A New Philosophy

"I'm Not A Homophobe, But..."

Anewphilosophy — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 03:42:31 GMT

This week, I've been reading Unfriendly Fire, a book on how "don't ask, don't tell" has hurt the military in a variety of ways. It's a very interesting and somewhat shocking book, especially as it delves into the horribly untrue and blatantly prejudiced things that were said about gay people while the debate over the policy was raging in the early nineties. (Example: one position paper by a prominent military essayist and evangelical Christian lamented the gay community's advocacy for the "decriminalization of private sex acts between consenting 'persons'." Yeah, that's right— he put "persons" in quotation marks. Because apparently gay people aren't really people?)

As I was reading, I was struck by this excerpt, which comes at the beginning of a section that explores why America was so conflicted about the role of gays in mainstream culture in 1993:

"In the abstract Americans favored concepts like tolerance, equality, freedom, fairness, and civil rights. But polls showed sharp limitations on how far they would go in translating such abstractions into support for real rights."

This is one of the most accurate statements I've ever read.

Doesn't everyone know someone like this? There's always someone who prefaces an offensive racial joke with, "I'm not a racist or anything," or someone who says, "Of course, I totally support equal rights for women," before launching into a tirade about why they shouldn't have a woman as their boss.

As I read those few sentences above, I thought first of the page on PNN, set up directly before the 2008 general election, that sought to garner approval for California's Proposition 8. I don't know who set up the page (which had some ridiculous title about saving marriage or defending Jesus or yet another of the many clichéd, inaccurate, offensive phrases that the anti-gay movement has invented to make themselves sound less monstrous), but I do know that every once in awhile, its author would post some hilariously bad article about how having gay people get hitched would harm children and ruin marriages and destroy society as we know it.

After a few of these articles found their way on to the front page of PNN, I posted a comment on one of them, telling the author how disappointing it was to hear people spreading hate in the name of Jesus. People like you, I said, were the reason why my sister had to stay in the closet during high school, for fear people would make fun of her, or, worse, injure her. People like you, I continued, were why my sister refused to come to church anymore.

And the reply I got astounded me. Oh, no, I had it all wrong. Because, you see, this person didn't hate gay people. This person would never have been cruel to my sister. This person would never have made fun of her or physically assaulted her. That wasn't what this was about at all.

Wow! And here I was, thinking that treating people like second-class citizens, that telling them their very being is disgusting and dangerous and offensive to God himself, was an expression of hate and hostility. Clearly, I was wrong. Clearly, as long as you smile at your gay neighbor on your way to get the morning paper, it's okay to prohibit him from marrying the person he loves.

As I thought about this, I realized how easily this "I don't hate gay people because I'm nice to them on the street" attitude translates to other groups, as well. Suddenly, I remembered a girl from high school [we'll call her "T" here], a girl I probably hadn't thought about since then until she friended me on Facebook not too long ago.

The Struthers public school system was, at least in my day, a place where teen girls put up their 24-week ultrasounds on a special bulletin board. Girls got pregnant all the time, and my friends and I were terrified by the very idea of sex, since we saw all the terrible things that happened to the pregnant girls in our class. [A good friend of mine ended up having two children by age 16; she dropped out, ran away, and may actually be dead now.] So naturally, we occasionally talked about what we would do if the "curse" ever fell upon us.

We were in eighth grade. None of us had ever had sex; none of us had ever even been kissed. In fact, I'm pretty sure that only one of us had ever been in physical proximity to a boy, and let me tell you, it wasn't me. We were eating at a lunch table, which, as many of you may remember, meant that we were an awkward grouping of friends, friends-of-friends, and people who were just glad to have somewhere to sit at lunch, somewhere that wasn't at the table where mentally-challenged Katherine or 300-pound Bobby sat.

The topic of the conversation: "What would your parents do if you had to tell them you were pregnant?" One friend said her mom (her dad was out of the picture, I think) would be mad, but that she'd understand and help her out. A second friend said her parents would never find out, because she'd kill herself before she had to tell them, and she was only half joking. I said that my parents would be disappointed, but that they'd help me explore all my options and support me in whatever choice I made. (This lead to a short-lived debate on abortion, which I won, because, let's face it, even in eight grade I was pretty awesome at arguing.)

Then "T" spoke up. "I'm pretty sure my mom and dad would be supportive," she said, twirling her hair around her finger as she spoke. "Unless, of course, if the baby daddy was a black guy."

We all stared at her.

"I mean, you know— it's not like they're racists or anything," she blurted out, clearly rethinking her honesty. "My parents like black people. But my dad said that if I ever dated a black guy, he'd make me live in the car."

We didn't have the language or the knowledge or the confidence, back then, to talk to "T" about what she'd said, and really, I'm willing to bet that a couple of the other girls wouldn't have wanted to admit that their parents felt the same way. But long after we'd packed up and headed to fifth-period science, "T"'s words kept nagging at me.

How could you reconcile "liking" black people with not wanting them anywhere near your family? How could you not experience intense cognitive dissonance over this?

I'm nonplussed as to how we can continue, as a society, to espouse virtues like equality, and simultaneously continue to oppose gay rights. If you asked your average red-blooded American (or even your average town-hall-disrupting, Obama-hating, evangelical conservative) if they believe in "equality" (as a concept, not in any specific case), then I bet you'd get a resounding "Of course!" But ask whether or not gay people should be granted marriage equality, and suddenly your subject's devotion to the abstract principle is called into question.

I know that the anti-gay movement isn't based on rational decision-making, but rather on visceral, gut reactions to something that has been culturally taboo for a very long time. I know this, I really do, and I understand why people are confused or horrified or frightened by the gay movement, even as I am disappointed and saddened by this reaction. But what I don't get are the ones who claim that they like gay people— they just don't think they they're the same as "normal" people. They'd never hurt a gay person— they just want to keep them from marrying the people they actually love.

Perhaps the reason we have all this confusion is because the vocabulary we've inherited to talk about such discrimination is outdated, since it hearkens back to a past where prejudice was more brazen, and less underground. It's hard to call someone a racist without starting a fight over what it even means to be a racist; it's no wonder that people would go to great lengths to avoid being labeled as such, even if it's clear that they harbor some racial resentment. Like I said, everyone knows someone who qualifies their racist or sexist or homophobic remarks with the phrase, "Well, I'm not a [racist/sexist/homophobe], but..."

