Archive for October, 2007

Malibu Presbyterian

My good friend and former student Kristie Vosper is director of children’s ministries at Malibu Presbyterian Church. As many of you will know, her church burned to the ground yesterday morning, caught up in one of the many firestorms affecting Southern California.

Kristie blogs too, and she has a moving post up this morning about the loss of the church and the goodness of God in the presence of ashes. Kristie lost a great many precious possessions stored in her office; her guitars, however (she’s a formidable amateur musician) were rescued.

I’m praying for the Malibu Pres community this morning, and for all those — both human and animal — whose lives have been impacted by these fires. But as a sixth-generation Californian, I know that when you build in the canyons, sooner or later, you risk losing everything. Usually, it should be noted, in October.

The gloomy Golden Bear redux: celebrating mediocrity

My wife, a loyal USC alumna, always accompanies me to Cal-UCLA football games. She’s happy to make my Golden Bears her second favorite team each autumn, and I try and return the favor. (We avoid each other entirely on the day of the California-USC game.) We enjoyed each other’s company yesterday (celebrating five years since we started dating) at the debacle in the Rose Bowl.

Two quick notes: far too many of the Cal students in our section left the stadium before our band could play the alma mater. Today’s Cal students are spoiled; they’ve never known a losing season, and they take bowl games and wins over Stanford for granted. As they walked away disconsolately after a painful loss, I gently berated a few for bailing out on the band and the traditional post-game “Hail to Califonia.”

As we left, some UCLA fans chanted “Over-rated” at us; I yelled back, cheerfully and in the same sing-song voice, “you’re soooo right!” As an Old Blue, there’s something familiar, even soothing, about a slide back into the mediocrity from which we seemed on the verge of finally emerging.

I love my Golden Bears, win or lose. And you know, I think I love them more when they’re losing.

The religious right lines up behind Romney: UPDATED

I note that leading conservative evangelicals are quietly (and not so quietly) putting their eggs in the Mitt Romney basket. With Mike Huckabee going nowhere, Fred Thompson still mysteriously half-hearted, and Sam Brownback dropping out of the ‘08 race, most thoughtful social conservatives realize that Romney represents the only real chance they have to avoid having to cope with noted pro-choice philanderer Rudy Giuliani as Republican nominee.

Today’s endorsement comes from the professor and theologian Wayne Grudem, the leading defender of what egalitarian evangelicals like me sometimes call the “complementarian heresy”. This follows the endorsement of Romney earlier this week by Robert Taylor, dean at the ultra-conservative Bob Jones University.

The big question: will the fundamentalist Protestant elite succeed in convincing their footsoldiers that it’s okay to vote for a Mormon, or will a disconnect emerge between the relative pragmatism of folks like Grudem and Taylor and the evangelical base, many of whom will be unable to separate Romney’s politics from his LDS faith — which they regard as a cult?

I’m a progressive evangelical with no interest in supporting Mitt Romney. But part of me would like to see him gain the nomination (and then lose the general election), if only to strike a blow for religious tolerance. Maybe then Christian bookstores (like that at my own Fuller Seminary) won’t still stock books about Mormonism under “cults”, as it would be a bit awkward for evangelicals to view their political champion as a cult member!

UPDATE: I’ve been sent this link: Dallas minister urges vote for a Christian, not Romney

UPDATE II: Maybe Mike Huckabee is going somewhere. Lord knows, I like the way he talks about a responsibility to the poor; he’s a social conservative, but he makes good sense on some of the economic issues. After all, anyone who can attract the ire of the Club for Growth can’t be all bad. If I were a principled social conservative (I’m not, at least not the conservative part), I’d be an enthusiastic Huckabee guy.

“But he could not say what he wanted”: part one of a series on Robert Bly, feminist men, and “Nice Guys”

This is the first of what I hope will be a successful three-part series. Part two to come next week.

This past week in my “men and masculinity” course, we began discussing Robert Bly’s Iron John. Nearly two decades after it was written, Bly’s alternately captivating and exasperating call for a return to the “deep masculine” still resonates. Many people who know nothing else about the men’s movement (not to be confused with the men’s RIGHTS movement, a different beast altogether) have heard of Bly and “Iron John”. I make sure that my students read Bly in conjunction with very different figures in the movement, like the pro-feminist Michael Kimmel. But as confounding and opaque as Bly’s writing can be, my students seem to enjoy “Iron John” more than any other book I assign in this course.

