Archive for October, 2006

California election endorsements, part two: the propositions: UPDATED

Last week, I blogged my endorsements for the statewide offices for the California general election on November 7.  Today, as promised, I’ll post my endorsements for the 13 propositions on the California ballot.  Props I feel strongly about are in CAPS.  For a list of all props, visit here.

Prop 1A: No.  (Would prevent the use of gasoline taxes for anything other than highway work; would bind the legislature.)

Props 1B-1E: Yes.   This is part of the governor’s package to rebuild infrastructure. It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s bold enough and it’s absolutely needed.

Prop 83: NO!  Would make it impossible for registered sex offenders to reintegrate into society — a cruel, expensive response to a media-manufactured hysteria.  It will pass by a 2-1 margin, but the majority will not be right.

Prop 84: Yes.  Improves water quality, backed by the major environmental groups to which I contribute and which I generally trust.

Prop 85:  NO!  For my reasons why, read my post about prop 73 from last year.   I’m strongly opposed to parental notification laws; having worked with scared and pregnant teens as a youth minister has only made me more passionate on the subject.

Prop 86: Yes.  I’ve never met a tax on consumption I didn’t like.  Yes, it will disproportionately hit poor smokers. It will also ask a powerful disincentive, as previous tax hikes already have.

Prop 87:  YES!  I am sure it won’t pass, but this bold initiative to tax oil company profits to fund alternative energy sources is a terrific idea.

Prop 88:  Yes.  I like property taxes that pay for education.    Basing taxes on value is reasonably progressive, too.

Prop 89: Yes.

Prop 90: No.

Bonus endorsement:

City of Pasadena Proposition A: NO!!!  (This is a referendum on the NFL putting an expansion team in the Rose Bowl.  Pro football is the last thing we need in this town.)

My predictions: voters in California will be surprisingly conservative.  I predict most of these won’t go my way. I’m especially worried about the passage of 85, and saddened about 83 (about which I will post more).  I have a small quixotic hope that 87 will get through, but suspect that the huge ad buys by Chevron will prove too powerful.

UPDATE: FlashReport, the far-right California political news website, just issued its ballot endorsements.  Without mutual coordination, we’ve managed to take diametrically opposed stances on all thirteen initiatives.  Perhaps in the future, I won’t read the ballot pamphlet, but simply read the lads at FR and know that the opposite of what they support is the correct way to go.

A very long post about young men and “what works” in teaching masculinity

Jonathan Dresner was the first, but not the last, to send me a link to this Sara Robinson post: There’s Something About Men.  Picking up on the recent disturbing news of adult men targeting young girls in school shootings, Robinson muses at length about "the man crisis".  Her most powerful paragraph:

Something is not right with the boys. Something in the way Americans look at males and manhood has gone sour, curdling into to a rank, toxic, and nasty brew that is changing the entire flavor of our culture. Men everywhere seem to be furious. Some turn it outward against women, against society, against the institutions that no longer seem to nurture them. Some turn it inward against themselves, putting their energies into bizarre self-destructive fantasy lives centered around money, violence, and sex. Some, more disenchanted than angry, check out entirely, abdicating any interest in making commitments or contributions to a family, a profession, or a community to spend their lives as perpetual Lost Boys. Together, all this misdirected, destructive energy has become a social, cultural, and political liability that we can no longer afford to ignore.

As is being widely pointed out (and as even Robinson acknowledges) this sense of "crisis" is an old one.   Read Michael Kimmel’s magisterial and indispensable Manhood in America; he points out that virtually every generation since the advent of mass industrialization has worried frantically about "what’s wrong with men today".  (Teddy Roosevelt’s hyper-masculinity gets particular attention in this context.)    Pointing out that anxiety about male behavior is not new is at least partly helpful; as many feminist commentators have pointed out (see Amanda’s long and excellent post, as well as the comments), it’s hard to blame modern feminism for all of the ills of contemporary men when the sense of "men in crisis" long predates what is claimed as the cause of the problem!

In discussions like this, I’m reminded of why it is that I sometimes prefer youth ministry to academia.  It’s not that I abhor a vigorous discussion of ideas; it’s not that I don’t think trading fashionable gender theories isn’t (sometimes) productive and useful. It’s that frankly, I don’t read a lot in these discussions (from either side) about what folks are actually doing to help change and transform young men’s lives.   This isn’t a criticism directed solely at feminists, mind; often the worst offenders are those in the men’s rights advocate (MRA) community whose proclaimed concern for the well-being of young men is not matched by a consistent track record of volunteering with the very lads they are apparently so worried about.   Pontificating is easy — teaching and youth work are a bit tougher.

I’ve taught a course on men and masculinity, and I have worked with high school boys in a volunteer capacity for seven years now.  As I sit here at the computer on this Monday morning, I can feel the sore muscles in my lower back.  They’re not sore from running, boxing, or lifting; they’re sore from spending Saturday night on the floor in a sleeping bag, hanging out with the All Saints Pasadena 2006-2007 confirmation class.  We’ve got a small group of boys this year, but they’re great guys and I loved the chance to get to know them better this weekend.  We’re going to be spending lots of time together between now and May, when they will (if they choose) get confirmed at the hands of Bishop Bruno.  So, in other words, I spend a lot of time thinking about young men, masculinity, and what I can do to reach out to boys who may feel alienated, lonely, exhausted, and overwhelmed. 