Maybe we need to jettison the noun in favor of the adjective; maybe, instead of labeling people as "racists", "sexists," or "homophobes," we can just identify their language or their attitude or their beliefs as such. I mean, it might be easier to get people to recognize the irrationality of their hurtful actions if, instead of telling them that they themselves are objectionable, we merely object to their ideas. I don't hate the woman (or man— back then there were still some guys left on PNN) who posted those articles about how homosexuality is the root of all evil in California. I don't want to do anything to her or about her. I only want to change her mind. I only want to help her understand how her ideas are actually hurting real, live people, how she is doing real damage to people's lives through her advocacy of exclusion and inequality. In fact, I'm sure she only wants to do what's right— and she probably doesn't understand that what she thinks is right is helping to keep people apart, to make people unhappy.

I want to make this very clear, though: "being nice" to gay people does not automatically make you a good person. It does not absolve you of anything; it does not make it acceptable for you to advocate against gay rights. And to be honest with you, my sister would probably rather have you yell homophobic slurs in her face and then vote to let her marry a woman than watch you fall over yourself trying to smile at her on your way to vote "yes" on a gay marriage ban. Being nice to gay people is, well, nice, but letting people live their own lives is much nicer.

Treating everyone with respect is important, of course. But viewing everyone with respect is ultimately the challenge.

Cleveland Says: Gays Rock!

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 01:29:46 GMT

So guess what?

Apparently, Cleveland just beat out Boston as the host city for the 2014 Gay Games!

That's right. Cleveland is more inclusive than Boston! We win! I'm so proud of my state for seizing this opportunity, and for trying to become more open and welcoming to the gay community.

However, as excited as I was to read about this in the Akron-Beacon Journal, the statement at the bottom of the page disheartened me:

"Ohio.com and the Akron Beacon Journal disable commenting on stories when we believe the feature will be used excessively for anonymous postings that are personal attacks, abusive or hateful. This is one such story."

How sad is that— when a newspaper can't allow comments to be posted beneath an article because of the near certainty that at least one of those comments will be a disgusting expression of bigotry and hate?

Speek Engrish

Anewphilosophy — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 03:46:18 GMT

What amuses me the most about this collection of misspelled political signs is how many of them are urging the adoption of English as the official, or only, language in this country. I don't really understand why these pro-mandatory-English folks are angry; it's not like they actually SPEAK English. Mistakes happen (and I make language mistakes all the time), but c'mon— if you're trying to make a point using a large, highly visible sign, at least make sure that sign says something meaningful.

First of all, English is not an inherently American language. Notice how it is called "English," not "American"— the language itself was imported. English is just as much an immigrant as that Mexican guy sitting next to you on the bus. And secondly— this country's native-born citizens can barely speak their native, and only, language, as one can clearly see from the number of people who seem to feel that "thru" and "lol" and "were are you???" are all words/phrases in the English language.

I was an English major. I like English. I speak English. But if you don't want to speak English, that's okay, because my self-worth is not predicated on being able to decipher your side conversations, and I'm not a paranoid freak who assumes that if you're speaking something I don't understand, that must mean you're talking about me.

PNNers: what languages do you speak? What languages do you WISH you could speak?

Thoughts On My First New York 9-11

Anewphilosophy — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 02:59:50 GMT

Today I received a lovely email from Sandra requesting my thoughts on 9/11, since this is my first time being in New York for it. I'm sorry to say that, like usual, I don't have anything particularly deep to say on the subject. But I did read a fascinating article from the New York Times today about what New Yorkers thought would happen after 9/11, and it got me thinking about how strange it was to be here for this particular anniversary.

For one thing, while I thought I might feel some sense of solidarity or closeness with other New Yorkers today, I actually ended up feeling kind of isolated or, I dunno, out of place. Everyone else was remembering that day from an up-close-and-personal perspective: how they got home from downtown, how they saw the second tower fall while standing on their rooftops, how that guy from work lost his mom when the first plane hit. And then there was me— and I was sixteen years old then, and safe in Ohio, in a place no one would ever think to bomb.

As my day at work wore on, I found myself drifting mentally, wondering about terrible things and feeling guilty for wondering about them. What if something like 9/11 happened again, right now? I wondered. And I was surprised to find that the questions my brain asked of me were petty and selfish: how would I contact Adam if the phones were down? How would I get home if the streets were blocked off? How would I be able to let my family— spread all across the country— know that I was okay? And that was shocking in and of itself, because for some reason I'd always assumed I would be selfless in a crisis, that I'd be thinking about how I could help strangers, not how I could get back to my home and my husband and my kitties.

And then I read that Times article, and I realized that, as much as I can think about the what-ifs of another crisis, there's really no predicting the future. Because what the article highlights is that many of the changes that New Yorkers expected would occur after 9/11 either didn't become permanent or never really materialized at all. Tourists still flock to Times Square, and people still work in tall buildings, and we're not all clamoring to stick flags all over everything. It's okay to disagree with the president now (or, apparently, to call him a liar by screaming at him on national television— and by the way, if I happened to be Rep. Joe Wilson's mother, I'd be chewing him out right about now), and being a Muslim doesn't automatically mean people look at you nervously (I saw two women in full burqas walking down the street the other day, chatting quite happily) and people still flock to airports in droves. After 9/11, life changed, and then that change wore off, and we went back to being, in many ways, the same as we've always been.

Which raises the question: how exactly does society change? We all assumed that 9/11 would "change everything," but really, my life was only changed for about three years afterwards, and then after that, things started to balance themselves out again. So if a major historical event can't change the way we think about each other and about society, what can? I used to think that sudden, shocking moments were what shape history, but I'm not sure I understand anymore how society evolves.

And what does this mean for the post-recession world? We keep assuming that the lessons we've learned after the fall of Reaganist economic theory will stick, but will they? I've seen multiple news articles claiming that the change this recession has inflicted upon the American psyche will be permanent, that we'll all be thrifty and keep huge savings accounts and cut up our credit cards and learn that a $20 purse looks much the same as a $2000 purse, but how long will that knowledge last? I'm not sure anymore if we'll even manage to keep that collective memory for ourselves, let alone pass it to our children. Who knows— maybe in eight years our memories of the recession will feel as dreamlike as my memories of 9/11 do now.

