (average temperature of 105) and the general nature of Tempe, Phoenix and Scottsdale we managed to have an excellent time. Spent much of the day indoors with air conditioning or out by the hotel's pool. Highlights included the Desert Botanical Gardens, which were great, though absolutely exhausting in the heat, the Four Peaks Brewery and Restaurant which had a pretty legit American IPA, and my first In 'N Out Burger experience (grilled cheese, animal style). We didn't venture into Phoenix, so I can't reflect on it, but Tempe and Scottsdale were pretty awful. Tempe is a town that is clearly not built with walking in mind. The blocks and streets are huge and there is basically nothing in the town. One street (Mill St.) has some bars and restaurants, but aside from that it's a pretty dead town. All residential and small offices. Scottsdale is more tourist friendly, but everything there is either a kitschy souvenir shop or a chain. The whole area doesn't seem to have any culture or identity of its own (though its certainly tried to adopt the Native American culture for the sake of commodifying it). Instead, it's a disorienting and faceless mess of things you could find anywhere else, all uncomfortably situated in an unbearable environment. Despite that, it was still fun and totally worth it. On Sunday I managed to catch the end of the Federer-Roddick match on TV and then was almost bumped from my plane (which actually would've been awesome, the airline would've had to pay me $500, basically refunding the cost of my tickets for the entire trip, and get me another flight that night). Instead I got into Pittsburgh at 6:40 and caught the bus home only to find that our internet troubles had returned.

On the bus back from the airport I found myself thinking about Nietzsche's eternal recurrence. Below I've posted one of main passages describing it.

What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you in your loneliest loneliness

and say to you: “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once

more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and

every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unutterably small or great in your

life will have to return to you, all in the same succession and sequence-even this spider

and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal

hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of

dust!” Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon

who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would

have answered him: “You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.” If this

thought gained possession of you, it would change you as you are or perhaps crush you.

The question in each and every thing, “Do you desire this once more, and innumerable

times more?” would lie upon your actions as the greatest weight. Or how well disposed

would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than

this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?

The obvious interpretation of this passage is that it is a sort of thought experiment, a test that we ought to subject all of our decisions and actions to. Nietzsche seems to be encouraging us to throw caution to the wind and live our lives in the most thrilling and pleasurable way possible. This jibes well with other sentiments of his. It occurred to me that this message is much the same to the one imparted by the phrase "you only live once." The parallel struck me as particularly odd. How can it be that believing you only live once and believing that your life recurs can lead to the same conclusion. Clearly in both instances you only have one life to live, (though in one of them you get to live it again and again), but it is still curious. What then leads to caution? I suppose a belief in rebirth or an afterlife may, but it is clear that not only religious people have an tendency to be inactive and careful. I think that caution may be a product of all of our social ties, to friends and family. None of us exist in a vacuum, and if we did, then it might make sense to take all the risks we wanted to do and do absolutely ridiculous things. In reality though, we feel that we have obligations to others, and these obligations tend to force us to avoid doing things that are too dangerous or outlandish.

Long Overdue: A Night Out, Names and The Boston Invite - June 25- 28

2009-06-29T13:14:00.000-07:00

So as this post is a summary of my last week, I must ask forgiveness for its fractured and jumpy nature.

Wednesday night was awesome. I walked over to Schenley Park to meet up with Friar, Geoff and Andrea and watch Iron Man, which was being shown outdoors on a big screen. After the movie we went out and got some margaritas, and then went to Dave and Andy's (the ice cream shop where Geoff and Andrea work) and made ourselves sundaes. I was literally a kid in a candy shop, and it was everything that I had hoped for and more. Thursday, after a lazy day, we drove up to Hastings with Pants. On Friday I went into the city with Friar, and saw Josh and Eric, which was very pleasant. That evening, before heading up to Boston, we had dinner with my parents and Nicky and Kaari, which was also wonderful.

Saturday morning, we awoke early and headed out to Devens, MA. The first game of the day was our toughest, but we ended up coming out on top, beating Wiretap 16-14. After that, the rest of the day was a breeze. We beat DoG handily (I had a layout d and went upline for a score) and demolished Colt. This set us up for a cross over game with PoNY, we went down 4-1 before games were postponed till Sunday because of lightning. Sunday morning, after a night of lazing around and watching a truly awful movie (about zombies crashing a high school prom) we came back out and beat PoNY. I can't say I played much, but it was so cool to be on a team that could win a game against a team that had made nationals only last year, not to mention a team that I thought was way out of my league. Afterwards, we played GOAT and lost, but just the fact that we played GOAT was so enough to make me happy. Our last game of the day was a loss against Sons of Liberty, a game that we should've won. I recognized many of the SoL players, and it seemed to me that of all the clubs we had played that weekend, SoL was probably the one most closely matched to my skill level. Afterwards, we stayed to watch a few points of the GOAT-Ironside final, and then journeyed home, arriving at 2:30 am. It was a fantastic weekend.

In the midst of all this running around, I've found time to start watching yet another TV show: the BBC's most recent take on the Arthurian legend, called 'Merlin.' What has struck me about this show is the way in which it plays on the power of names. Everyone watching the show presumably knows what becomes of Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin, Morgana and Mordred. What 'Merlin' does is follow these characters from their beginnings. Arthur is obviously a prince, but outside of that things are different. Merlin is Arthur's manservant, and must hide his gift for magic, Morgana is Uther's ward, and Guinevere is her servant. Mordred is a random child who Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere and Morgana save in one episode. The way that the show utilizes dramatic irony through the audience's knowledge of the Arthurian knowledge started me thinking on the power of names. In the modern era, names have lost much of their power, but it seems to me that names have always been potent, if only because of the knowledge that they impart. Names contain information about lineage, ethnicity and profession. My favorite example is one of my ancestor's names: Fleischacker (i.e. Flesh-hacker). In former times, when social mobility was not as easy, someone named Fleischacker was probably a [German] butcher. At any rate, I don't have much more to say on the subject, except that names are pretty cool.