Re-reading the book in preparation for this week’s lecture, I found myself thinking about the much discussed “Nice Guy” phenomenon. “Nice Guys” often cloak their misogyny behind a facade of sensitivity. “Nice Guys” often talk garrulously about gender issues, and often establish their bona fides by bemoaning the way in which “other guys” treat women. About every ten minutes, a Nice Guy will drop an “But I’m not like other men!” into the conversation. The Nice Guy becomes less nice when he realizes that despite all he obviously has to offer, women are remarkably uninterested in dating or sleeping with him. Nice Guys often lose their temper when rejected, launching into embittered, “slut-bashing” diatribes about how foolish women are for choosing “bad boys” (or traditional men). Most Nice Guys alternate between stunningly low self-esteem and staggering hubris, secretly believing that their “sensitivity” makes them the answer to every maiden’s prayer. A great many feminist women have their share of “Nice Guy” stories, and if you spend much time in the feminist blogosphere, you’ll read your share of ‘em.

Nice Guys are, in a few respects, similar to the famous SNAG (”Sensitive New-Age Guy”) who first made his appearance some four decades ago. SNAGs, I suggest, aren’t automatically as passive-aggressive as Nice Guys; SNAGness is about much more than a tactic to get sex from women. Becoming a male feminist isn’t easy, and most men who start down this road do so with the best of intentions, often with a profound and genuine desire to create a more just world for both sexes. The stereotype that many SNAGs are the sons of single-mothers doesn’t always hold true — but a great many pro-feminist men did grow up acutely aware of their mother’s feelings.

I was raised the first-born son of a single mom; from age six (when my parents separated) on, I was a “student of my mother’s emotions.” My grandmother and aunt told me that I needed to “take care of my mother” after the divorce, as she’d been through a “hard time.” And so, of course, I did my best. While I did often annoy and exasperate my mother (not least when I would torment my little brother), I did become very, very good at taking her emotional temperature. My mother is hardly mercurial (though she is a Gemini), and she was generally on an even keel. But she was anxious about many things, and I picked up on that anxiety very early on. She and I talked a great deal together, and in some ways — especially in the period between the divorce and the onset of my interest in girls about seven years later — my mother was my best friend.

I’ve talked to many other men active in the feminist movement, and a very high number of us have similar stories about our mothers. Let me clear that this isn’t the only reason we remain committed to the feminist movement today. It’s easy to play armchair psychologist and pathologize every activist. An adult commitment to justice is always rooted in more than childhood experience. But one thing I learned about myself a long time ago applies to a great many other men in the movement, including the “SNAGs”: we often confuse verbal dexterity for authentic insight. Our commitment to women’s rights is sincere, but we’re often incapacitated by a surprising lack of self-awareness.

Bly, who is often wrong about the remedy but rarely wrong about the diagnosis, writes of men like this:

Part of their grief rose out of remoteness from their fathers, which they felt keenly, but partly, too, grief flowed from trouble in their marriages or relationships. They had learned to be receptive, but receptivity wasn’t enough to carry their marriages through troubled times. In every relationship something fierce is needed once in a while: both the man and the woman need to have it. But at the point when it was needed, often the young man came up short. He was nurturing, but something else was required — for his relationship, and for his life.

The “soft” male was able to say “I can feel your pain, and I consider your life as important as mine, and I will take care of you and comfort you.” But he could not say what he wanted, and stick by it. Resolve of that kind was a different matter.

Emphasis in the original.

Living a feminist life as a man is about more than sensitivity to women. It’s about more than ideological assent to egalitarian principles, and it’s even about more than putting those principles into practice in one’s public and private life. Part of being a true feminist is acknowledging the enduring reality of male privilege. For men in this society, that means doing the best one can to renounce that privilege. But the danger in that renunciation is that it can destroy the capacity to act. Too many aspiring feminist men, too many nice guys, are incapacitated. They are incapacitated by a fear of doing the wrong thing — and, as Bly points out, deep down they aren’t really sure what they want. These good guys have spent much of their lives focusing on women’s concerns, and have developed the vocabulary of sympathy and solidarity. They have not developed genuine self-awareness in the process.