Though I love both boys and girls equally, I feel especially called to mentor and care for young men.  I wrote at length about how challenging and rewarding this can be at Participate.  Let me repeat a relevant portion of what I wrote last year:

"Unlike some folks in the pro-feminist/feminist community, I’m not troubled by the notion that some of the most important "growing" we can do needs to be done in single-sex environments. What we need — and need desperately — is more men who are willing to mentor other young men and oversee all-male groups where sexism, homophobia, and misogyny, and ultimately, harassment are not used to foster male solidarity!

One of the most important things I do in the context of my work as a youth leader is spend time with groups of boys.   Talking with one other man, one on one, it’s far easier to "let down one’s guard" and step away from sexist humor, than it is in a larger group where several young men may be (consciously or no) jostling for status.   The vital task is to get groups of guys talking about sexuality, rape, and harassment, and to get them accustomed to the experience of discussing these things without using ugly humor to alleviate tension and bond the group together in quick solidarity against women.  To lead groups like this, you’ve got to be secure in your own sense of masculinity; it’s all too easy for even adult males to get sucked into the tremendous temptation to try and win the approval of the other guys in the room by talking a "macho" game and using demeaning language about women to establish one’s manly bona fides.  And of course, the other thing you’ve got to have is a love, a genuine love, for young men.

When I first started mentoring young men, I still wasn’t sure how I felt about other guys.  My initial foray into men’s work was motivated, frankly, by a desire to do everything I could to protect the women in my life from rape and harassment.  The impetus to work with boys had more to do with protecting girls than it did with a real desire to connect with the guys.  Happily, in the process of doing the work, that all changed.  As I made a conscious effort to overcome my fears of being judged "not cool enough" and "not man enough", I made deep and abiding friendships with men my own age, older men, and some of the teen boys whom I was mentoring.  With the latter group, I was able to earn their trust first — and then, only then, begin to talk to them frankly and boldly about sexism, rape,and harassment."

I stand by that today.

In my work with boys, I do two things: I talk openly about the importance of courage, creativity,  kindness, self-restraint, and a willingness to express emotion. In ways both subtle and direct, I advocate for both traditionally "masculine" and "feminine" virtues.   And yes, to the dismay of some of my feminist friends, I often say things like "Bobby, you know, part of becoming a man is learning to…"   My critics immediately want to know why I can’t say "Bobby, part of growing up is…"  Why must I insist on naming anything good as particularly masculine, since it should be obvious that courage, creativity, and compassion are as easily manifested by women as by men?

But I remain convinced that while an insistence on gender-neutral language sounds lovely in theory, it’s lousy in practice.  Young men are overwhelmingly anxious about one thing: "being man enough."  A few opt out of the competition, choosing to openly reject participation in the anxious jockeying and measuring.  (A disproportionate number of those who "opt out" end up blogging about gender issues.  Ahem.)  But for the rest, trying to tell them that "being a man" isn’t important is absurd and counter-productive. In youth work, trying to eradicate any sense of significant difference between the sexes may be a noble cause, but in practical terms, it just doesn’t meet the needs of most boys.  What they need least is a gender-studies professor’s lecture on why masculinity and femininity are strait-jackets!  What they need most is a loving, responsible older man who will challenge them to rethink what it means to be masculine, and who will offer them a more expanded understanding of the joys and possibilities of being male.

I reject the false dualism that sees the celebration of masculine virtue as a zero-sum game. (Echidne feels very differently.)  In other words, hanging out with the boys and talking about "persistence" as a positive attribute of manhood doesn’t mean that it isn’t also a positive attribute of womanhood.    And while it would seem obviously more accurate to speak of these virtues, therefore, as being attributes of "gender-neutral adulthood", to do so is to ignore the enormously compelling need young men have to be affirmed as young men.  We live in a culture where the only folks who seem to celebrate the specifically masculine are those who are pushing a far-right social and religious agenda.   In order to counteract that message, we must do more than reject masculinity itself as a false construct.  Rather, we’ve got offer a vision of what it means to be a man that is grounded in justice, grounded in compassion, grounded in a respect for diversity — but also grounded in a sense that there is something magical,, unique, wonderful, and positive about masculinity itself.

I’ll finish this long post with a story.  A few years ago, while planning our major confirmation retreat to Big Bear, I came up with an idea.  We had equal numbers of boys and girls that year, and of course the two groups were placed in separate cabins.  I told the boys they had to come up with a "fun surprise" for the girls.  The female youth leader with whom I work told the girls they had to do the same for us.  I let the boys plan, but I told them to think carefully about what they wanted to do for all the girls as a group.   And the boys picked an astonishingly traditional role for themselves.  When the vans finally arrived at our mountain cabins, the boys leapt out, and insisted on carrying in all the luggage.  The girls simply pointed to the bunks they had chosen, and the boys placed suitcases and sleeping bags neatly and carefully on top of them.  The boys then gave cards (signed by each of them) to each of the girls, as well as a flower (the boys had bought these themselves.)  The girls ended up giving each boy a personalized note, and (oh stereotype!) a bag of cookies and treats.  Both groups loved the whole experience.