Hawthorne and HRC - June 22 and 23

2009-06-23T20:09:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, I picked up a book of Hawthorne's short stories recently and, surprisingly, I'm enjoying them. Hawthorne's style can be obnoxious, he uses large words and synonyms as if he is overly self-conscious of his own vocabulary and insists on latinate sentence constructions (i.e. periodic sentences: lots of commas and semi-colons). At the same time, I find the larger themes of his work fascinating and attractive. For one thing, the short stories attempt to portray New England when it was still the frontier. For this reason (like much literature about the wilderness) there is a strong sense of the supernatural, and defamiliarization is prevalent. This strong sense of superstition is intertwined with puritan values and ideals (held, as far as I can tell, by Hawthorne's characters rather than Hawthorne himself). The stories themselves appear to be (and sometimes are, much to my annoyance) simple allegories, but there is usually some sort of logical gap in what the obvious message seems to be, a flaw or ambiguity.

The two stories that have popped out at me the most so far are 'Young Goodman Brown' and 'The Burial of Roger Malvin.' 'Young Goodman Brown' is a relatively famous story, and is famous for the moral ambiguity that I mention above. To recap, the story begins as what seems to be a straightforward allegory: Goodman (get it?) must leave his wife, Faith (get it?), to do battle with the demonic forces of temptation in the wilderness. This is where things get a little convoluted. For one thing, all of the upstanding citizens of Goodman's town appear to be in league with the devil, including his own wife. He manages to resist temptation, but at the end of the night it is unclear whether the visions he has had are real, or exist only within his own mind. Goodman returns to the town and can never see his neighbors or wife in the same way again. He dies a bitter and gloomy man. There are certainly multiple interpretations of this story, but the ones that I favor center on questions of subjective perception and ethical relativism. For one thing, Goodman never witnesses any of the townspeople performing evil deeds outside of the satanic ritual that he thinks he saw. He judges them despite the fact that this is a phenomenon that has appeared only to him. What is most haunting perhaps, is the plausibility of the interpretation that all of the townspeople ARE evil. Certainly, from our modern standpoint, we can see how America's early settlers could be condemned for their genocide of the Native Americans, as well as the repressive and unenlightened ways in which they governed (e.g. witch trials?!). Perhaps Hawthorne had his own reasons for associating puritans with satan. In this sense, Goodman may in fact be an upstanding, moral man passing correct judgment. This does not change the fact that he lives a truly unhappy life. Does the ultimate moral value of our deeds matter less in the final calculus of our lives than whether or not we conformed with society or fit in? Anyway, I could ramble on about this story interminably. I haven't even touched on the notion that Goodman's wife could be understood as Faith personified.

'Roger Malvin's Burial' brings up similar questions. The story is about two men, a father and his son-in-law to be, who have survived a battle with Native Americans. Both are wounded, but the father (Roger) is on death's door. He convinces Reuben to abandon him to die under a rock, and before he leaves Reuben vows to return and bury Roger (a matter of weighty importance to America's frontiersmen according to Hawthorne). Reuben manages to find his way back home and marries Roger's daughter. The rub is that he tells everyone that Roger actually died with Reuben by his side, and that Reuben dutifully buried him where he expired. Of course, the guilt eats him up from the inside, leaving him an angry man whose only true source of joy is his son Cyrus. Reuben's fortune dwindles away over the years, so he must strike out into the wilderness with his wife and son in order to forge a new destiny for himself. One evening, hunting for game, Reuben mistakenly shoots his own son, and realizes that Cyrus has expired on the exact same spot where he left Roger so many years ago. Clearly this story appeals to me because it deals with graves, memorials, memory and the cyclical nature of history. Embedded in the plot is the idea that without carrying the past with us, we sacrifice our future. Additionally, Hawthorne describes what has hung over Reuben as a curse, which is fascinating. It is worth noting that Reuben has every reason to leave Roger behind. Roger even urges him to do so, and prays for the safety and well-being of Reuben and his daughter. There doesn't seem to be a clear moral imperative here. What curses Reuben is his own vow. He has created his own destiny by violating his own moral code. At any rate, I'll shut up about literature now.

Lastly, today was cool because I got to do some substantial work for HRC. For one thing, the wife of a man to whom I had mailed out the notice about our investigation of SCI-Dallas called me and I was able to give her cogent and accurate advice over what she ought to send me. On top of that, I've gotten myself involved in an investigation into certain abuses of a prisoner who has an ongoing lawsuit against the DOC (Department of Corrections). I called both SCI-Fayette, where he's currently incarcerated, as well as the DOC's central office, and it seems like they're actually putting an investigator from OPR (Office of Professional Responsibility) on the case. So something happened! I'm going to try to write out letters to the Supt. of Fayette and the DOC secretary tomorrow, putting them 'on notice.' I may even get to try to file criminal charges against them! Exciting stuff.

My Weekend in Cleveland - June 20 and 21

2009-06-22T11:44:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I drove up to Cleveland with Ian to play at No Surf with Forge. The team had decided to split X/Y, which meant that both teams were playing with only 9 people. Overall, the experience was a good one, though it had its ups and downs. To begin with, I was slightly disappointed with my own level of play. I scored the first point of the tourney for us, and that was my only goal all weekend. I didn't have any ds (though I wasn't getting beaten all over the place either). While I certainly shoulder most of the responsibility for the level of my own play, I felt that I wasn't really placed in a position to excel. Primarily, I mean that this was my first time playing with anyone on Forge and with any of Forge's strategy. I didn't really start understanding the way that they run their Horizontal Stack until Sunday, and by then I had been pigeon-holed into a role as the handler who receives the pull and immediately gets it to the center handler. A role without any glamour, and one that I am not as suited for as cutting. On the upside, playing disc is always a blast, everyone on the team is incredibly nice and there are quite a few remarkable characters, I got to mark up on Luke Johnson (the guy who makes the Rhino videos I'm slightly obsessed with) and I had my best game of the tourney in the semis, when it really mattered (for this game, I was cutting). I also learned a lot, and am (if this is possible) even more excited than I was for Superfly's upcoming season.