And this self-awareness is a prerequisite for continued growth. It is the prerequisite for the sort of resolve that Bly mentions. And righteous action, predicated on both empathy for others and upon deep self-awareness, is something far too few men comprehend.

More to come.

Friday Random Ten: a touch of autumn melancholy

I’ve always liked The Innocence Mission, but only recently started downloading some of my favorites, two of which show up here. This is a softer, more melancholy Random Ten than I’ve had in a while, but all are wonderful songs… even #7, which is a fine tune to which to lift weights or box.

1. “I Shall Be Released”, The Band
2. “Crush in the Ghetto”, Jolie Holland
3. “Lonesome Valley”, Joan Baez
4. “Follow Me”, The Innocence Mission
5. “I Want a Broken Heart”, Derek Webb
6. “The First Cut is the Deepest”, Cat Stevens
7. “Civil War”, Guns n’ Roses
8. “I Wonder Where to Find You”, Merle Haggard
9. “Some Clear Joy is Coming”, Innocence Mission
10. “An Exception to the Rule”, Dwight Yoakam

Bonus Track: “One Tree Hill”, U2

I’m “viral”, and it makes me happy

Actually, it’s the “enthusiasm not consent” post from July that’s getting the attention. Nothing I’ve ever written gets quoted as often as these lines:

“The opposite of rape is not consent. The opposite of rape is enthusiasm”. It’s dangerous because it’s shocking, and of course, it’s dangerous because it twists the purely legal meaning of the term “rape.” But from the standpoint of one who cares desperately about the well-being of young people, my goal in offering workshops like these is not merely to prevent sexual assault that meets the legal standard of a criminal act. My goal is to prevent that, of course, but to also offer shy and uncertain young people tools to prevent them from having bad sex characterized by obligation, confusion, and detached resignation. I always argue that anything short of an authentic, honest, uncoerced, aroused and sober “Hell, yes!” is, in the end, just a “no” in another form.

Looking through my pings, trackbacks, and hits, it’s my most-linked-to post ever, and I’m genuinely glad, because the subject matters so much.

Thanks, Curmudgette!

Denial and recognition: some long thoughts on the Armenian genocide resolution

I have this post about “Nice Guys” (a subject about which many in the feminist blogosphere have written over the years) percolating in my head, but it will have to wait for tomorrow or Monday.

As most know, the House was scheduled to vote soon on a resolution concering the Armenian Genocide. It now appears that vote may be put off.

Mr. Bush, who as a candidate in 2000 criticized what he called a “genocidal campaign” against the Armenians, said lawmakers had better things to do than be caught up in the past, pursuing legislation that has unsettled an important ally.

“With all these pressing responsibilities, one thing Congress should not be doing is sorting out the historical record of the Ottoman Empire,” Mr. Bush said. “Congress has more important work to do than antagonizing a democratic ally in the Muslim world, especially one that is providing vital support for our military every day.”

Backers of the resolution said they would push ahead despite mounting opposition and try to rally support for the declaration, which they said was essential to deter future genocide and protect America’s credibility in speaking out against brutality in places like Darfur and Myanmar.

I teach and live in the heart of one of the largest communities in the global Armenian diaspora: hundreds of thousands of Armenian-Americans live in the Glendale-Pasadena region. My congressman, Adam Schiff (no relation to the fictional Law & Order DA) has been one of the chief proponents of a genocide resolution. Here at Pasadena City College, we have a huge number of students of Armenian descent; I have heard one administrator, speaking off the record, suggest that nearly 65% of “white” students on this campus are Armenian. (My students, who tend to assume that “white = Northwestern European” rather than literally “Caucasian”, generally don’t label Armenians as white. The college does.)