Were the "treats" they planned for each other rooted in stereotypical gender roles?  You bet.  Were the kids left disempowered, angry, alienated?  Uh, no.  Did I have to face a furious parent or two when we got home?  Yes, I did.  All Saints has many very liberal parents, and a couple had heard about these "treats" from their kids, and were angry that I hadn’t done more to prevent the kids from acting out traditional gender roles.  But my job is not to teach kids gender theory.  My job is to love them and help them grow up.  Where gender theory is useful, I’ll use it.  Where traditional gender roles leave everyone feeling affirmed and valued, I’ll use them too.  Ask any youth worker — we live in the realm of the practical, the possible, and the effective.    And while sometimes that means challenging negative aspects of the "masculine ideal", at other times, it means celebrating and encouraging the positive attributes of the same.

Welcoming Chihiro

Yes, it’s a Sunday, but I’m writing to announce the arrival of a new chinchilla to our home.   I was contacted last week by Christy from Dry Bones Dance; Christy had a friend who wasn’t able to give his chin as much time and attention as he would have liked, and was eager to place her in a loving home.  Christy kindly suggested us, and so this morning, just after 9:00AM, Chihiro arrived.

Chihiro — whose full name will now be Chihiro Pango Massionfruit Schwyzer — is a beautiful standard grey female, sweet-tempered and gentle and curious.  It is a joy to have a chin in our home again.  We’ve grieved the loss of our beautiful Matilde for four months now, but now are ready to open our hearts to new little ones.Chihiro_wheel_2

Here she is running on her wheel; click to enlarge.

She’ll be getting company soon — watch for more chinchilla news!

Friday Random Ten: No More Chili Peppers Edition

Mostly my tunes again; Raul Malo has one of the sexiest voices in music and I’m surprised he hasn’t come up on an FRT before.  And I get two of my favorite Christian artists (Norman and Knapp); I get Ani DiFranco; I get Shakira.  Hard to beat all that.

1. "Chasing Cars", Snow Patrol (yeah, me and everyone else)
2. "Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground", Raul Malo
3. "Fadeaway", BoDeans
4. "Sorry I Am", Ani DiFranco
5. "The Hammer Holds", Bebo Norman
6. "Sorrow", Bad Religion
7. "Only Tongue Can Tell", Trashcan Sinatras
8. "Underneath Your Clothes", Shakira
9. "Breathe on Me", Jennifer Knapp
10. "A Change is Gonna Come", Sam Cooke

Bonus Track: "Let the Sun Shine In", Hair Soundtrack

A quick note on lawsuits, anonymity, and blogging: UPDATED

I’ve posted a lot this week about pseudonymity in the blogosphere and the various epithets that get thrown my way.  But it seems that not everyone handles cyber nastiness the same way.  Ann Bartow, the Feminist Law Professor, is now threatening to sue Zuzu of Feministe for cyber defamation.  She’s also threatening to "out" Zuzu by revealing her real identity.   Read more here; it’s led to Zuzu taking a hiatus from blogging.

Ann has been very vocally critical of those who don’t blog under their own names.  Like me, she’s a tenured professor with more security than most.  Unlike me, she seems to think that those who don’t share her job security should still always blog publicly. 

Let me be very blunt about two things:

I want to make it absolutely clear that I understand completely why those who wish to blog anonymously do so.  Though I choose to blog under my own name, that is based on lack of imagination rather than conviction; no inference should be made that I disapprove of pseudonymous or anonymous blogging, commenting, or posting in the blogosphere.

Second of all, to even consider suing for defamation (regardless of what was or wasn’t said) is poor show.  I’ve been called a pedophile; I’ve been called a self-hating manipulator; I’ve been called just about every name in the book.  And though I reserve the right to delete hateful comments from my own blog, I am committed to the principle that even the threat of censorship is always and invariably more harmful than the damage even the ugliest forms of speech could cause. (Voltaire is my homeboy, as we say in Carmel by-the-Sea.)

Oh, and for what it’s worth, suing anyone for any reason other than a very complicated property transaction is, well, very NOKOP.  OKOP rise above.

UPDATE: Lynn points me to this comment from Ann that may clear things up.

The self-flattering fantasies of the aging man: a buddy gets his bubble burst

A very rare fifth post on this Thursday, and perhaps my last until Monday — it looks like a busy weekend.   Our first retreat with this year’s All Saints confirmation class runs Saturday through Sunday, and that will keep me very occupied.  At what point will I tire of spending the night on a floor in a sleeping bag, listening to the sounds of snoring boys?  When will I tire of trying to be a vegan while we pump the kids full of hot dogs and pizza?  At the least, I think I need to buy an air mattress and pack some snacks; after all these years, my back muscles are getting a little less resilient.