Aside from that, not too much is going on. I got back the first responses to my solitary confinement questionnaire. They're pretty powerful and depressing, but it's given me a new perspective on the project and a new source of motivation. I stopped by a used bookstore today and picked up 'For Whom The Bell Tolls' and a collection of short fiction by Hawthorne. Last night's dinner was pasta with asparagus, mushrooms and sundried tomatoes. If I get anything from this summer, it will be a better ability to fend for myself after college, especially in the cooking department; which is not a skill to be taken lightly, as my difficulty with food this past school year can attest to.

My Day In Court - June 16

2009-06-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

Around noon yesterday I caught a bus downtown to go to a sentencing appeal for Joseph, the man who had been convicted of 3rd degree murder. The whole experience was remarkable. The first thing I noticed when I got off of the bus at Grant and Forbes was the Allegheny County Courthouse. I can't think of a succinct way to describe it but to say that Foucault would've had a field day with it. The courthouse was built in the late 19th century, and it looks like a cathedral and fortress rolled into one (http://www.alleghenycounty.us/acic/cjold.jpg). The wall that surrounds what I assume was the jail part of the courthouse is about 30 or 40 feet high, and is quite imposing. The structure itself is made out of huge, roughly cut stone blocks. The whole building has a very primitive and brutal air about it, and at the same time it implies some sense of a civic religion (with its towers and the church-like construction of the jail section).

At 12:30 Bret and Cecilia (Joseph's mother) talked to a few members of the media (they called it a press conference, but I don't know what justifies that label). After a quick bite to eat we went inside in time to see Joseph being brought into the courtroom. It was striking. I can't recall if I've ever seen someone in handcuffs before, but I've certainly never seen anyone with leg irons or with a leather lead strapped around them. The only word that I can think to use is shameful. I felt ashamed to look at Joseph, and I can't imagine the shame that he felt, walking through the halls of the courthouse with chains on. It's difficult to fully describe the scene, but what I can say is that while the handcuffs, leg irons and leather lead all certainly serve to control the prisoner and make escape more difficult, they also serve to destroy any dignity that the incarcerated might still have. Having every step cut too short by the metal links around your ankles and being led around on a leather leash are not conducive to self-respect.

The hearing itself was very interesting, and I only wish I could've understood more. The issue at hand was not the verdict of the case itself, but the judge's sentence. The defense's two main points (raised by an attorney who had a few unfortunate speaking tics, to wit: mumbling, some sort of lisp, repetition and the annoying tendency to undermine his arguments with phrases like 'this is only my opinion') were that Joseph had no prior convictions and that under Pennsylvania sentencing guidelines (not mandatory) he should've been given less time, and that the judge, in his sentencing statement, cited his belief that the murder was a premeditated execution, whereas the jury had clearly disagreed with this theory by convicting Joseph of 3rd degree murder and not 1st degree murder. Just to put all of this in context, Joseph had been sentenced to 17-35 years in prison, and the maximum for 3rd degree murder in Pennsylvania is 23.5-35 years. The district attorney rebutted the defense's first argument by pointing out that the sentencing guidelines were not mandatory and reminding the judge that Joseph's record was not completely clean. Apparently, during the presentencing phase of the initial trial, 3 complaints of assault against Joseph had come up. This is where my legal knowledge gets a little fuzzy, but the DA said that these cases of assault had been "adjudicated." I don't know what the technical legal definition of this term is, but I think that it's something quite separate from being convicted by a jury in a court of law. When the DA mentioned one of the cases of assault (stabbing a school official with a pencil) a man next to me who was a member of the family whispered 'that was in first grade!' The DA then recast the defense's argument about the jury as simply that the jury had been trying to show mercy by convicting Joseph of 3rd instead of 1st degree (this was part of it, but not the most important part in my mind) and argued that the judge HAD showed mercy. Oy vey.

Afterwards I caught a bus back uptown, finished watching the first season of The Wire on my computer and picked up some Rye Bread Kvass from the East End Brewery. It was interesting stuff, the initial taste was a little too sweet for me, but the hint of bread at the end finishes the drink off nicely, and it was very light which is perfect for summer.

Frisbee and Iran - June 12 and 13

2009-06-14T07:20:00.001-07:00

Didn't do too much on Friday, but I managed to get myself over to the East End Brewery to pick up a growler of IPA. I ended up hanging out there for awhile, which was really nice. The place has a really good vibe (it's a tiny brewery run by two people), and during the growler hours you have people of all ages coming in, even parents with toddlers. I ended up deciding to stick with IPA, but I also sampled some Kvass, which is basically beer made with bread. It was actually pretty good. Spent the rest of the night bar hopping and watching the Stanley cup finals, which was fun.

Saturday morning I woke up early along with Friar to get out to summer league. We had promised to give our captains a ride, which we did. They were both really great people, Geoff is a rising senior at Pitt and Andrea is a rising junior. The rest of the team was fantastic as well. There's not too much better than getting outside, playing disc and meeting people. On the way back Geoff and Andrea mentioned that they both worked at an ice cream place and they offered us free ice cream whenever we dropped by. So yea, a pretty great start to the day. The rest of my Saturday was spent doing absolutely nothing, which was fine by me. I was little immobile anyway, having been stung on the bottom of my foot by a bee.

On a completely different note, I've been fascinated by the election drama in Iran as well as the media's coverage of it. There seems to be a few very fundamental tensions within the democratic model (or at least the popular conception of it), one of which is that a healthy democracy has a populace that cares deeply about the issues and participates in great numbers, but the losers in any given election are supposed to accept the outcome without attempting to undermine the state. Over the last few days in Iran we've seen a pro-Western candidate (implicitly associated with democracy) defeated, and then refusing to concede the election. I recognize that there is a chance that the election was rigged, but the polls were close enough that it conceivably might not have been. Similarly to America's support of anti-communist dictators in third world countries during the 20th century, it seems like we (particularly the media in this case) too readily sacrifice the tenets of democracy for political exigencies. Why has no one condemned the riots in Iran? Because the rioters are on our side?