Since 1993, I’ve taught Modern European history here. Every semester, I cover World War One in considerable detail. But when I first started teaching at PCC, my focus was entirely on the causes of the war — and on the catastrophe that was the Western Front. I talked about the Somme and Verdun, and skipped over the eastern campaigns very quickly. World War One was not my primary field (my training was as a medievalist), and my inclination was to focus on the better-known Western story. My second semester at PCC, a very bright and vivacious young Armenian-American woman named Lori came to my office and challenged me: “Why aren’t you teaching the Armenian genocide when you teach World War One?” Lori was in her second semester with me, and had been in the first women’s studies class I ever taught, and had no trouble confronting me about what she regarded as a serious oversight in my syllabus. Continue reading ‘Denial and recognition: some long thoughts on the Armenian genocide resolution’

Thursday Short Poem: Piercy’s “To Be Of Use”

I tend to swing wildly between slack-jawed laziness and frantic work-aholism, a tendency I posted about yesterday. In that vein, this Marge Piercy poem makes good sense. I’ve never had much time for Piercy’s fiction, but I love her verse.

To Be of Use


The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

Hugo is a Martha too: on addiction moving laterally, and struggling to be still

My alarm went off at 5:30 this morning; I had a relatively easy seven-mile run scheduled. Though I had had gone to bed before 11:00 last night, and slept well, I woke up drained. I lay there for a few minutes, trying to decide whether to get up and force myself through the work-out, or turn off the alarm and catch another hour next to my wife. I’m glad to say I did the latter.

It’s very, very easy for me to neglect my self-care. Like a great many people, I make lists in my head of the various things I want to accomplish in any given day. Time for sleep and time for spiritual reflection usually get bumped to the bottom of the list in favor of both fulfilling vital obligations (teaching, grading, writing letters of rec, taking care of chinchillas, doing laundry) and not-so-vital ones (reading blogs and exercising several hours per day.)

I’ve got to keep a close eye on my addictive nature. When I first got sober many years ago, my sponsor said to me “Watch out, Hugo, the disease moves laterally.” I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time, but quickly found out. I gave up the alcohol, and turned (in no particular order) to compulsive sex, disordered eating, and — briefly — fundamentalist religiosity. It was in sobriety that my weight dropped to 145 pounds on my frame (I’m a lean 175 now, for comparison). It was in sobriety that I experimented with intolerant zealotry. It was while sober that I began to struggle both with pornography and reckless promiscuity; I traded physical intoxication for the high of seduction. The disease moved laterally indeed. Continue reading ‘Hugo is a Martha too: on addiction moving laterally, and struggling to be still’

The burden of being a change agent caught betwixt and between: a note to “Kendra” about women, the sciences, and grad school

I got a long email from a woman I’ll call “Kendra”. Here’s some of it:

I’m writing you because I’d like to get your thoughts on a major frustration I’ve had for a while (if you have time or feel so compelled).

I’m a 32 year old graduate student in electrical engineering. I’ll be finishing my masters next spring, and then I know I want to get a PhD…

It really stinks being a woman who is pursuing an advanced degree in engineering (or physics, which was my undergraduate area). It is even worse as you get older. I have two very close friends, both of whom are women. However, I don’t see them often.

Most time is spent around my “peers”, who are often 10 years younger than myself and almost entirely male. Most guys that age seem a bit phobic of girls and women. Age-wise, I am as old or older than most of the junior faculty in the department. However, none of the faculty seem terribly interested in being friendly. In fact, the opposite seems to be true. If I walk into the lunchroom when the faculty are there, they often stop talking as long as I am there. I honestly can’t tell if it’s the fact that I’m “just a student” or if it’s because I’m female, or possibly both. Either way, I wish I could blend into the wall. It’s obvious that they know I’m there, but also as obvious that they have no desire to include me.

I also don’t have a terribly easy time relating to other people outside of school. I hate to say it, but it seems like the stereotype of the engineer without any social skills is true. So much of what I do is wrapped up in my work that I can’t seem to relate to most people effectively. Although I’m a social butterfly by engineering standards (probably too much so since I’m rather talkative once you get me going), but I am often perceived (especially by other women) as “showing off” simply by discussing things that interest me. The feeling I get is that it’s okay for men to be engineers and talk about that “technical stuff”, but not for women.

I really hate being in this position.

No matter which path I follow career-wise, I sense that I’m always going to be caught in this limbo where people don’t fully accept me as a peer because I am different. I’m either older, younger, female, married with kids, a student, (someday) faculty, what have you…and this cuts off a lot of options for friendships. It’s very isolating and makes me wonder what I am paying in order to have the career I’ve been trying to work toward for so long. I would hope that going someplace else may change some of that, but I’m really not sure.