On the subject of men and aging, a friend of mine told me a wonderful story yesterday.  With his permission, I repeat it.  My buddy "Sean" is 39, just as I am, and single.  He goes to a Starbucks a few miles from here almost every day, and in recent weeks had been smitten with a very attractive, outgoing young barista there.  She’s a Citrus College student and is about 19.   For his (our) age, Sean is a handsome fellow; we originally met at the gym.

In any event, Sean and his young barista had been getting friendlier and friendlier, and Sean had been thinking of asking her out.  (He didn’t tell me this beforehand, knowing my strong feelings about older men/younger women relationships.)  In any event, on Tuesday afternoon, the pretty barista asked Sean a question after taking his order. 

Barista: "Uh, can I ask you a personal question?"  (Sean told me he was "stoked" when he heard this, thinking she might be getting ready to make the first move.)

Sean: "Sure."

Barista:  "Are you single?"

Sean (now sure the gal is interested, and getting very excited): "Yes, sure am!"

Barista: "Well, I know this is weird, but you seem really great and I really want to introduce you to my mother.  She’s really awesome, and I think you two would be perfect together."

Sean confessed this to me, and was more rueful and chagrined than devastated.  I gave him a very hard time, of course, laced with compassion and humor.   Until Tuesday, it hadn’t been driven home to him how younger women (mostly) see guys our age.  But he’s starting to get that we are not as we were, and that’s not only not a bad thing, it’s pretty awesome.  Sean says the barista gave him her mother’s number, and he’s considering calling.  (She’s prepared her mom for the possible call.)  I hope he does at least give it a chance, and I’m hoping that this little episode has ended his fantasy of eternal youth once and for all!

In any event, I’ve heard similar stories before (why do I think this scenario was in some sitcom, once?), but never from someone so close to me.  And since like many 39 year-olds I’ve been ruminating a lot on getting older lately (and writing a lot about age-disparate relationships), this anecdote came along at just the right time.

Four happy years

Today, October 19, marks the fourth anniversary of the first date with the woman who is now my wife.  Though we were married on September 4, 2005, we still have some sentimental attachment to this particular day.  We’ll have a nice dinner out at one of our favorite restaurants tonight.

Do other married folks still mark the anniversary of when they started dating/hooked up?  Do other married folks even remember these sorts of dates, or is this the peculiar fascination of the professional historian? I may be forgetful about many things, but dates/anniversaries/birthdays — never. 

My love and I have had an extraordinary, challenging, glorious four years.  It’s the longest I’ve been with anyone, actually, and certainly the longest period of my life where I’ve actually been completely devoted to just one person emotionally, physically, and spiritually.  I’m not asking for cyber pats on the back; I’m just celebrating my great good fortune and giving thanks for second, third, fourth, and ninety-seventh chances.   I’m not only happy these days, I’m content — the endless cycling between elation and devastation has come to an end.  I am peaceful, and to paraphrase the poet, have learned to close softly the doors to rooms I won’t be coming back to.  I’m climbing a staircase, you see, with one amazing woman at my side.

More on righteous anger

I got a long, very kind e-mail  yesterday from R. Giskard, the commenter here formally known as "Uzzah."  He writes about several topics, but poses a serious question:

…the sheer venom I see bounced around the blogosphere by Feminists and MRA’s is pretty disheartening and makes me question whether studying about or being more active is Feminist/MRA issues is something that I might want to pursue more as an interest. . You may have gathered from some of my posts that I am a Christian, and a fairly non-violent person and I avoid anger as a negative emotion that eventually leads to hate and more anger. I find anger distasteful and maybe that too is one of my privileges as a white male in this country, that I don’t have to get angry at every little slight, but I do indeed try to avoid it and re-mediate that anger if possible. As a Christian, I feel that is also the right thing to do. And it’s the right thing for me.

But let me ask you a question. At what point does “Righteous Anger” go over the line? When does that anger turn to unhealthy (and un-christian) hatred? At what point does it turn you from the oppressed, to the oppressor?

R. Giskard is equally critical of both men’s rights advocates (MRAs) and feminists.  (My experience tells me that neither side likes being compared to the other.  The vast majority of participants in these conflicts tend to think that "their side" has the greater decency, insight, and sense of fair play.)  And he’s right, of course, that telling everyone to "tone things down" and "not be so angry" is often the tactic employed by the privileged who fail to understand what there is to be so angry about.

There are a couple of issues that Giskard’s question raises for me.  The first is this: how ought a Christian participate in the kind of battles we see so often here and elsewhere in the ongoing "gender wars"?  There are a number of Christian feminists out there — and some of the MRAs are also people of profound religious faith.  The majority of voices on both sides, however, seem to be decidedly secular.  And there’s a discourse that exists in both camps that is fundamentally suspicious of the Christian message that warns against the deadly and destructive effects of anger.

Within both the MRA and feminist communities, there is a strong hostility to those who preach a message of "gentleness, meekness, and charity" (presumed Christian values.)   The MRAs (at least in the forums I read) talk incessantly about the need to "awaken men from their stupor", and the importance of "getting angry!"  Anger is the fuel on which most movements for social change run, and I know that quite well.  And of course, there are plenty of voices across the vast feminist community who urge a similar great awakening of righteous wrath.  Virtually everyone believes anger has a place.