Lastly, and more broadly, I find it interesting that in mature democracies, though there is certainly a deep concern over issues, a great number of people are apathetic (or at least ambivalent and choose not to vote). To what extent is a partially apathetic population necessary for the smooth functioning of a democracy? If EVERYONE cared deeply about each election would we ever be able to have a peaceful transition of power? Do the apathetic anchor the political ideologues and prevent extreme groups from acting on their polarizing ideology?

NB: The line between legitimate protest and illegitimate violence is obviously unclear, but it seems to me that what is happening in Iran has crossed that line.

Edit: After doing some more reading on the election, it does seem that there are many indicators that there was something fishy going on. So, perhaps Iran wasn't the best case to make my point with, but it does bring up other interesting (albeit tangential) questions of how effective violent protest is, and what justifies it.

Another Edit: Caught this line in the NY Times tonight: "If the election were truly “real and free” as Mr. Ahmadinejad insisted, the results would be accepted by the voters and the government would not have to resort to such repression." Seems like a pretty simplistic way of looking at things.

Desensitization and the Start of Forge Tryouts - June 10 and 11

2009-06-11T18:36:00.000-07:00

I suppose I'll begin this post with the more superficial stuff. Today I went to some pick-up at Schenley Park (self-titled "high level" pick-up). A few Forge guys were there including the captain. I felt awfully out of shape, but managed to get a layout d the first point I was in and got bookends the last point of the day, so...I feel pretty good about myself. I just can't wait for No Surf. I realize that I need to focus more on defense (especially on using my body) and that when cutting I need to end my deep cuts earlier (it's obvious after a certain point when it's not going to be thrown, and once you get too deep it's pretty hard to make a viable in cut). In terms of fitness, my legs feel powerful, but aerobically I'm a mess. I may need to start going on long runs or something. Too much hard breathing and too many cramps. Anyway, I'm pumped for Cleveland and the Boston Invite.

On a more serious note, yesterday was my first all group meeting with Fed Up! It started off with a really interesting and depressing presentation by a woman whose son had been wrongly convicted of 3rd degree murder. It was all the more striking because I've recently been watching The Wire. When hearing about a true story it's hard not to take it and interpret it in the same way that you would an episode of Law & Order or The Wire. It's hard to understand that this isn't something being presented for your entertainment or edification, and that there are real people involved whose whole lives may be destroyed by crooked police work, incompetent public defenders and inattentive juries. 17-35 years in prison in Pennsylvania is no joke, and it's no mistake that most of the shows on TV don't follow men into incarceration. It does make me curious to watch Oz though (I think that was the show on HBO about prison life).

In Sarat's class this last semester we read an article by Martha Nussbaum (part of the law as literature movement) that argued that we have to see cases like a story in order to empathize with the criminals and incorporate mercy into our judgments. I wonder though, to what extent, by viewing events as stories we banish them from the realm of the 'real' and allow ourselves to abdicate our responsibility as actors, opting for the role of viewers instead.

Belief is Mightier - June 9

2009-06-09T21:06:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was reflecting on what fascinates me about law. More than anything, I settled on the notion that law is the place where words trump brute power, where what we write organizes and effects reality. Reading the letters from prisoners has led me to realize that there is something deeper though.

Yesterday, I was watching Werner Herzog's "Aguirre: The Wrath of God." At the start of the movie we watch Aguirre orchestrate a mutiny and place an ineffectual nobleman in charge, declaring a new state and a rebellion against the Habsburg Empire. At the time this seems ridiculous to all of the characters, but as the film progresses things begin to change. The nobleman is fed richly while the rest of the men starve. At one point the 'Emperor' is sitting on the raft with a map and observes that after traveling for a few more days his new country will be larger than Spain (assuming that we credit his assertion that he can lay claim to everything that he sees from the raft). As anyone who has seen the film knows, these fantasies are soon cut short by fever, delirium, starvation and attacks by the natives. But, the fact remains that the men of the expedition altered their behavior to conform to Aguirre's revolutionary document or, more accurately, his insane vision. In this sense, law is not simply the place where words create our world, but the place where a certain vision or ideal of the world is put into practice. Laws are instrumental in the creation of our own reality. Obviously there are issues with who writes the laws and how well a law is actually utilized once it is written, but in the abstract sense laws are the real way in which we attempt to order the world according to our beliefs and values.

This all ties back to my work with Fed Up. In their letters prisoners make constant reference to international human rights treaties that the United States has signed, and human rights organizations themselves use these same treaties as one of their main legal supports. They BELIEVE in the power of these treaties and their words. Clearly the connection is not a solid as a lawmaker believing in a principle and implementing it through a law, but I wonder if there isn't some similarity. These treaties have been written and signed, but it is clear that belief in them has not yet reached a certain threshold. By relying upon them, human rights workers and the victims of human rights abuses give them some validity, spread awareness of them and save them from the dustbin of history. For the second half the 20th century the United States has paid heed to UN treaties whenever it was convenient or beneficial, but the effect of recent patterns and events - eroding sovereignty brought on by globalization, the fiasco of defying the security council to invade Iraq and the fact that we are less and less able to make a claim to being the sole global superpower - may be to eliminate our ability to act hypocritically and in defiance of international norms. It seems that pressuring our stated commitments to the international community should become an increasingly effective strategy for reform in the years to come.

NB: There is a question here about the relationship between belief and force (i.e. constructivism vs. realism) that I'm too lazy to think about now.

Cedar Point and Letters from SCI-Dallas - June 5-6

2009-06-07T09:41:00.000-07:00

I drove out to Sandusky, Ohio on Thursday night to meet up with Mara and go to Cedar Point on Friday. Drive went well, and obviously it was great to see her. On Friday morning we woke up nice and early and headed out to the amusement park.