Of course, for some people, 9/11 really did take a horrible toll. For those who lost friends and family members in the attack, and for those thousands upon thousands of Iraqi and Afghan civilians who were killed in the wars we began as a result of 9/11 (and yes, Iraq and Saddam Hussein had nothing to do with 9/11, but Bush used misinformation about the attacks and the fear that the attacks created to justify the invasion, and I seriously doubt he would have been able to mount the war without 9/11), that day in September did change the rest of their lives. But what about society as a whole? What did we learn from the experience? More importantly, what did we retain?

On Facebook today, my news feed was clogged with status messages in the vein of "Never forget!" and I know they were well-intentioned. But while I doubt many of us will ever forget the way it felt to watch the towers fall, to mourn the sudden deaths of thousands of people, and to wonder what was going to happen next, I'm afraid we'll lose the less tangible aspects of the tragedy. Can we manage to remember, not just what 9/11 felt like, but what it meant, what it represented? Can we hang on to the ways we changed, however temporarily, and can we remember both the good changes and the bad?

How will you remember 9/11?

On Health Care For All Americans

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 16:51:30 GMT

One of the reasons I've largely avoided writing about the heath care debate on A New Philosophy is that, really, it's not so much a "debate" as a screaming match between a group of illogical ignoramuses ("Public healthcare will kill your baby!") and a group of incredulous but apathetic supporters ("You're pulling this crap out of your ass, but I refuse to combat these absurd allegations because they make no sense.")

But this story on Yahoo today made me think twice about my silence, because it really illustrates why the health care debate is moot: people who have already reached conclusions will refuse to admit new evidence that may induce them to change their minds.

Steve Hoffman of the University of Buffalo did a study wherein he talked to fifty Republicans, all of whom believed that there was a connection between 9/11 and Saddam Hussein. (Newsflash: there wasn't one.) As the participants engaged in the study, they were slowly given more and more evidence that their beliefs were false. However, only one of the participants ever changed his/her mind; the other forty-nine participants began to utilize what Hoffman refers to as "motivated reasoning": "Motivated reasoning is essentially starting with a conclusion you hope to reach and then selectively evaluating evidence in order to reach that conclusion," Hoffman said.

This is what has happened in the health care debate. Conservatives— who are still angry that President Obama won the election and who hold fear of governmental intervention into the economic sphere as one of their foundational beliefs— cannot reconcile themselves to a bill that is supported by President Obama and requires governmental intervention in the health care system. Therefore, in order to preserve these emotional viewpoints, they begin to see danger in every line of the bill. "Seniors can receive counseling if they wish to write up a living will" becomes "Seniors will be executed at death panels!" "Let's give preventative care to Americans so that they won't get to the point where they need expensive procedures" becomes "Health care will be rationed and heart transplants will be unavailable!"

Here's what I know: the government already runs health care plans— Medicare, Medicaid, and the armed services' health care— and they seem to work just fine. When I was in Florida, every single old person I met (and I must have met hundreds) was absolutely in love with Medicare— Democrats and Republicans alike. And even Bill Kristol, the editor of the Weekly Standard, agreed (somewhat accidentally, I'll admit) that the armed services have the best health care possible. (More alarming, however, was his assertion that ordinary Americans don't deserve the same care.) The government also runs lots of things that we like: the police forces, for example, and the mail.

Guys, it doesn't make any sense to argue against government-run health care, because YOU ARE THE GOVERNMENT. This is a democracy, people. We elect these folks. In a government-run health care system, health insurance is answerable to YOU, the voter, and if you have a problem with the way things are being run, you can write a letter to your Congressman, and you can protest with other people who also have a problem with it, and if enough people hate the way things are working, something can be done. Private interests, however, are only answerable to stock holders; if I have a problem with my Medical Mutual insurance (and believe me, I do, considering that somehow the $200/month that I pay doesn't entitle me to be covered when I go to the doctor to get a birth control prescription), I can feel free to write a letter, but no one's going to care, considering that I have no shares in the company and therefore can claim no influence over its decisions.

I've never really understood the fear over government-run programs. It's not like we have a king or a dictator or someone who can simply do whatever he/she wants without any repercussions or consequences. In a democracy, YOU control the government. Remember what happened last year? We decided that we wanted the Republicans to run things back in the late 90s and early 2000s, and then, when they did a crappy job, we took them out and tried something new. That wasn't a random act of politics— it was a DECISION that we made AS A COUNTRY. If you didn't vote for President Obama, I can understand how you could feel alienated (oh, believe me, I felt that way in 2000, and in 2004), but when you take a look at the election results, you realize that there was a CHOICE. As much as I hated it then, I had to admit that the American people CHOSE Bush, at least in 2004. We The People spoke, even if the voice was a hysterical and irrational one. And last year, the teacher asked everyone in the class to raise their hands if they wanted Obama to be president, and the majority of the kids in the class raised their hands.

What's ironic about this whole debate is that those who are against government-run health insurance are actually USING THE GOVERNMENT TO MAKE THEIR VOICES HEARD. Through town halls and letters and petitions and phone calls, they are changing the debate, except what they're saying is: "We would be powerless to change a government-run health can system." Um, really? You can easily use the political system to protest the inception of government health care, but you can't possibly imagine using that same system to improve that health care? How does that even make sense?

Over this past month or so, we've heard from a lot of people (many of them crazy-eyed folks akin to the "Obama is a Muslim" woman from the McCain campaign), and very few of them have been willing to say what they'd like to see in a bill, instead of just what they're afraid of seeing. So here's what I'd like to see:

-Universal government-run health care. Yeah, that's right— your ability to afford medical care should not rest on whether or not you are A) rich, B) employed, or C) old. Everyone should get to go to the doctor if they're sick. Everyone. And really, I don't give a shit if that means you have to pay higher taxes for some poor person to go to the doctor, because guess what? That's called community. Anyone can wave a flag or sing a patriotic song, but loving your country means loving its people, and sharing with them when necessary. If you don't like that, then I refer you to poverty activist and lifelong lover of the underprivileged Jesus of Nazareth, or alternatively, to your mother, who (I assume) taught you that sharing is caring.

-No more "pre-existing conditions" crap, and no more of this "that procedure isn't necessary even though it could change your entire life for the better" stuff. If a person has diabetes when they join the insurance plan, then the insurance plan still has to cover the treatment. If you have a benign tumor that has taken over the entire right side of your face and removing it would restore your vision and your quality of life, then that tumor gets removed, and the procedure is covered. Period.