Does this ever change? Once I have my PhD, will faculty magically start treating me like a peer? Or will other students distance themselves even more because I crossed that imaginary line?

I don’t have an easy answer for Kendra. My Ph.D. was in the humanities, and I went through a graduate program that was evenly divided between men and women who were almost all my chronological peers. We were a gossipy, emotionally entangled lot.

I had a good friend a few years ago who was a Caltech graduate student (I can’t remember exactly what she did. It had “materials” in the name). My friend was, like Kendra, in her early thirties and one of the only women in her program. She also felt isolated from both her peers and her professors. Her fellow graduate students either had obvious schoolboy crushes on her, or they ignored her, unsure of what to do with a woman in what they clearly thought of as “male space.” Her male professors tended to treat her with exaggerated formality, always civil and encouraging, but also a bit distant. She noticed that her chief supervisor regularly went out for beers with some of his male graduate students, but never invited her — out of fear, she suspected, that he might misinterpret an invitation as an inappropriate advance. She was never once sexually harassed — but she found the “walking on eggshells” treatment to be almost as frustrating.

We need to acknowledge that graduate school can be a terrifying business. Working on a Ph.D. in any field is frightening; no matter what your topic or your field, there’s always the fear that your research won’t pan out, that you’ll end up in a dead end, or — worst of all — you’ll discover at the last minute that some other grad student at another university just did their doctoral work on exactly the same thing, and finished a month before you did. Add to that the financial strain that graduate education almost invariably imposes, throw in some family responsibilities, and the whole thing can be fairly wretched. I spent years oscillating between intellectual elation and debilitating anxiety, between authentic cameraderie with my fellows and bitter competitiveness. It was a tough time, and I think it is almost certainly worse for women in male-dominated fields.

As for the questions Kendra asks, I can say that in my experience — and, anecdotally, in the experience of most of my fellow graduate students — things do change once you get the Ph.D. I was never especially close to my dissertation supervisor, though we certainly got along quite well. At the moment he signed my completed dissertation, with all my exams and research and writing done, he said to me just one word: “welcome.” Not “congratulations”, or “well done”, but “welcome.” I already had tenure here at Pasadena City College (even though I technically had only an MA), but in his eyes it seemed, getting the Ph.D. was a hurdle I had to get over in order to become his peer. Honestly, “welcome” was the word I most wanted to hear at that moment. It was the recognition not just of a significant accomplishment, but of belonging.

Of course, once you have the Ph.D. you cease to be a student like other students — even if you’re doing a post-doc somewhere rather than actually joining the professoriate. My friends in the sciences who are doing post-doctoral research (but not teaching, and not being paid as full-time academics) often do report feeling a bit “betwixt and between”. On the one hand, they’ve achieved the highest standard the western academy offers, and on the other, they’re not climbing the tenure ladder and they don’t yet have students of their own. Whatever your sex, whatever your age, it can be a rough time.

But in the end, things do get better. And in the sciences, they have started to get dramatically better for women. The percentage of women receiving advanced degrees in the hard sciences, mathematics, and engineering has climbed considerably in recent years. Caltech now is over 40% female, three times what it was just a quarter-century ago. At times, the continued obstacles all around us blind us to the happy reality that we have already come so far. And though women in science and engineering continue to experience the kind of treatment that Kendra writes about, that sense of isolation will decrease as more and more women like her continue to work for the Ph.D. and continue to take post-docs and tenure-track jobs.

I remember very well one thing my old friend from Caltech said to me: “Sometimes, when it gets really bad, I tell myself I’m taking this shit so other women who come after me won’t have to.” It’s hard to be a pioneer, and it’s hard to carry the burden of being a “change agent.” But sticking with it gives others the inspiration to follow in your footsteps. And as more and more women come into the sciences, as math and engineering departments cease to be all-male enclaves, the sense of isolation that “geek women” experience will inevitably diminish. And though that may not be much comfort to Kendra now, in the long run, I hope that it will be.

More political notes

Since I posted this morning a moderately enthusiastic summary of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s latest round of bill-signings, I’ll stay with the politics theme.

My friends at Republicans for Environmental Protection have endorsed John McCain for president. On environmental issues, McCain is surely the best of a relatively weak bunch. Given that his campaign has been in free-fall lately, there isn’t much hope that a REPAmerica endorsement will help turn the tide.