My experience with amusement parks isn't too extensive (Rye Playland in middle school, Six Flags junior year of high school). I'd say my most memorable theme park moment was a great discussion I had with Rocky about anarchy. In short, I didn't really know what to expect. Initially, I approached the whole thing with a great deal of irony, but as soon as I got over that, I had a wonderful time. It was just a great reminder that I have to be careful not to prejudge things and decide what I'll think of them before I actually experience them.

I returned to Pittsburgh on Saturday, and met with Bret who gave me a number of letters from prisoners at SCI-Dallas. They're pretty heavy reading. The idea of being locked up in a prison is pretty awful, but the cruelties visited upon the inmates by the guards are simply incredible, and it is difficult to understand how the sort of abuses that the letters describe become so prevalent and systemic as they seem to be. The letters themselves (that is, not their content) are disturbing as well. A few of the letters are written by men in their mid to late 40s, but they read like the writing of a middle school student. They are windows into another absolutely alien world, and it is difficult for me to comprehend that some of what is described must be true, and occurs within a day's travel of where I live, and is tacitly sanctioned by the overwhelming majority of people in this country.

Obama and Transience - June 4

2009-06-04T09:55:00.000-07:00

All of us share this world for but a brief moment in time. The question is whether we spend that time focused on what pushes us apart, or whether we commit ourselves to an effort - a sustained effort - to find common ground, to focus on the future we seek for our children, and to respect the dignity of all human beings. - Obama, from his recent speech on the Middle East

But to subsist in bones, and be but Pyramidally extant, is a fallacy in duration. Vain ashes, which in the oblivion of names, persons, times, and sexes, have found unto themselves, a fruitlesse continuation, and only arise unto late posterity, as Emblemes of mortall vanities; Antidotes against pride, vain-glory, and madding vices. Pagan vain-glories which thought the world might last for ever, had encouragement for ambition, and finding no Atropos unto the immortality of their Names, were never dampt with the necessity of oblivion. - Thomas Browne, Hydriotaphia

This morning, in my attempt to stay abreast of current political events, I read about Obama's speech about America's relationship with the Muslim world and the Middle East. My eye was caught by a particular passage (the one I have quoted above), as well as a picture that the Times had on its homepage of Obama touring the Pyramids, which could not fail but to remind me of a certain section of Browne's 'Hydriotaphia.' One of the central points of Browne's work on urns (or at least, a central point of its 5th section) is to set up a comparison between what has inspired humanity and given us meaning, what ought to inspire us. In his analysis of urns, myths and memorials Browne argues that men are driven by a desire for immortality, a desire to be remembered by future generations. In his opinion, this is a flawed ambition, instead we ought to practice Christianity and invest in our souls.

The observation that we live for so short a time, and that our existence is so small, almost necessarily forces us to ask 'what is the point?' Browne's answer is Christianity, the pursuit of heaven. What fascinated me about the passage that I picked out from Obama's speech was both the fact that he explicitly recognizes the transience of individual existence, and the way that he neutralizes that troubling notion (i.e. explains what he sees as 'the point'). For Obama, the answer appears to be three-fold. Unlike Browne, he does not believe that the world's time is running out and that judgment day is nigh. Obama places some significance in the future, though not in vain material memorials. He instead focuses on what can be done to better the lives of our children. Additionally, Obama invokes the idea of respecting the dignity of all human beings as a goal in and of itself. This represents a staunch faith in human beings and their worth, and approaches a religious notion. Lastly, Obama talks about 'common ground.' As Simon Critchley has noted (Here's a video of his lecture on Obama at the New School http://happydays.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/25/happy-like-god/), for Obama, hope is based on a BELIEF in the common good. Critchley characterizes this as a civil profession of faith.

It is obviously very difficult to define religion, and determine what is a religion and what isn't. But the parallels between Browne's Christianity and Obama's belief in human dignity and the common good are undeniable. Primarily, all three necessarily involve questions of faith and belief that can't be defended by logic. The notion of universal human dignity only exists when we will it to exist. The common good, even the very idea of 'common,' must be created through belief as well. It is a manufactured construct, in the same way that religion is. This is not to say that any of these ideas are invalid, it is more to point out that we seem to be constantly inventing projects and faiths that are larger than our existence, and that the constant struggle to give ourselves meaning has not changed much in the last half millennium.

Arriving in Pittsburgh - June 1 and 2

2009-06-02T13:28:00.001-07:00

Drove down to Pittsburgh yesterday. It was exhausting, but fun. Threw all my stuff in my room and, after dinner, went out exploring with Friar. Pittsburgh is a pretty odd city. More than anything, it reminds me of East Lansing or Riverdale. There are a ton of residential neighborhoods with ridiculously large houses punctuated by areas of urban sprawl with short, crumbling buildings. There's a lot of empty space in the city. On top of that, the section of the city where Pitt and CMU reside is a disorienting mix of chains, classic greasy spoon, late-night places, bars, and incredible monuments and buildings built with Carnegie and Mellon money. These buildings aren't just impressively large, they're also designed in an array of architectural styles that seem very out of place. My prime example is the Soldiers and Sailors Memorial (http://kaijin.smugmug.com/photos/191295297_Geq42-S.jpg). The place looks like a hybrid of a Greek temple and Asian pagoda, and it is sitting in the middle of relatively normal looking neighborhood.

Woke up late this morning and made my way over to the Thomas Merton Center (a.k.a. HRC-FedUp! headquarters). I met a bunch of people there, they were all very nice. Finally met Bret, we had a good conversation, and I feel good about what I'm going to be doing. It's all very self-directed, which is nice, I just hope I don't get bored. It's an odd feeling to know that I have 2 full months to write a paper. After HRC I did some shopping, then mosied over to the Carnegie Public Library (where I anticipate spending a lot of time this summer). Got my library card and caught up on my email. Next up is a used music store, I'll be searching for a Mahler CD.