-Coverage for ALL women's health procedures— gynecological checkups, pap smears, mammograms, birth control, and, yes, abortions. If you don't approve of abortion, then you should be able to check a box on your tax forms that says you don't want your money allocated for those purposes. (Although I'm not very sympathetic; I don't believe in war, but I don't get to opt out of providing tax dollars for all the wars we seem to be constantly fighting.) Otherwise, let the rest of us rational folks help women who simply can't afford to burden themselves (and the taxpayers) with an unwanted child.

-Preventative care to help avoid expensive health problems. Which is cheaper: a triple bypass, or a few sessions with a personal trainer and dietician who can help you figure out how to eat right and work physical movement into your daily life? Is it easier to operate on a cancer patient in the advanced stages of the disease, or to screen for the cancer regularly and make sure it can be caught early on? Which is easier to provide: a lifetime of treatment for an obese child, or a talk with his/her parents over what kinds of foods he/she should be eating? I've see parents filling their infants' bottles with Coke, for goodness sakes— and these are parents who genuinely want what's best for their children, but who just don't realize that pumping them with sugar and calories 24/7 is going to make them sick. As much as I like to assume pessimistic things about the world, my experience has taught me that, for the most part, people have good intentions, and they want to make their families and their communities and their world healthier and happier. If you give them the information they need— and, more importantly, if you provide strategies for people to implement and utilize this information in their daily lives— you can go a long way towards preventing complicated treatments for serious illnesses down the line. Prevention doesn't always keep disease from occurring, but it can help lower the incidence of some diseases, and can help spot the development of others before it's too late.

Yep, it might be pretty expensive, but I have this nagging feeling that, perhaps, it's not a lack of money overall that's our problem— it's a mismanagement of it. I'm pretty sure we could take a good hard look at our federal spending and figure out where we could make some cuts (*cough cough* DEFENSE! *cough cough*) so that this important piece of legislation could pass.

(As a side note: I am so totally loving the tax-on-soda idea. TOTALLY. We often buy a lot of Coke to feed Adam's soda addition, and a tax on Coke would simultaneously help to fund health care AND help Adam and I cut back on the amount of expensive and unhealthy soda we drink, thereby making us healthy and saving us some money. Let's go for a tax on all junk foods— maybe we could even allocate a little of it towards a federal program to help poor families purchase fresh veggies instead of processed foods or red meats!)

Conclusion: After a few months of pondering and analyzing the information and watching lots of different news channels (although Fox News was tough to get through) and reading lots of different publications, A New Philosophy officially and wholeheartedly endorses a single-payer, government-run healthcare system that covers all Americans, regardless of their income or their employment status. And while it pretty much goes without saying, this blog also endorses the leadership of the Democratic Party on this front, and encourages Republican lawmakers to listen hard and consider the interests of their constituents above the interests of insurance company executives or campaign donors or their own political careers. (Blue Dog Dems would do well to listen up, too.)

This is not a time to save face, or to play it safe, or to maintain the status quo. Now is the time for heroes. Now is the time for bold leadership. Now is the time for change.

Now is the time for a true morning in America.

And now, watch this cute little video.

Annals Of Bad Parenting

Anewphilosophy — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 00:59:44 GMT

So let's add certain parents in Alameda, California to the list of crazy people around whom I would not want my children:

Parents Sue to Keep Kids From Having to Be Nice to Gays

No, seriously. I am not making this up. The Alameda school district requires kids to attend workshops on how to not be little snots (a.k.a., anti-bullying classes), and this, of course, includes directives on why it's not considered appropriate to tease or bully kids on the basis of their sexuality (or the sexuality of their parents).

A few crazy folks said, Oh, well, I don't want my kid to take that workshop, because my kid doesn't have to be nice to people who are different, and the school board responded with, Uh, yeah, yeah they do. Too bad.

So now the parents are suing, because they don't want their kids to be forced to, y'know, be tolerant and kind. That would obviously be terrible.

As the author of the above blog article points out: "I wouldn’t let my child kick an evangelical Christian . . . that doesn’t mean I’m training her to become one."

And that's how I feel about it. I dislike Crocs, but I wouldn't tell my kid that it's okay to go up to people who are wearing Crocs and kick them in the groin and tell them that they look totally lame. Because I want my kids to, y'know, become good, kind, tolerant, loving people, and not angry, violent, cruel wastelands of human beings.

These folks have elevated "being a crappy example of a Christian" to a whole new level: "Being a crappy example of a Christian parent."

Birth Control = Heroin?

Anewphilosophy — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 20:39:39 GMT

Y'know, I'm aware that The Daily Show and The Colbert Report aren't real news programs, but sometimes they actually do shed light on serious issues in our communities.

For example, today Adam and I learned, via Steven Colbert's hilarious irony, what happened to Freesia Jackson, a 17-year-old student who was suspended from school for "drug possession"— otherwise known as "taking her birth control pill at lunch".

A teacher spotted Jackson, who is a straight-A student and is involved in varsity sports, as she took her daily birth control pill with her lunch beverage. As a result, the school suspended Jackson for ten days (for "possession of a controlled substance") and recommended her for expulsion; a member of the school board declared that "according to the state laws and the federal laws, birth control pills are just as dangerous as heroin."

HEROIN.

Interesting. So the student with a chronic illness who needs to take his/her pills during school in order to keep from being sick— should we expel him or her, too? Should we expel the student who needs an inhaler to prevent or treat asthma attacks?

No— and really, I don't think this is about drugs. I think it's about intimidating young people into letting adults who aren't even related to them in any way make choices for them. This girl had the blessing of her mother (who helped her obtain the pills), she had every right to decide when and how she would manage her reproductive system— and that struck administrators as objectionable.

The fact that this should be anyone's business but the student's is pretty shocking, but even more so is the idea that minors shouldn't have access to contraception in general. As far as I'm concerned, minors should have EXTRA access to contraception, particularly as they are usually the people who are least able to care for an unwanted child. Who wouldn't want to prevent teen pregnancy? And who, having been a teenager once, wouldn't know that the only way to do that effectively is to ensure that teens have access to contraception?

Sometimes, it's like people just don't use their brains.

Abortion: A Man's Choice?

Anewphilosophy — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 15:26:38 GMT

Claire recently pointed me towards a new law being considered in the Ohio House, a bill that would require a woman to get a man's permission to have an abortion.