I’ll vote for McCain in the primary, and come November 2008, vote for Clinton. Continue reading ‘More political notes’

Abortion, race, and “family language”: some notes on the Claremont talk

Last Thursday afternoon, I drove out to Claremont Graduate University. I’d been asked to give a talk on feminism and race as part of an ongoing lecture series sponsored by the Cultural Studies Department at CGU.

I like leaving my own campus to give lectures. As a good ENFP, I enjoy meeting new people — and, truth be told, these opportunities (which come two or three times a year) allow me to fantasize that I am some sort of public intellectual.

I was nervous about speaking last Thursday, however, as I feared the talk I intended to give might not fit with the needs or expectations of my audience. You see, “cultural studies” scares me. Theorists unnerve me. When I was an undergrad taking my first upper-division women’s studies course, I had to read what was then the French feminist “trinity”: Cixous, Irigaray, Kristeva. I found the writing nearly impenetrable, and said so. I used the word “impenetrable” without thinking, and — since I was the only man in the class — unintentionally set off a long discussion about “phallic language.” One classmate memorably told me that “feminist theory needs to offer impenetrability as a defense against patriarchal ‘rape’ culture.” I was chastened and overwhelmed.

In graduate school, I ran into lots of people who wanted to talk about another French trinity, this time a male one: Levi-Strauss, Lacan, and Foucault. Obediently, I read as much as I could understand of their works, and even joined a field trip down to Irvine to hear the old rascal himself, Jacques Derrida, say deep things. But I tired of the jargon and of what seemed to me to be a great deal of “analysis paralysis.” Endless discussions of “textuality” bored me to tears — and at times, made me doubt whether I belonged in a Ph.D. program of any kind. Perhaps I was just a bear of very little brain, but listening to my classmates read papers with titles like “Mapping the margins: textuality and transgression in early-modern cartography” (I’m not making that up) made my head hurt. A lot.

Now that I think about it, a lot of my mild Francophobia is rooted in miserable graduate seminar experiences,the sort where we spent three hours on a Friday afternoon talking about French theorists — in French. (My French was always lousy, and I was usually lost. The seminars were officially bilingual, and we read things in French and discussed them in English, but most of my fellow graduate students had far more mastery of that vowel-saturated tongue than I did.).

By the way, I’m really happy England beat France in the Rugby World Cup.

Anyhoo, this explains my trepidation about my talk last Thursday. Continue reading ‘Abortion, race, and “family language”: some notes on the Claremont talk’

Schwarzenegger 2007: why the 2003 recall is looking better and better all the time

One thing I’ll say for California Gov. Schwarzenegger’s “post-partisanship”: he manages to infuriate almost everybody at least some of the time, and give almost every side at least one or two reasons to rejoice. There’s been a lot of bill-signing lately, with last night marking the deadline by which nearly 1000 bills passed by the legislature had to be signed or vetoed. There’s a good summary here. Continue reading ‘Schwarzenegger 2007: why the 2003 recall is looking better and better all the time’

Defending the lecture method

I’ll post next week about my talk last night at Claremont on race and feminism.

This post at Inside Higher Ed about “educrats” continues to draw heat (visit the comments section).

Many of the education professionals (not to be confused with teachers) who responded point out the demonstrable deficiencies of the lecture method — a method I rely upon almost exclusively in my classes. (Remember, folks, I have 45-50 students per course, no teaching assistants, and I have seven classes.)

I agree completely that many students fail to learn from lectures. Sometimes the fault belongs to the student for failing to pay attention, but frequently the fault lies with the teacher. There’s nothing wrong with the method, but there’s something very wrong with the way in which many teachers put it into practice. The enemy of student learning is not lecturing — it’s poor lecturing. Continue reading ‘Defending the lecture method’

“Ginormous breasts” at the gym: a response to Isky about the male gaze and responsibility

My friend Isky sent me an email this week that revisits, yet again, the subject of women, clothing, and the male gaze. I asked him to look at the posts in the modesty category, particularly these (one, two, three) that summarize my views fairly well. Still, Isky seemed to want a specific reply to his situation. As the whole discussion may be triggering or repetitive for some, it’s below the fold. Continue reading ‘“Ginormous breasts” at the gym: a response to Isky about the male gaze and responsibility’