Speaking in Tongues - May 30 and 31

2009-05-31T13:55:00.000-07:00

Went into the city last night for a final hurrah. Chilled with Eric, drinking beer and watching basketball until Josh and Sam made it over (Kira paid us a visit part way through the night). Then went out to George Keeley's on 83rd and Amsterdam. A kind soul deposited $10 into the jukebox (which were sitting next to) and told us to put on some good music. The Band and Radiohead didn't seem to go over so well, but Kelly Clarkson was a hit. Mosied over to The Gin Mill on 81st and Amsterdam for a rousing game of beer pong (not actually, but it was fun). Went on back to Sam's, and stopped at a Middle Eastern food truck on 94th and B'way. I was drunk enough to attempt to speak Arabic with the man serving us (I had heard him in conversation with the customer before us). Unfortunately I can't do much more than marhaba, hamdulah and shukran these days, but even that seemed to entertain him. It's incredible how friendly people become when they see you make an effort to speak their language or pay respect to their culture and heritage in some other way (he ended up giving Sam and I free donuts with our main orders). It was a great experience, and it makes me wish that I had taken a language at Yale. Maybe I still will next year. It's not like I have much else to do, and it may be the most 'useful' way to spend my time. I'll think on it.

Earlier this afternoon, I was reflecting on language in a different way. Specifically, I was contemplating the T9 function on cellphones, and what it implies about what we say to one another nowadays. The fact that an application can predict so infallibly what we say in our messages speaks poorly of the extent of the average person's vocabulary and, more disturbingly, to the banal nature of what we say when we communicate. The form that these messages take (i.e. the words used) - which is what T9 actually predicts - doesn't NECESSARILY correlate perfectly with the substance of the messages, but I would argue that the whole is, in many ways, not much more than the sum of the parts, and if the parts are so mundane that they can be so easily predicted, the whole itself must be unoriginal. This sort of ties in to a concern that I've had for a few years. How much of what we say to each other is actually of consequence? How much is just a set script that we follow everyday, or lists of what we've done that no one really pays attention to? How much of conversation is just empty, and unimportant except for the fact that conversation was had? I find the notion that when we speak we actually say nothing pretty terrifying.

Chacos - May 28

2009-05-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

Nothing too exciting happened today. Went into the city for a doctor's appointment (my first one since 2006 apparently). Then walked over to Eric's, we hung out for a while with Aaron and Josh. Aaron left to celebrate Shavuot (sp?) and Eric, Josh and I watched the basketball game and drank some beer. I felt very American. On my way home, my Chacos got me into two conversations with strangers. The coincidence was such that I couldn't help but mention it. While waiting for the 1 at 79th I sneezed, and a friendly woman said bless you and then asked 'you're not from around here are you?' I replied that I was from Westchester, and asked why she had assumed what she had. She replied that I was wearing Chacos, and apparently no one she had met in the city knew what Chacos were. Very strange.

On the walk back up from the Hastings station to home, I was walking next to a young looking professional. He commented on my wearing sandals in the cold misty weather. We continued chatting for a minute or two until he turned on to Warburton to go home. Very odd.

Science and Superstition - May 27

2009-05-27T10:09:00.001-07:00

I decided to watch daytime television today, which is generally a pretty questionable decision. Brothers Grimm, the 2005 film starring Heath Ledger and Matt Damon, was on. I began watching about halfway through, so all of the movie’s fantastical elements that hold the plot together appeared particularly unbelievable and ridiculous. During a commercial break, an ad came on for a set of beauty products endorsed by Cindy Crawford. The ad attempted to weave some sort of narrative that explained how these products were created by Crawford’s aging doctor: a French guru that caters to the rich and famous. He took his secret ingredient, (I kid you not) a rare melon grown in the south of France that is incredibly rich in antioxidants, and infused a bunch of creams with it. As one testimonial put it, “it’s like a face lift in a bottle!” The juxtaposition of this commercial with the film was fascinating. Brothers Grimm plays on the idea of superstition and fiction, exhorting us to have faith in fiction and the fantastic. The film casts the French Enlightenment as the force that made these terms pejorative and put a premium on truth and rationality.

Today, advertisers use science as a sort of superstition to sell their products. Watching the commercial for Cindy Crawford’s beauty products, I wondered how many people knew what antioxidants were, or what they did. Even assuming that the average viewer knows that antioxidants are chemicals that decrease the number of free radicals by preventing oxidation reactions, the theory that free radicals are what account for aging is certainly not absolutely accepted science (I’m sure it’s much more controversial than say, evolution). By mentioning antioxidants, the commercial invokes our blind belief in science in order to substantiate its own (probably outlandish) claims about the effect of the product it’s selling. In this way, science has become a location of superstition. I don’t want to go so far as to make the argument that science is a form of orthodoxy based on faith, &c. I just thought that the prevalence of superstition in areas of culture where it might not be expected was fascinating.

Tradition, Prizes, Love

2009-05-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

Looking back on Class Day and Graduation I realize that they constituted a very strange experience. Class Day was incredibly silly: all the students and professors wearing over-the-top hats, a light speech by Buckley and a pretty ridiculous senior memories video (featuring footage of making out in the stacks, Toads, etc.). On the other hand, the actual commencement itself was a ceremony steeped in the stuffiest of traditions. I would reprint the descriptions of all the various maces that the heads of school carry if they weren’t so tedious. Degrees were presented to the deans of each school in a formulaic, inflexible way. The intonation didn't even change. Students process into old campus accompanied by actual fanfare. Yale seems to swing between one extreme and another: overly silly and unnecessarily stuffy. The moment that brought this all home to me was when Bill T. Jones approached Rick Levin to receive his honorary doctorate. On the way he stopped, spread his arms wide, dipped and performed a pirouette. It was an authentic expression of pure joy and elation, something that I think captures what the attitude of the graduates and spectators ought to be during commencement. The stuffiness of the ceremony had smothered this sort of emotional response. People were dozing off while witnessing these ancient traditions that used to mean something, but now seem to serve no purpose but to act as a sort of empty placeholder for the idea of a grand academic tradition. On the other hand, Class Day was a little too free and unregulated. Obviously, the day serves in some way to allow each class to attempt to differentiate itself from others that have come before through their speakers (both the invited one and the students), the film and even the wacky hats that everyone wears. Unfortunately, the whole thing (excepting perhaps the guest speaker) turns out coming off as indulgent and pointless. I probably wouldn’t mind either of these things if I were a parent of someone directly involved, but it just seems a little idiotic to dedicate an entire day to what amounts to telling inside jokes.