House Bill 252, introduced by Representative John Adams (R — Sidney), requires any woman seeking an abortion to identify the father and seek his permission to have the procedure. If he refuses to give consent, she is not permitted to have the abortion. The bill does nothing to require the father to provide any child support or care after the child is born, and it forces women who have become pregnant as a result of rape to file a police report in order to terminate the pregnancy— even if filing the report puts her in even more danger from her attacker.

Oh, it gets better: if a girl gets pregnant because of incest or sexual abuse, she can either file a police report (again, even if that report would expose her to greater danger or more abuse) or she must ask her abuser for a paternity test. If the abuser refuses to participate? No abortion.

Here's the kicker: any woman who gets an abortion without the approval of her man would be sentenced to six months in jail and a $1000 fine. A second offense would be a fifth degree felony, which is punishable by up to a YEAR in prison, a $2,500 fine, and all the disadvantages that come with being a felon for life (i.e., being unable to find a job ever again, being barred from voting in elections, etc).

Now, I'm not actually worried about the bill's effects; there's no way in hell it'll pass (Ohio may not be all that progressive, but we're not morons), and even if it DOES, it's clearly unconstitutional, so it'll be struck down by the Ohio supreme court within a month.

No, I'm not posting about this bill because I want to defeat it, since its defeat is inevitable. I'm posting about it because this bill actually destroys the arguments of the very people who have cheered it on.

Because, you see, pro-lifers often justify their arguments by saying that they're NOT inherently sexist. Oh no, they say— abortion has nothing to do with the rights of women. We love women's rights, they say. This is about the fetus, not the woman.

Well, it's pretty hard to make that case with this bill, isn't it? Saying that abortion is only okay if a man says it is— that's blatant sexism right there.

If anti-abortion activists really had faith in women, in their ability to make decisions for their own lives, they wouldn't bother to bomb clinics or cover their mouths with duct tape on the steps of the Supreme Court. The fact remains that the pro-life movement doesn't think that women are smart enough, or moral enough, or good enough, to make these life-and-death decisions for themselves.

I've found that people's attitudes towards abortion tend to change with the situation. Sure, they say, a poor single woman has an excuse, but why would a married chick get an abortion? People seem appalled that I'd consider abortion if I got pregnant right now— as though being married magically means that I have a job (that EITHER of us has a job) or a stable home or the desire to become a mother right this second. And the question I get asked more than any other is this: "But how would you husband feel about it? Wouldn't he be mad?"

Well, no, he wouldn't. Adam is adamant about not wanting to bring an unwanted child into this world. He is completely supportive of abortion rights, and is entirely aware that neither of us could possibly raise a happy, well-adjusted child right now. When we've actually moved into an apartment, when one of us is employed, when he's out of school and ready to be a real priest— then, maybe we'll talk. But right now, we're both unemployed, we're spending the month of July living out of my grandmother's house, and our living situation is precarious at best. We'd never do that to any child.

But most of all, Adam recognizes that an abortion would be MY CHOICE, and that while it takes two people to make a baby, it certainly doesn't take two to carry that baby to term. He realizes that my body is MINE, and he'd be horrified by the idea of anyone wanting me to carry anything inside my body without my own express consent.

This is all hypothetical, of course— we always take numerous precautions to avoid pregnancy, so hopefully we won't ever have to think about this issue concretely. But it's comforting to know that I have the support I need to make that decision, if the time ever comes to make it.

My body doesn't belong to my husband— it belongs to me. Why does my husband see that, but the state of Ohio doesn't?

What Happened, Gov. Strickland?

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 02:50:05 GMT

I was horrified to learn that Ohio governor Ted Strickland, a man who is usually pretty reasonable and smart, has developed Executive Order 2008 03S, which, when it takes effect (soon!), will make it impossible for milk producers to label their milk cartons "rBGH-free."

Why does this matter? Well, rBGH is an artificial hormone given to cows to force them to produce more milk. While the FDA states that there is no difference between milk made from rBGH-injected cows and those not injected with the hormone, many studies (and some of the FDA's own publications) have exposed the increase in disease that cows experience when injected with rBGH, particularly the disease known as mastitis. Mastitis is a disease that causes inflammation, swelling, and pus drainage, some of which ends up in the milk product. Milk from cows treated with rBGH contains higher levels of Insulin Growth Factor-1 (IGF-1); Humans naturally have IGF-1 in their bodies, but increased levels have been linked to colon and breast cancer.

As a consumer, I would prefer my milk providers not to use this chemical; I'd rather pay slightly more for a product that is 1) safer, and 2) not made in a way that causes horrible pain and debilitated sickness in cows. If companies ARE going to use it, I'd prefer that I know about it, so that I can use a brand that doesn't use it— and there are plenty of brands available. So why not let me choose for myself?

Kansas Governor Kathleen Sebelius vetoed a similar gag bill last month, so Ohio is actually the ONLY state where it's illegal to label milk as "rBGH-free." And why? Don't I have the right, as a consumer, to know what I'm consuming? What about when I choose to get pregnant— why wouldn't you want a pregnant woman to be able to consume chemical-free products in order to promote the health of the fetus?

I'm going to call my governor’s office tomorrow, and I hope my fellow Ohioans who have done their research and agree with me will call [(614) 466-3555] or email the governor to express their concerns, as well!

The Arrival

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 04:21:37 GMT

We're in Florida!

And while our actual internet service doesn't work in this joint (AT&T isn't available here, which is how you really know we're beyond civilization), it's easy enough to find free wireless access here...as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing this right now, of course.

And yes, this counts as living in the South. One of my pet peeves is when people claim that Florida "isn't really part of the South." Oh, really? Because first of all, it's about as far South, geographically speaking, as you can get in the US; and second of all, in my (admittedly limited) experience, Florida is even more stereotypically Southern than, say, Virginia. I've been to both states— in fact, I've been to North Carolina and South Carolina and Virginia and Georgia, and none of them seem as stereotypically Southern as Florida.

For example, as soon as we pulled into the Florida part of I-95, our eyes were assaulted by no fewer than thirty pro-life billboards, each placed about a mile away from the next. A few depicted a somewhat deformed-looking fetus that appeared to be saying, "I have a heartbeat at 18 weeks!" (Funny, considering that most abortions take place before then...) The more offensive billboards had a picture of four children standing around and looking happy, with the blank outline of a fifth child in the middle of them. The billboard read, "Is something missing in your life?" And then next to that, it said, "[Number] abortions every day!!!" except the number kept getting bigger with every incarnation of the billboard, so that the first billboard told us that 3,400 abortions were performed each day, the second said 3,500, the next said 3,600, and so on.

