Wednesday, September 6, 2023

Democracy is slipping away

"For the first time in my life, I have wished somebody dead," a friend of mine wrote recently. She was referring to the former president of the United States. "Time for him to have a stroke."

I didn't pick up on her comment. I might have. I agree the guy is loathesome and dangerous in his habit of saying things that are patently untrue, counting on his cultlike following to march, lemming-like, off the cliff and take the rest of us with them. But I don't wish him dead because I've come to understand that the hatred such a wish would require takes too much out of me. I'm pretty good at getting my spirits back up when they go down - good music, good food, good conversation all do that - but why use the energy, I tell myself, when I could put it elsewhere.

For one thing, I think blaming the orange road kill, to use one of his ninety-nine names in current use, is not the problem. The real problem is a combination of two things. One is an uninformed populace willing to follow-the-leader because we live in what some call a "post-epistemic age" - an age when we no longer believe in the idea of objective truth, but think truth is simply whatever you want it to be. If I want to follow an American Führer, I can. I know my rights.

The other problem is our failure - is it laziness? simple apathy? ignorance? - to do the work necessary to keep democracy alive. We have allowed it to slip through our fingers, to wither away, because (and this connects it to the first problem) we have lost the will to educate our children in the art of critical thinking. Where once we valued being smart and working hard, we now put our effort into equity and diversity. 

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not against including the whole population in the American experiment in democracy and, God knows, as a gay man I committed to diversity and inclusion decades ago. But I also value nuanced thinking, and avoiding pendulum swings like overcompensating for leaving kids out of competitive games by giving them all participation trophies.  I have weak muscles and flabby skin because I built an aversion to physical education early on, when my elementary school physical education program consisted of baseball or football instead of calisthenics or soccer, and I was almost always the last to be selected when my colleagues chose their team members. I know the feeling of being left out; I know where the impetus to award participation trophies rather than reward athletic performance came from. But the push for inclusion came with a loss of excellence. And the notion that "learning should be fun," much as I agree with it, also brought with it the feeling that there was something off about a dedication to hard work and struggling against the odds.

I have no way of measuring this claim, if indeed it is true, but I'm not alone in my concern that we are throwing American democracy out because we aren't willing to do the work to keep it alive and well.  Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt, two professors of government at Harvard have put their heads together and written a book titled Tyranny of the Minority. I haven't read it; it's due to come out next week, but you can read about it in a splendid history and summary of the slide of American democracy in an article in the latest edition of The Atlantic.  [You may need to have a subscription to gain access.]

It starts out by making the point that the United States, which once led the world as a model for the pursuit of democracy, has fallen behind. What jumped off the page at me was the claim that even Argentina, my idea of a country that knows how to shoot itself in the foot, now outranks the U.S. in Freedom House's Global Freedom Index. Not economically, I assume, but in other measures. Freedom House, I should mention in passing, is roundly criticized by conservative voices for being too "progressive" (don't you love that notion - "too progressive"!), but at the same time it receives most of its funding from the U.S. State Department and other government grants.

Levitsky and Ziblatt's main point, if the Atlantic article is anything to go by, seems to be that the U.S. has painted itself into a corner and no longer has the mechanisms needed to gain rule of the majority. We read on a daily basis how the tail wags the dog in America, how the Senate blocks such things as voting rights and those wearing the mantle of retrograde Southern racists like George Wallace and Orval Faubus, who today would clearly be in the Republican Party, and Strom Thurmond, have infiltrated the Republican Party's power brokers. Evangelicals, themselves infiltrated by "God loves you more if you're rich" prosperity-gospel leaders, now exercise power way beyond their numbers, although one might prefer to describe what's going on as political manipulation by right wing politicos of clueless religionists. 

I'm on so many democratic party politicians' mailing lists that I spend hours every week clearing out my inbox of "please send five dollars...three dollars... anything you can?" solicitations from worthy candidates. I understand that the only way around deep pocket Republican donors is for small donors on the left to pitch in, but I can't escape the worry that anything I send barely covers the cost of mailing me and asking for more donations. It seems so much like a losing proposition.