The other thing that struck me about Yale’s graduation was the prevalence of prizes and markers of academic achievement. In one sense, the prizes and things like ‘cum laude’ certainly celebrate and reward students who have labored for four years. On the other, they are capable of shaming those who haven’t worked as hard on academics, but have devoted their energies elsewhere and achieved in other ways. I suppose I wouldn’t find this so offensive if the descriptions of the prizes simply said what they were actually awarded for (i.e. GPA) instead of insisting on using high-flown rhetoric about leadership and moral purpose. Certainly part of this is my own academic insecurity (there’s no way I’ll be graduating with distinction in my major or any sort of ‘laude), but I also think it’s lazy, unfair and myopic for an academic institution to equate excellence in studies with ‘high moral purpose.’

Ended tonight with an interesting conversation with Aaron: the idea of love as an expansion of the singular, first person pronoun, or an expansion/fundamental shift in each subject's unitary narrative.

May 23 - Outside The Self and Graduation

2009-05-24T07:42:00.000-07:00

For the last two days I've been lazing around New Haven with Mara and her family. I've been treated to wonderful meals at Zinc, Bar and Miya's. It's been great. Not too much to tell besides that, besides the fact that College Nationals are happening right now and I'm following them fairly closely.

I finished 'An Imaginary Life' yesterday. Despite beginning as a book dominated by Ovid's internal monologue and concerned with the interior workings of a mind, the novel moved beyond these constraints by the end. As I implied in my title of my last post, there's a certain connection between an internal life and imprisonment. This is not a necessary association, but for certain characters (especially Coetzee's protagonist in 'Youth') the interior life with its ambitions, neuroses and obsessions trumps any other forms of existence and locks one within their own mind. Malouf's Ovid is necessarily trapped because he cannot speak the language of his hosts. Later in the story, Malouf introduces a feral child whom Ovid decides to take under his wing. The child has no self in our sense, he IS the world. There are no boundaries to his consciousness, he inhabits all things. This type of selflessness is an interesting contrast to the sort of self that is evident in 'Youth.' There is much more freedom, but much less constancy or sureness. Another interesting point is the fact that while John in 'Youth' is miserable, Ovid, especially when he is interacting with the child (with whom he has an incredible connection) is very happy. Anyway, I thought i'd end with a sentence from Malouf that I particularly liked:
"What else should our lives be but a continual series of beginnings, of painful settings out into the unknown, pushing off from the edges of consciousness into the mystery of what we have not yet become, except in dreams that blow in from out there bearing the fragrance of islands we have not yet sighted in our waking hours, as in voyaging sometimes the first blossoming branches of our next landfall come bumping against the keel, even in the dark, whole days before the real land rises to meet us." (135-6).

May 21 - The Inner Life And Imprisonment

2009-05-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

Woke up early-ish, and finished 'Youth.' I guess in the end a large part of what I got from it was the idea that you can't wait for fate or destiny to find you, you have to pursue it through disciplined work. Not such a novel idea, but Coetzee has a very forceful way of getting it across. I caught the train into the city to meet Mara and started in on another book, 'An Imaginary Life,' by David Malouf. The novel is about Ovid's exile from Rome, told from Ovid's perspective. Like 'Youth,' the novel was at first preoccupied with its protagonist's inner life, largely because at the start of the book Ovid doesn't understand the local tongue of his place of exile. I think it's interesting that I was drawn to this book after 'Youth.' I'm relatively sure it wasn't a conscious decision. I suppose that in the course of delving into myself through this journal/blog and in trying to resurrect my own powers of initiative, I've become drawn to the internal lives of others, and how they are constructed and expressed. No grand conclusions as of yet.

Made it into the city and people-watched in Central Park for an hour or two. I ran into Patrick, a former camper of mine. The fact that he said hi and recognized me was great, and shed some light on how my own high school teachers had reacted to me the previous day. Ate dinner at a sushi place a few blocks south east of astor place and barely caught the 8:07 back to New Haven. On the train Bret, one of the guys who I'll be working with this summer, called to finalize plans for exactly what I'd be doing. I had been nervous before this conversation, anxious that I would end up with nothing to do, but those fears were quickly put at ease. My work at HRC-FedUp! will be largely two-fold. I'll be corresponding with prisoners from two state correctional institutions and cataloguing any reported human rights abuses. On top of that, I'm going to write a report on the psychological effects of solitary confinement, using the testimony of prisoners. I'm actually quite excited. In many ways, this is a paper that I might write for school, but the fact that its main function is to help people by documenting and publicizing their awful plight separates it from pure academia in my mind, and makes it something that I anticipate will be both worthwhile and fulfilling.

May 20 - Visiting Fieldston And More On South Africa

2009-05-20T23:50:00.000-07:00

I got up at around 12:30 today, having stayed awake until 3 the night before, doing absolutely nothing. Grabbed the uptown 1 train with Sam (my cousin) and rolled into Fieldston at about 1:45. We had a fantastic day. It's always a little intimidating coming back to visit, but it always turns out incredibly well. The school has certainly changed, but the vague memories and sense of deja vu brought back by the simple physical presence of Fieldston are incredibly powerful and rich. It seems to me that one of the easiest ways to see how much you've changed is to return to a place that conjures strong associations with your past. On top of that, I love seeing the ways in which my interactions with my former teachers have changed and how my perception of them changes. Every time I visit, I'm able to hold myself up against my high school role models and see how I've progressed towards becoming the sort of adult that I looked up to as an adolescent. I saw Church, Montera, Waldman, Aune, Baglio, Reynolds, Harry Dawe, Vinni, Wern and Meyers. I had wonderful conversations with many of them, and I was, as always, impressed and surprised by how well they all remembered me and how happy they were to see their former students coming back to bother them. In particular, I really enjoyed talking to Harry (who I hadn't been planning to see) about Orhan Pamuk, Turkey, the west, hockey, frisbee and his frank take on college admissions.