Frankly, I didn't understand the point of such billboards. Everyone already knows how they feel about abortion, right? Who exactly is going to be driving along, contemplating their impending abortion, and suddenly think to themselves, "Oh my gosh, that billboard just convinced me to make a life changing decision! Because a few rich people got together and rented out a billboard advertising their personal views on my womb, I'm going to give birth to a child!" Who does that, exactly? And really, the creepy-looking fetus wasn't exactly an appealing image. I'd have gone for a full-term baby, because those are cute; fetuses are kind of gross looking, so I wouldn't be putting them on billboards that are designed to make you SYMPATHETIC to said fetuses. That's the great failing of the pro-life movement, really— they shouldn't let on that fetuses aren't cute, because then you just think, "Ewwww, that looks like a weird type of fish or something."

Furthermore, I don't understand how people can say that the South is so conservative. If everyone here already hates abortion, why do they need the billboards? Wouldn't it be a forgone conclusion? Who are they targeting?

I feel the same way about the "Jesus loves you" billboards that dot the horizon here. If everyone here is so religious, if this really is "Christian country," as the Southern politicians sometimes claim, then why do you need to advertise Jesus?

I love Jesus. I just don't understand why everyone else has to. And really, I don't think he would have been a big fan of billboards.

But I think I'm going to enjoy this summer. For one thing, my grandmother is an abortion rights activist, so I'm sure we'll meet our fair share of interesting people, some of whom may actually be trying to kill us. And for another, I'm finally on VACATION. I can walk to the river; I can walk to the beach; we can all go into Tarpon Springs and eat Greek food and watch the sponge divers. Hell, WE HAVE CABLE. That in itself is a rare luxury.

Plus, I was born here. This is the first land I ever knew. Somehow, it feels familiar. I know I mock it sometimes, but it's a teasing born of love. I love it here.

Tomorrow we're going to sleep in, take a run by the river, go to the beach, finish up some seminary stuff (our FAFSA says our EFC is only $3000 per YEAR, and that amount includes food and housing and stuff, so, y'know, that's AWESOME), and then hang out with my grandma, who is one of the coolest people I know. And then I'll update with some witty and intelligent posts, some of which might actually be about things other than my personal life.

But we made it here. This is Philosophy Walker, reporting from New Port Richey, FL. Over and out

"Body" of Evidence

Anewphilosophy — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 04:19:46 GMT

The political world never ceases to amaze and astound me.

First it was the election of Barack Obama as president— something I never even dared to hope that my country would be capable of doing. Then it was the idea that people— rational, educated American adults— would take seriously any political statement that came out of the mouth of Miss California.

And now?

Jesse "The Body" Ventura— former wrestler, infamous governor of Minnesota, and dubious movie actor— just talked intelligently about torture.

Wow.

And the more I read about him, the more I feel like I might have been wrong about him. As a teenager, I remember laughing when he was elected, and thinking, "Are these the sorts of people I want making decisions in my government— brainless former wrestlers?" To me, the election of Ventura stood for what I thought was wrong about elections in general: the emphasis on celebrity and personality instead of positions on issues and actual qualifications.

But y'know, maybe he got a bad rap. I've been reading up on him tonight, and I completely disagree with him on fiscal issues and unions...but I like that he didn't seem fazed about standing up for minorities. He supports gay rights, abortion rights, and the separation of church and state; he made public transportation (including light rail) a priority, and he vetoed a bill requiring the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance in public schools, which I think was pretty brave.

I dunno— I still think he was under qualified, but at the same time, I'm hesitant to define that necessary qualification. I mean, isn't that issue always at the heart of our democracy? Aren't we all secretly hoping, deep down inside, that the next great leader will come, not from law school or the business sector, but from the unremarkable masses?

Ah, well. It's a confusing thing to think about; that line of thinking brings us to a sense of egalitarianism that we sorely need nowadays, but it also gave birth to the presidency of George W. Bush. The problem, perhaps, is that we need not confuse obscure origins with general mediocrity. Great men can live amongst us, can work beside us, and we might never know it unless they could be given a chance to lead. That just doesn't mean that men who are mediocre at heart will one day turn great.

Anyways...I wish I'd been old enough to really research him properly when he was governor. He seems like an interesting (but strange) person.

The Pride of Youngstown

Anewphilosophy — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 01:02:31 GMT

It's been a week of terrible firsts for the Mahoning Valley: we had our first swine flu case and our first local Catholic priest molestation scandal.

But we had one first this week that was a lot more cheerful— our first gay pride festival!

Adam, my sister Tatiana, and I all drove over to the celebration in downtown Youngstown. It was pretty small (it IS the first gay pride festival here, and these things need time to grow), but it was still a good time. There were a few food stands, some organizational booths (the ACLU, the Unitarians, and First Federated Church were all there— if I'd have known about this sooner, I would've put together an Episcopal booth!), and a stage where drag queen performers battled it out for Miss Gay Pride Youngstown. (My favorite was Brittany Cheers, who did actual cartwheels and splits and even had backup dancers! She won, of course.)

We only saw one protestor— a sour-faced man carrying a poorly made green sign with the words "Remember Sodom" scrawled in a childlike hand— and as we were entering, the police officers at the event were ejecting him. I overheard the police officer saying something to the effect that the guy was blatantly trying to start fights and intimidate people, so he could go "protest" somewhere else. According to the Vindicator article above, though, the rest of the ten or so protestors who had been there before we arrived had left after the organizers reminded them that, while it was their right to protest, gay people had just as much of a right to picket the protesters' churches with signs. Apparently, the thought of having their tactics turned against them made them think twice about what they were doing.

I had my face painted (I got whiskers and a little pink nose— and consequently had a lot of gay guys walk up to me and whisper, "Meow!") and gazed lovingly at a tie-dyed, rainbow pair of underwear that I simply couldn't afford. The dancers were all fabulous, of course, and they inspired Adam to promise to take us to Utopia, one of Youngstown's few gay bars, where many of the dancers regularly perform in drag shows. And if you read the above article, you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that I got to pop Maxine Factor's bubblewrap dress!