I don't know what else to do, other than stay awake (something that has gotten harder and harder to do as the brain-fog descends), pay attention, and share the information that comes my way when my bullshit detector goes off.

I don't believe in intercessory prayer. I don't think that getting Saint Francis to use his clout with the Big Boss to save the squirrels from my favorite animals - dogs - is the way to go. But if you do, please, will you, get somebody upstairs to shake my fellow-Americans into awareness that we are losing our democracy as we speak. And guide the hands of Jack Smith and Fani Willis and all the other heroes fighting the good fight to throw aforementioned road kill's ass in jail.

And to think clearly, to question, to speak out, to vote, and not to surrender to cynicism.




Friday, September 1, 2023

Yokohama AIDS Conference 1994

Still trying to throw away tons of paper in files in my closets. Still failing because there's so much there that brings back memories. I blogged earlier today about planning a sabbatical in San Francisco to coincide with Taku's new venture as a foreign graduate student at San Francisco State. I then went back to work for all of twenty minutes before I came across some notes I kept from my attendance at the AIDS Conference in Yokohama in 1994.

When I took the job at Keio in 1989 we were still up to our ears in death in San Francisco. AIDS was raging out of control, and I didn't hide the the fact that I felt, upon arriving in Japan where AIDS was largely unknown, a sense of blessed relief.

For the first few months, at least. Then, gradually, it began to get under my skin how clueless everybody was. How can you not see what's going on in the world, I heard myself thinking all the time.

Because I had a tenured professorship, I had free rein to teach almost anything I chose to focus on. I decided to massage my "cross-cultural" credentials a little bit and proposed a seminar with the title, "Cross-Cultural Responses to the AIDS Crisis." It wasn't exactly a roaring success. Only four students signed up.  Keio, I want to acknowledge with gratitude, let me go ahead with it and we dug into responses around the globe to the AIDS crisis to see what they might tell us about the attitudes, values and beliefs of the people of the various countries involved. We dug up lots of interesting stuff. The French were offering condoms with long-distance train tickets. The Brazilians assumed that advice would only be taken seriously if they never lost sight of the fact that having sex was fun, and thus couched messages in samba music and sexy poses. The Japanese avoided possible embarrassment by using real people in their public messages and used stick figures instead. The Dutch posted messages like, "When you fuck, use a condom!"

By the end of the semester, our little group had become quite close and their interest in AIDS had intensified to the degree that we all decided to attend the Tenth International Conference on AIDS that year which, conveniently, was going to be held in Yokohama. I can't remember how I did it, but I managed to wrangle some money out of the university to enable us all to go. The normal registration fee was outrageous - about $1000, if I remember right. But that made sense when you realized that they set the fee this high so they could give lots of radically reduced tickets to people from poor countries, countries suffering the most from AIDS.

No sooner did I get involved than I learned the conference directors were embarrassed by the fact that Japanese people were not signing up. The apathy I first encountered when first arriving in Japan was still there. In the end, the government decided to provide free, or next-to-nothing, tickets to Japanese doctors and their families. Not academics, for the most part, not people accustomed to attending academic conferences.

The result was we got to see a large number of cultures in contact which otherwise would not likely have been in contact.  Typical of many of the presenters, for example, were sex workers from Rio de Janeiro and typical of many of the Japanese audience members were high-society ladies in high fashion clothes and shoes costing a Rio slum dweller's annual income. You can imagine the look on the faces of these ladies when the speaker's Portuguese presentation was translated into Japanese and they heard, "Some of our biggest problems come from doctors who prescribe medicine before they've even had a look at your dick!"

An unforgettable moment of that conference that remains with me came during the plenary given by the head of the World Bank.  Somebody asked him, "What is the single most important thing we can do in confronting this crisis?"  I expected, given his role in dealing with the world economy, he might say something like, "write letters to your congress people and urge them to fund better health care," or something to that effect. His actual answer was: "Educate women."

Another unforgettable moment, moving from the sublime to the ridiculous, was listening to the Japanese Minister of Health predict that AIDS would not become a problem in Japan because "there are few homosexuals and Japanese are very educated." At the same time, his ministry was publishing the information that 50% of 20-24-year-old males and 20% of females were having sex outside of a partnership and only a third of those were using condoms.