If there is a special obligation that Christians have in these discussions, it certainly isn’t to avoid anger entirely.  Jesus got angry.  Righteous anger — anger directed at injustice — has its place.  But the Christian also has, I am convinced, a special obligation to express his or her anger with the minimum amount of venom and hate.  We’ve got to distinguish between individuals and the causes they represent.  I can hate porn, and at the same time, do everything I can to establish friendly common ground with the pornographer.  I can be enraged at those who deny the reality that it is women who are the primary victims of domestic violence, but I must work to separate my anger at their views from my anger at them as human beings.  They are still my brothers, whether they consider themselves to be so or not.  The Christian obligation is to recognize that anger at institutions and policies and ideas and behaviors is acceptable — but anger at other human beings (even if they seem to manifest all that we loathe) isn’t.  In the heat of battle it’s a heck of distinction to make, but it’s a mandatory one.

I’d love to have coffee with all of you, frankly.  Sociopathic Revolution?  Angry Harry? Mr. Bad?  Joshua Dearing?  Yeah, I’d like to sit and talk face to face, away from the keyboards and the monitors.  I’d like to be able to shake your hands, feel your flesh, look you in the eye, and break bread (or a Starbucks biscotti) together.  (Of course, there are so many feminist bloggers whom I am dying to meet as well!  Someday, someway, in New York or Los Angeles or Indianapolis or Ottumwa or Delray Beach or Vicksburg or Spokane, we’re gonna have a big ol’ convention and schmooze for hours.  I’ll be in ENFP heaven!) 

It’s possible to be righteously angry with a friend over coffee.  I’ve been called to account many a time in coffee shops by people who loved me but who were furious at my behavior or at my views.  I’ve been challenged and provoked in love time and again, and I’ve learned to return the favor.  Whenever I’m confronting someone, I always try and pick my words carefully.  My instinct as a people-pleaser is too often to avoid conflict — but in the face of evil, avoiding conflict is a sin.  On the other hand, when my blood starts boiling, it’s immensely tempting to mix into the righteous anger a huge walloping dose of bile and sanctimonious rage.  It’s easy to slip from a loving rebuke into genuine hate — and it’s twice as easy when one can’t actually see the faces (or know the real names) of the people with whom one is locked in "hostile dialogue."

The other great question is, of course, is this: is it possible for a privileged white man whose faith teaches him that hate is a sin to speak with any authority to those who aren’t privileged, white, or male — or who do not share his faith?   I am a man who has suffered a great deal in my life.  I am also someone whose sufferings have been almost entirely self-inflicted.  I have known misery and pain and rage, but those were linked to chemical inbalances, personality disorders, and addiction. I have not experienced genuine institutional injustice.  I have not been a victim of assault or rape.  I have not experienced any meaningful discrimination.  And so my primary experience of anger is private and personal.  To me, sin is an individual issue that manifests individually — I have a harder time seeing the way it shows up in structures and ideologies.  (I have a Ph.D., thanks, and I have read Walter Wink and Michel Foucault and everyone in between, so I am not saying I don’t grasp this stuff intellectually.  I just don’t feel it viscerally the way many of my friends on both sides of the gender divide seem to.)

Sorry, R. Giskard, I haven’t answered your question, not really.  This has been more of an idle musing (like so much here).  But in recent days, the "heat" around this blog has been turned up, the comments section has gotten nastier, and I’ve felt myself struggling more with anger than I have in a while.  I’m praying for discernment this morning.

Open thread on pseudonyms and blogging handles

I promised to open a thread about blogging, pseudonymity, and "handles."  So here it is.

Queries:  If you blog or comment under your full name, why?    First name only?   If you use a pseudonym, how did you choose it?  What impression do you imagine your "handle" gives to others? 

I blog under Hugo Schwyzer because it’s my name.  Having tenure doesn’t mean I don’t periodically wish I did have a pseudonymous blog!  (My family’s fascination with my circumcision post was a bit overwhelming, given that that revelation was news to lots of folks, including my own mother.)  I realize that at times, I’m guilty of assuming that blogging under one’s full name is indicative of courage, while the repeated use of pseudonyms indicates, well, the opposite.  I acknowledge that’s unfair.

So, have at it.  Explain yourselves.

Thursday Short Poem: Milosz’s “At a Certain Age”

Few poets of the last century wrote more faith, doubt, and aging than did the late son of Poland and long-time Cal Bear, Czeslaw Milosz.    I’ve liked this poem for a while because in recent years I’ve had many moments when I’ve felt this way, unable or unwilling to talk the way I once used to.  I realize, as I get older, that I have to work doubly hard to guard against the increasing cynicism that comes with mid-life.   But it’s in my nature to balance intense faith with despair, and to realize, as the wrinkles come and the good looks fade, that things are not as they were.

At a Certain Age

We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers.
White clouds refused to accept them, and the wind
Was too busy visiting sea after sea.
We did not succeed in interesting the animals.
Dogs, disappointed, expected an order,
A cat, as always immoral, was falling asleep.
A person seemingly very close
Did not care to hear of things long past.
Conversations with friends over vodka or coffee
Ought not be prolonged beyond the first sign of boredom.
It would be humiliating to pay by the hour
A man with a diploma, just for listening.
Churches. Perhaps churches. But to confess there what?
That we used to see ourselves as handsome and noble
Yet later in our place an ugly toad
Half-opens its thick eyelid
And one sees clearly: "That’s me."