The cutest part of the day was when we picked my sister up from my parents’ house to go to the festival, and as we were leaving, my mom shouted at us, “Be loud! Be proud! Be Youngstown!” with the air of someone telling her children, “Now, remember to put on a sweater, and take your umbrellas, my dears!”

I have the coolest family in the world.

Here are some pictures from the event:

(From top: a view from the curb; Adam dances to the music; a drag queen performs.)

The right to deny rights is not a right

Anewphilosophy — Thu, 28 May 2009 21:36:05 GMT

I very much enjoyed this NPR/New Republic piece on gay marriage, entitled "Until Logic Did Them Apart." The idea behind the piece is that gay marriage opponents don't actually use viable arguments to state their case— they just say, "I believe that marriage is between a man and a woman":

Gay marriage opponents have made that formulation their mantra. It's a really strange way for them to summarize their argument, because it's not an argument at all. If we're debating health care, one side will have a line about big government, and the other will have a line about the uninsured or spiraling costs. If we're debating torture, advocates will mention the need to make terrorists talk, and opponents will invoke American values. Soundbites, by their nature, can't express much logical nuance, but they do tend to give you a reason to agree with the position.

The anti-gay-marriage soundbite, by contrast, makes no attempt at persuasion. It's like saying you oppose the Bush tax cuts because "I believe the top tax rate should be 39.6 percent." You believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman? Okay! But why?

The article also articulates something that has bothered me about the anti-gay stance for years— the idea that extending rights to one group of people somehow devalues those rights for another group of people:

In a liberal society, consenting adults are presumed to be able to do as they like, and it is incumbent upon opponents of any such freedom to demonstrate some wider harm. The National Organization for Marriage, on its website, instructs its activists to answer the who-gets-harmed query like so: "Who gets harmed? The people of this state who lose our right to define marriage as the union of husband and wife, that's who." Former GOP Senator Rick Santorum, arguing along similar lines, has said, "[I]f anybody can get married for any reason, then it loses its special place."

Both these arguments rest upon simple tautologies. Expanding a right to a new group deprives the rest of us of our right to deny that right to others. If making a right less exclusive devalues it, then any extension of rights is an imposition upon those who were not previously excluded-i.e., women's suffrage makes voting less special for men.

That's always really irritated me— they're basically saying, "Permitting these people to get married will infringe upon my right to deny them marriage!" which isn't a good argument, because...well, GOOD, you shouldn't have that right, because it's not your life or your marriage we're discussing. It's a lot like saying, "Letting black people vote will infringe upon my right to deny them the vote!" and my conclusion to this is: DUH.

And I've said it many times before, but I'll say it again: If letting gay people marry negatively affects your own heterosexual marriage, YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG. What other people are doing in their marriages has ZERO EFFECT on mine. We let people in this country who follow the Quiverfull movement have fifteen children if they so desire— does the existence of such families force me to run out and get pregnant? Will it somehow "devalue" my own childrearing experience in the future? Should I deny them their right to have as many children as they please simply because I think it's disturbing to pop that many babies out of your vajayjay? No— because it's NONE OF MY BUSINESS. What they do doesn't affect my marriage or my child-bearing abilities. It might affect the environment and my government (overpopulation isn't cool, guys), but it certainly won't affect the way I live my life, raise my kids, and make my home with my husband.

I think the article has it right when it points out that objections to gay marriage are usually more about knee-jerk discomfort than about reasoned argument:

Some hard-core conservatives are willing to openly discriminate like this, but most people aren't, which is why public opinion is warming to gay marriage. Most opposition arises from simple discomfort. When I first started hearing about gay marriage. I didn't oppose it, but it seemed sort of strange and radical-and only after several years did I realize I supported it.

The line "I believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman" is an expression of that sensibility-a reflection of unease rather than principle. As people face up to the fact that opposing gay marriage means disregarding the happiness of the people most directly (or even solely) affected by it, most of us come around. Good ideas don't always defeat bad ideas, but they usually, over time, defeat non-ideas.

This is why I'm not as worried about the anti-gay situation as I could (or maybe even should) be: because those people are going to go the way of the segregationists and the Confederates and the handful of women who argued that the female vote would only "sully" the saintly souls of American women. We think back on those people now and we pity them, and we wonder how they could have ever said and thought those strange, distasteful things. Yet they did— there was indeed a time when "I think black people aren't equal to white people" and "I think women are inherently less intelligent and capable than men" were considered reasonable opinions to possess. And so, in several hundred years, our descendents will look back on what people today thought, and they'll wonder: "why did they say and do those awful things?"

Even fifty years from now, we may have to look into the faces of our grandchildren as they come home from school, as they recite what they learned in the history books about the struggle for gay rights, and hear them ask, "Grandma, did you believe that, too?"

My own grandmother was deeply involved in the civil rights movement in the South, and as a child, I was so glad and proud that she had fought for freedom. I'd tell the other kids at school about how my grandma battled the Klan at freedom marches and became the first white teacher in the state of Florida to voluntarily integrate into a black school. And I'd imagine that the same fierceness, the same tenacity, the same upright moral virtue, might flow in my own veins at that very moment.

Our actions and words will speak for us when we're long gone. What will yours say?

In Defense of Local Food

Anewphilosophy — Wed, 13 May 2009 06:51:38 GMT

This article rubbed me the wrong way— particularly its sense of humor. I mean, I like to mock wealthy people and the way they wear expensive "workout clothes" and "gardening attire" as much as anyone else, but making fun of eco-consciousness? Not cool, guys.

Basically, the article is intended to be a lightly humorous piece that skewers Michelle Obama for starting her organic garden. It then segues into a more general mockery of the "eat locally" movement, and the idea that people could subsist without Big Agra. The whole thing seems to be intended to paint the Obamas as elitists who refuse to use "handy and effective nitrogen fertilizers and pesticides" in order to save themselves some (precious, precious!) time.

First of all— c'mon, dude, it's hard enough to get people excited about being environmentally conscious, even without making it look goofy. I like to mock a lot of things I actually like— liberalism, religion, people who have too many cats. But the humor inherent in this piece isn't cute, really— it's just kind of condescending, and pretty deliberately ignorant, as a matter of fact.