After visiting, I went out to the upper field to run Fieldston's frisbee practice (something I hadn't realized I had signed up to do until I ran into Matteo Bessone digging holes for the outdoor classroom behind the Tate Library at 2:30). I recognized two of the current team members from my senior year (they're now seniors themselves) and they both remembered me, which was gratifying. The practice itself was a bit of a mess. I clearly was not expecting a practice as intense or serious as what we do in college, but I was a little shocked at how unorganized things were. Meyers and Wern coach jointly, but neither seems to have much respect among the team, nor have they instilled anything close to a normal routine or knowledge of frisbee. In fact, I doubt that either of them know the game as well as I do. There was no set warm-up routine (John Acheson and I ran dynamic warm-ups with them today), nor is there much discipline (case in point: water breaks were spontaneous affairs, initiated by whichever kid decided that he needed some time out of the sun). That being said, the kids were great, and it was fun to play with them and try to teach them something (we worked on dumping and swinging all day). On top of that, many of them seemed to have good instincts and showed a good deal of promise. All in all, the experience made me realize exactly what I've gained from devoting so much time to ultimate at Yale. I'm much better at recognizing group dynamics, as well as motivating a group and gaining respect from them than I would be otherwise. I was pretty surprised at Wern and Meyers' inability to do this (though to be fair, perhaps they were exhausted from teaching during the day), despite the fact that both have taught at Fieldston for a considerable number of years and have coached the team for the entire season. In light of their social and communication skills, I found myself wondering if being a teacher was really unsuited for me, and reconsidering my initial rejection of that profession.

After practice, I caught a ride back into the city with my mother in order to eat dinner with Sam, Kathy, Jerry, Phyllis (the daughter of my great-grandmother's second husband), Ellie (Phyllis' daughter) and John (her husband). I had never met John or Ellie before, though we had stayed at their house in Bagni di Lucca when we visited Italy (a trip that probably took place almost a decade ago, incredible how time flies). Dinner was wonderful, and it was great to see everyone. John is from South Africa, and I had a great time talking to him. To begin with, we happened to be sporting the exact same shirt. He was also keen to talk about South African literature (particularly J.M. Coetzee) and recommended 'The Age of Iron' as well as 'The Kindly Ones' (not a Coetzee novel, but something he was highly excited about). Additionally, he related to Sam and myself the story of the only film he tried to produce. He had worked on a movie written by Athol Fugard during apartheid. Apparently, Fugard was trashed the entire time, and was having an affair with another woman despite the fact that his wife was there. The director came out of the closet about halfway through filming, and, because the cast was multiracial, the secret police followed them everywhere. John mentioned that he thought that there might be a correlation between political action and unrest and artistic production. It's certainly an idea that seems plausible to me, and I wonder to what extent art can create political unrest. I'll certainly pay attention to the idea as I finish Coetzee's memoir.

May 19 - New York and Youth

2009-05-20T02:28:00.000-07:00

Spent the morning of May 19 lazing around in New Haven, recovering from last night. Fortuitously made it to Old Campus in time to say goodbye to many of my friends. Went to a showing of Star Trek in the afternoon at the Criterion. It was very good for the first half, but lost its way a little bit when it dealt with traveling back and forth through time. The plot seemed better suited for a television mini-series, but I suppose that makes sense. Caught a train out of New Haven for New York at 7 with Liz Breit and Gideon, another Yale student.

Spent the first half the ride talking, the second reading 'Youth' a memoir by Coetzee. The book was fascinating. My usual problem with Coetzee's writing is that as a narrator, he seems so distant from his own characters. Everything is presented starkly and abstractly, and it is difficult to relate the men and women that people his books. I suppose this might also be a function of the sorts of characters he chooses to write about. 'Youth' was entirely different though. The main character is dissected in a methodical, merciless way by the author and, frankly, the character reminded me of myself when I was younger. More than anything, I was impressed with the level of self-examination, and fascinated by the idea of self-reliance, especially as it was connected with the how narrow the protagonist's world view was. The young man is obsessed with his studies and becoming an artist to such an extent that he barely weighs in on the dramatic politics of South Africa. It has always seemed to me that any profession worth pursuing ought to involve a moral aspect, and some way of affecting 'the world.' I don't mean to imply that being an artist necessarily involves a disconnection from morality and changing reality, nor do Imean to say that this inheres in politics. In 'Youth' the character appears to be concerned with art basically for the sake of his own ego. There is only a naked desire to be an important writer, and no impetus behind that ambition. I'm only about a quarter of the way through the book, and I'm interested to see whether Coetzee attempts to justify being a writer in this way, or if he holds a different view on what makes an occupation worthwhile and satisfying. As this blog itself is evidence of, I don't disdain a little indulgent self-examination or intellectual masturbation now and again, but I can't imagine spending my entire life at either of those things, and it seems that in many ways writing novels and poetry embodies both of them.

Reason

2009-05-20T02:18:00.000-07:00

Why did I feel the need to start a blog? I think that blogs (particularly ones like this, where the author does not even give the pretense of presenting interesting or original information for his audience) run the risk of being incredibly self-indulgent and meaningless. I've chosen not to delude myself with the notion that other people will want to read this. This blog is absolutely an indulgent and personal exercise. I've attempted on a number of occasions in the past to keep a journal, and have always failed, but it is my hope that keeping a blog will be a novel experience, and will hold my interest. Keeping this blog also ties in to my desire to begin to write again over the course of the next year and a half, and is a part of a larger attempt to return to some semblance of the discipline that I had in high school. I will be spending this summer living with my friend Ian Cutler in Pittsburgh, and working for a prisoners' rights group that doesn't seem to have much direction. From staying in shape for frisbee, to taking initiative in my work, discipline will be incredibly important this summer. At any rate, those are my primary justifications, and I'm really tired of hearing myself ramble on (though I suppose I'll have to build up a greater tolerance if I'm to do this all summer).