I am the fat, badly-dressed devil incarnate, droning in a monotone

I posted yesterday that the MRAs are "attacking" my Ratemyprofessors site to drive down my overall rating.   A student just emailed me this gem:

Schwyzer is the devil incarnate. He is cruel, vindictive, deeply unattractive, manipulative, uncaring. His lectures are boring beyond words,he drones on about irrelevancies in a flat monotone. He wears awful clothes. He looks fat. Avoid him at all costs!

And with that, I promise to stop linking to the humourously nasty things said about me in other corners of cyberspace. 

The rest of it I get, but a monotone?  Really?

California election endorsements, part one: the statewide offices

So it’s time for my fall California general election endorsements, now that we are a mere twenty days away from the election day itself.  Today I’ll blog the statewide offices; next week I’ll blog the propositions.

Governor: Peter Camejo, Green.

Lieutenant Governor: John Garamendi, Democrat

Attorney General: Jerry Brown, Democrat

Insurance Commissioner, Steve Poizner, Republican

Treasurer: Bill Lockyer, Democrat

Secretary of State: Bruce McPherson, Republican

Controller: John Chiang, Democrat

Some explanations are obviously in order.

I’m not voting for either Arnold Schwarzenegger or his Democratic challenger, Phil Angelides.  I was disgusted by Angelides’ nasty primary campaign to the point that he lost my support.  And if Arnold were truly a right-wing Republican, I would hold my nose and vote for Angelides regardless.  But given that on the issues I care most about (the environment, animal rights, higher ed funding, women’s rights, gay rights) Arnold has been reasonably decent, I see no reason not to vote my conscience and cast a ballot for Peter Camejo of the Green Party.  When I get around to it, I’m re-registering as a Green anyway.

As for the down ballot races, I’m endorsing two Republicans and four Democrats.  The four Democrats I’m endorsing are all progressives running against staunch conservatives.  In the races for Lieutenant Governor, Controller, Treasurer and Attorney General there are clear and obvious ideological divides between the two major party candidates.  John Garamendi was my choice in the primary for Lieutenant Governor, and he’s running against a man I both admire and fear: the ueber-ideologue of the California right, Tom McClintock.  McClintock is a man of impeccable personal integrity, straight-forward candor, and unyielding right-wing views.  Most of my conservative friends wish he were running for the state’s top job, as most of them have been quite disappointed by Schwarzenegger’s tack to the left on a host of issues.  Given that both McClintock and Garamendi have higher ambitions, it’s vital for liberals that we cut this dangerous (if honorable) foe off at the pass now.

I’m also a huge Jerry Brown fan.  I’ve been a fan of his since I was seven years old.  I wore a Brown for Governor pin in the fall of 1974, when he was younger than I am now and was the wunderkind of California politics.  I’ve followed his story with fascination and a sense of kinship, as he has worked with Mother Theresa in Calcutta, spent time in Buddhist monasteries, and finally gotten married (for the first time) in his sixties.  There are second and third and fourth acts in American politics, and Jerry Brown would make a magnificent attorney general.

As for the two Republicans I’ve endorsed, I’ve done so for different reasons.  Unlike the other candidates from their party, McPherson and Poizner are environmentally-concerned social moderates.  Indeed, McPherson (who represented my hometown of Carmel in the state senate for years) had the endorsement of the Sierra Club, something rarely given to any member of the GOP these days.  He’s pro-choice, pro-gay rights, the sort of politician that the cave-dwelling troglodytes tend to call a RINO (Republican in Name Only).   Though his Democratic opponent, Debra Bowen, is an excellent candidate as well, McPherson gets the nod from me based on his tremendous track record and for his willingness to consistently buck his own party.

On the other hand, the Democratic candidate for Insurance Commissioner, Cruz Bustamante, is a disaster.  Reversing the stereotype, he is the one who has taken loads of money from the insurance industry, while Poizner has kept his distance from those he might soon be regulating.  Poizner is a self-made Silicon Valley multi-millionaire with an inventive mind, an independent spirit, and progressive social views.   Like McPherson, he represents the kind of Republican I’d like to see more of.  He’s the kind of Republican my family supported throughout the twentieth century: socially liberal, fiscally conservative, committed to conservation as a basic principle of conservatism.  By voting for McPherson and Poizner, while voting against the right-wing ideologues who are running for other offices, I’m suggesting we send a message about what kind of GOP candidates might be viable in our Golden State.

Another long one about waxing, bodies, class, privilege and OKOP

During the great big "fun feminists" internecine conflict of last week, there was much discussing of "feminist credentials" and whether such behaviors as waxing, wearing heels, and delighting in make-up vitiated one’s commitment to the ideals of the broader cause.  It got to be quite an intense discussion that took in at least a dozen blogs, if not more.