Second of all: honey, if you're going to admit at the beginning of your article that you don't garden and that you suck at gardening, then shut the heck up. I'm not interested in your opinion on gardening if your only experience with it is helping your wife do it. And furthermore— the author's calculations are wildly off. If your homegrown tomatoes cost anything close to $5 apiece, YOU'RE DOIN' IT WRONG. And really, organic gardening ISN'T any harder than gardening with pesticides— as long as you're not a lazy whiner. Why make Michelle out to be the namby-pamby in her Jimmy Choos when YOU'RE the one who can't handle a little natural fertilizer, huh, punk?

But what bothers me the most are the more serious points that the author intends to make. Quoting a letter from a lobbying group representing pesticide makers? Oh, THERE'S a reliable source. And of COURSE the average farmer produces enough food to feed 144 Americans— because the "average farmer" is not an individual, but rather a large corporation that owns several mega-farms. And for that matter, who CARES? We know we have a food surplus in this country. Production isn't the problem; distribution and quality are.

And really, the most annoying part is that he doesn't actually seem to understand the real POINT of the local-food movement— that it USES FUEL to move food around. His assertion that New York City would starve if left to fend on local food alone is stupid, because the parameters he gives as being the acceptable definition of "local" aren't actually written in stone anywhere. There are plenty of people who believe that "local" could mean "from your region" or "from your country" as much as "from your town." He's just...being kind of stupid. Am I the only one who thinks this guys just sat down at his computer and thought, "Well, things are a little slow this week, but I've gotta churn out an article for my editor somehow..."?

I can take a joke, and I know the author means to be humorous. I just think he comes off as smug and unknowledgeable and, well, moronic.

All, Or Nothing

Anewphilosophy — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 00:04:36 GMT

Today, as you're no doubt aware, is Earth Day, and in my opinion, a central part of being an ecologically responsible person is thinking globally. I'm not just talking about being informed about international events or considering global perspectives (although those are important things, too)— I'm talking about trying to overcome our more selfish impulses by thinking about the common good.

I mean, a lot of the ecological problems we're experiencing today came about because, for a long time, people just didn't think broadly enough. People didn't think about what would happen to the earth and its living creatures when they tossed trash on the ground— they only thought about what an inconvenience it would be to have to properly dispose of their waste. They didn't think about landfills and pollution when they tossed out perfectly useful things— they only thought about how much nicer it would be to have new things instead of reusing the old ones. No one really cared about the fact that cars were polluting the environment, because, hey, it would be so durned annoying to have to improve fuel efficiency. And if manufacturers worked hard on improving the gas mileage of their cars...well, then prices would go up, and families might have to make do with one or two cars instead of five or six!

Of course, we all know this, and we know that the selfishness problem doesn't just stop with our environmental issues— it's part and parcel of our economic woes ("But I want that huge house RIGHT NOW!"), our societal problems ("Well, I guess I could give ten dollars to charity this month, but only if I'm sure I can afford that new pool I want"), and, to some extent, our political woes ("I could never support measures to help the poor if it means taking away some of MY money— I have a right to buy as much crap as I want, you know").

I really enjoyed this Newsweek piece about the epidemic of narcissism in the United States. (As a side note, I did disagree with a few of the author's points, namely with her mockery of the idea that it's important to love yourself. I don't think positive self-esteem is the same thing as selfishness, and in fact, I think a lot of selfishness has to do with feeling inadequate and insecure, and not wanting to show it.) I'm amazed that thirty percent of college students agreed with the statement: "If I show up to every class, I deserve at least a B." Who are these people? And how could their parents have raised them this way?

What's even more amazing to me is that a whopping eighty percent of Americans describe themselves as Christians, and yet we continue to see such blatant selfishness in the political, social, and environmental arenas. Um, did some people miss the part where Christianity is almost entirely about self-sacrifice? I mean, the central Christian story is about a guy who, instead of marketing his popular philosophical ideas into a series of self-help books and tapes and retiring early with his millions, chose to die a horrible, painful, slow, public, humiliating death in order to show the world what true love means. The idea isn't that Jesus died so that we could spend our days buying plasma TVs and designer-label clothes; the idea is supposed to be that, like Jesus, we should work on giving ourselves to and for others.

Here is one of my favorite parts of the Bible:

[The early followers of Jesus] devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. [Acts 2: 42-45 (NIV)]

Early Christians weren't going around saying, "Gee, poor people must be poor because they're lazy and selfish. They certainly don't deserve my money. I worked hard for what I have, and I think I should buy myself a nice new pair of sandals." They gave to anyone as he had need. They weren't saying, "Well, I'll keep what's mine, and to hell with the rest of the world. I don't need to worry about other people's air or water or land." They had everything in common. If eighty percent of Americans are Christians, why are there still so many poor people? Why is there so much waste, so much destruction? Why do have such difficulty even identifying problems as problems, let alone fixing them?

Like I've said before, I don't think everyone needs to be a Christian, and I'm not really into evangelism or conversion; I'm proud to know a lot of wonderful, kind people who live their lives quite happily and contentedly without the need to believe in God. What I'm trying to say (in my own clumsy, preachy, whiny, roundabout way) is that, if I'm going to be a Christian, I need to be constantly trying to see the interconnectedness of things, to understand how my actions affect those around me— even people I don't know or like, not just my family members and friends.

Now, I'd be a hypocrite if I said I was always a loving, caring, sharing sort of gal. I'm no Jesus; I'm no saint. I like Girl Scout Cookies and video games as much as anyone; sometimes I get caught up in what's good for me, and what makes me happy, and I don't give a thought to what other people want. I can be quite the narcissist, myself, and I'm not offering my life up as the paragon of anything (well, maybe the paragon of sleeping, since I'm pretty good at taking naps!). I'm not perfect, and I know that no one is perfect, and I don't expect anyone to become perfect. But a lack of perfection does not mean an abdication of the responsibility to try and make things BETTER, to try and identify the negative and hurtful aspects of your lifestyle and your mindset and to improve them, wherever and however you live. Every single day, I wonder how I can become a better person, and slowly, I think I'm making headway overall, even if I do a heck of a lot of backsliding in the process.

Just because the world will never be a rosy utopian paradise doesn't mean we should just give up and turn our backs. Just because everything seems all messed up and broken right now doesn't mean we should stop trying to spread as much love and compassion as we can, or that we should stop working to see the beauty in the brokenness. Just because some people find themselves unable to love their world and their neighbors doesn't mean that we should join them.

Saving the earth means cultivating a sense of us rather than just me, even if it's not always a permanent (or easy) state of mind.