I thought I wasn’t going to post more on this subject, and then I read this long, fascinating piece at Mind the Gap Cardiff: How do I look?  Thoughts on femininity and white middle-class feminism.  I read it hesitantly, worrying it would turn into another Jill-bashing frenzy.  But instead, I found it challenging, and it’s got me thinking about a point that I know BitchLab (not work safe for all) has been making as well:  many of us tend to see everything through the lens of gender, and tend to ignore the class implications of what it is that we’re writing about.

From Mind the Gap:

When we have fights about waxing for example, are we assuming that all women can afford waxing, that waxing is expected of all women in the same way, and that waxing has the same significance for all women? The way in which women experience, or take part in feminine beauty practices, is enormously tied up with class, race, and also sexuality.

The construction of white middle-class femininity and its practices define my experience of oppression, not least because my own family has, over the last two generations, been in the process of achieving middle-class status. My father comes from a working-class family. His mother was a milliner and later a caterer, his father was a merchant seaman, and he was the first in the family to go to university. My mother’s parents were also both from working-class backgrounds and were obsessed with becoming middle-class. My maternal great grandmother drove herself crazy trying to convince everyone that she was white and middle-class (she was neither, but that’s a story for another day), and so the feminine beauty practices encouraged in my maternal grandmother and mother had a lot to do with the pursuit of a middle-class white identity and with erasing marks of race and working-classness.

For example, waxing has clear ethnic implications.  One of my favorite former students, "Armine" (not her real name) reads this blog, and she came to see me yesterday.   We talked about waxing, and about my post two days ago on men’s hairy chests.  Like many of my students, Armine is of Armenian ancestry.  As she herself remarked (her words not mine), "My people are known for being particularly hairy!"   Armine talked about the tremendous cultural anxiety she had been raised with about hair.  From the time she hit puberty, she’d been removing hair from her forearms, her lip, and elsewhere on her body — and she had been encouraged to do this by her mother and older female relatives. She’d also seriously considered rhinoplasty to reduce the size of what she called her "stereotypical Armenian nose".   Her older sister has already had that surgical procedure done.

Armine is quite clear that there is a specific goal to all of this: "We want to look white, not ethnic."  Armine feels that the ideals of feminine beauty she grew up with were primarily white women with "cute little noses" and little or no hair on their bodies.   Here in Pasadena in 2006, she’s engaged in the same practices that the Welsh great-grandmother was in the Mind the Gap post above: pursuing a middle-class white identity and erasing marks of race and ethnicity.  Armine points out that within her culture, it’s possible to balance an intense pride in Armenian heritage with an equally intense contempt for how women from her backgound naturally look.  To paraphrase something she said, "At the same time we were being told to make our noses smaller and our bodies hairless, we were told we could only date Armenian men and we had to never forget the genocide."

While I think that Jill — and other pro-waxing, pro-heels feminists — were rudely and unnecessarily savaged last week, I get the point that Armine, Mind the Gap, and BitchLab are making in different ways.   Brazilian bikini waxes aren’t just something that women do — they are something that women who can afford them do.  And while we generally have no idea how much hair a woman might have in her pubic region, forearm and lip hair (a big concern of Armine’s) is visible.  Its removal is at least moderately expensive and moderately painful, and certain ethnic groups (whose DNA carries the genetic material decreeing that body hair shall be abundant) thus have to work harder, pay more, and endure more discomfort in order to meet an ideal that is still set largely by the white middle class.

This still doesn’t mean that I think anyone, white or not, affluent or not, ought to be racked with guilt over the decision to remove hair from the pubis, climb into stilettos, or apply really good make-up. But not all shoes look the same, and not all make-up looks the same.   A $400 pair of heels often look like a $400 pair of heels; the make-up at an upscale department store is generally better than the Maybelline one buys at the corner drug store.  And a really first-rate waxing job isn’t cheap.  This doesn’t mean that only rich women buy nice make-up or get waxed or wear great shoes.  It does mean that for women on a budget, the decision to spend on these things means less money for something else.  And it also sends a signal to other women about what is appropriate, acceptable, and expected.

Ultimately, all of this raises the difficult question of communal obligation.  To what extent are feminists responsible for the signals they send to others?  To what extent are those signals even under our control?  Jill Filipovic attracts intra-feminist hostility more than most, frankly, because she is a young, pretty, law student living in New York.  She takes trips to Europe.  She goes to parties and has great hair.   Some of these things are within her control, some aren’t, but she gets singled out time and again because she’s both an immensely articulate young feminist and an easy target for envy.  (Flame away, but let’s be candid here.)  Jill has done the vital work of acknowledging her privilege, even while she has pointed out that she is — like so many of her generation — under a mountain of debt.

Folks seemed to take special issue with Jill because it’s clear that she comes closer than virtually any other feminist blogger to a particular middle-class, white ideal for feminine attractiveness.   Unlike her co-bloggers, she does post pictures of herself (in a Flickr account).  She leads a more "visually public life" than many other feminists, blogging under her full name and with many details of her private life laid open.  So when a pretty, young, white female law student talks about getting a bikini wax, it’s going to produce a strong reaction from some quarters.  It’s hard for some people to separate what Jill does from who Jill is.

Though Jill and I are very different, I recognize that perceptions of class and attractiveness function in my own life and work as well.  When I’ve posted about my own body anxiety, for example, I usually get some annoyed comments talking about how "I have nothing to complain about."  When I talk at length about the fact that I work out anywhere from 15-24 hours per week (including private Pilates and boxing lessons) that sends a stark, even grating message about privilege.  My increasingly lean and toned flesh is a testament to my physical work ethic, sure — but it’s also a testament to discretionary time and discretionary income, both of which are associated with tremendous amounts of privilege.   That doesn’t mean I am going to stop running, lifting, Pilate-ing, boxing, or cycling any time soon.  But it does mean that I am going be cognizant of that privilege just as I know Jill is cognizant of hers.

******

On a tangential note, talking about class reminds me of another aspect of growing up WASP in OKOP culture.  One key rule that OKOP follow: talking about class is prima facie evidence you don’t have it.   I remember when I was in junior high school, and I repeated something at the dinner table I had heard earlier in the day. I  can’t remember what I was describing, but I said something was "classy."  An older female relative whom I love very much said to me gentle, "Hugo, please don’t say ‘classy’.  It’s vulgar."  (For OKOP WASPS, few things are worse than being "vulgar.")  The point became clear to me quickly: the people who talked about things being "classy" or about "having a lot of class" were the "anxiously aspiring" who were all-too-eager to try and signify that they belonged in a certain social stratum.  Those who had already "arrived", as it were, practiced a careful, elegant pretense of ignoring the whole idea of class.  Thus the use of the term "classy" was, as far as OKOP were concerned, proof of its absence!

Ticket update: $410

I posted back on September 5 on my genuine gratitude for getting a traffic ticket.  Today, I learned that the cost of the ticket for my illegal right turn will be $410.  It’s a bit pricier than I expected, but nothing we can’t take care of.  Despite the surprise at the number, I stand by what I said:

I’ll pay the ticket gladly when it comes.  It’s not that I enjoy paying fines, mind you.  But I know that the money I will pay will go to help support vital services in the county and the community.   I know that I have deserved innumerable citations in the past for unsafe decisions I’ve made behind the wheel from Pasadena to Perthshire, Carmel to Carmarthen, Fort Lauderdale to Fort William. Whatever the cost of this ticket, it’s a small price to pay for my many mistakes in the past.  And if it has the effect I hope it has, it will remind me to be a more attentive driver.

It does make me realize that it was a great privilege for me to write a long post about my reaction to being cited — without having one of those reactions be fear about how to pay the fine! Better me who can afford it, I suppose, than some other poor driver who can’t.

The first time I got a ticket, for an illegal left turn in West Los Angeles in 1989, the fine was $45.   I had just started grad school, and I worried about how to pay that citation much more than I worry now about the current one.  The difference seventeen years makes…

Just how nice the Nice Guys are…

The boys at the Nice Guys Forum (registration required, a pity) have been their usual sweet selves lately.  They linked to my post about circumcision last week, and were predictably aroused.  One keyboard therapist named Patr writes:

This is beyond feminism, gender studies, whatever; this is mental illness. It is not so much what he did but his attitudes toward these things and the ways he chooses to describe himself. I think he has serious mental issues. I don’t just say that because I am looking to put down Hugo, I really believe he has serious problems that require treatment.

I suppose my second wife might agree with Skeptos, who wrote:

Hugo Schwyzer is living proof that narcissism and self-loathing are not mutually incompatible. Creepy.

These are among the nicer comments from the "Nice Guys."

There’s also a thread about my post yesterday on chest hair.  Steve writes:

I’m pretty easygoing for the most part (though not in the moral sense of that term) and pretty damned tolerant, too, but this is some seriously weird shit. The dude is posting like a high school girl and claims to be having conversations with high school girls that make it seem like he is trying to be one of their girlfriends. Is that f-ed up or what?

And Burton:

It is a bit disturbing that Hugo, who is the big mangina (man-vagina, the awfully clever term of opprobium for male feminists) on campus, would be talking to teenage girls about this stuff. Perhaps he and Mark Fole (sic) double date?

A while back he ran a blog on older men-younger women relations. Perhaps he was testing the waters? But that is what we suspect is his real agenda in ratting out other men, eh? Get the feminists to flop on their backs for him?

And Nigel:

This person should truly be on the sex-offenders’ register and be denied association with those over which he has authority without appropriate supervision.

And khankrumthebulgar:

Does his wife know he’s a closet Homo? This is such a cliche. I really think Hugo hates himself.

So, there you have it, boys and girls.  The MRAs suggest I’m

a.  insane
b.  a pedophile
c.  self-loathing
d. gay
e.  just using a guise of pro-feminism to get laid

These are the "Big Five" insults traditionally thrown at men who do pro-feminist work; I got ‘em all in less than one week.  I am flattered indeed.

Some of the lads who post here at my blog also post at Nice Guys.  They vary their language, mind you, but I’m afraid that the relatively tame discourse I’ve put up here is fairly typical of what goes on "behind the registration-required doors."  And though at times it’s tempting to retaliate in kind, I think it’s nice to let the boys hang themselves with their own ugly, hate-filled words.