During one presentation a (Mr.?) R. Msiska, head of the National AIDS Control Program in Zambia, put it out there in black and white: "We are undone by this disease. Our economy is in shambles. Our productive workers are dying. Not a single Zambian individual is untouched by this disease." At the same time, in another part of the conference, Norio Hattori, who I believe was press secretary at the Japanese foreign ministry at the time, urged "all the people of the world to work together." I shouldn't be too hard on him, strong as my inclination to disparage the work of Japanese bureaucrats is. I understand his ministry was pledging billions of dollars by the year 2000. I just checked and I see they actually followed up, so maybe it's time I stopped biting at the heels of Japanese bureaucrats.

The fact that the seminar had only four students attending had the upside that the university was willing to pay their entry fee. I doubt they saw anything at Keio to match that level of educational experience. On the last day, to quote from my own notes from 29 years ago:

I walked out of a meeting at 7 p.m. in a state of near total mental exhaustion, because I simpy couldn't take any more. I went out onto the plaza where, despite the heat, people were mesmerized by a razzle dazzle high tech multimedia presentation on PWAs (people with AIDS) in all stages of life and in death, poetry written by and about them, scenes of protest juxtaposed with official responses, etc. When you can't stand it anymore, out come the dancers and the rock music. Even at age 54, I understand the need to be loud.

That was 1994.  Just over twenty-nine years ago. Today we struggle over how to deal with the transgender issue, we worry whether there will be fighting in the streets if our gangster-president gets sent to jail, Covid lingers on, the German economy is in full stagnation, people are throwing democracy into the trash can in several places simultaneously around the world, and global warming is making fools of us all.

But we are no longer terrorized by AIDS.

I remember vividly when we were.

Sometimes things actually do get better.







Using memories to avoid house repairs

 That guy in the photo on the left with shoes to die for and a very transparent desire to look a lot taller is the previous Japanese Emperor Heisei, known while he was alive as Akihito. Japan uses two calendars, the Gregorian one we and most of the world use for modern-day international business exchanges and the official Japanese calendar, which changes with each emperor. I was born in Showa 15 [Showa = Hirohito], first went to live in Japan in Showa 45. And while teaching at Keio University, I applied for a sabbatical to run from September of Heisei 9 to March of Heisei 10. I know that because I've been avoiding the task of getting people to come fix the walls of my house by cleaning out my closets and trying to throw away the tons of stuff there gathering dust.

I never get very far in these moments. Something always grabs my attention and I get carried away with memories. This morning it was coming across that sabbatical application in Heisei 9 (1997) and the fateful decision to fulfil Taku's lifetime wish to come to the States. We were just starting out as a couple and didn't want to be separated, so we calculated I'd take a sabbatical for a semester while he came to live in my house in Berkeley. It worked. He got into San Francisco State in women's studies, I got my sabbatical and Taku got his first taste of living in what would become his adopted country. Good times.

Lots of water under the bridge since those days. Taku decided one day he had gone into women's studies not so much out of a desire to study women, but because he wasn't up to telling the world his real academic interest was in gay studies - and the opportunities in that area were far fewer. He switched to graphic design and got a job with a Japanese company in San Francisco. When we first met, we spent a lot of time talking about Germaine Greer and Simone de Beauvoir and the state of feminism in Japan, and I rode him about wanting to give that fascinating stuff up just to become "another fairy who wants to make things pretty." But he was undeterred.

To read my sabbatical application is to roll your eyes and wait for your bullshit detector to go off in your head. But it wasn't all bullshit. I really was interested in postmodernism, still a new idea to me in those days, and I had no doubt I would be picking things up I could use in my seminars in culture theory. And that came to pass, even though I never pursued anything to publication.

I am still plagued by postmodernism and how to walk the line between holding to the conviction
there is such a thing as objective truth, on the one hand, and, on the other, recognizing the words of anthropologist Clifford Geertz,

that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun…I take culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretative one in search of meaning.

These days the struggle is less over political correctness per se than the best way to approach the T in LGBT.

I went into retirement seventeen years ago already, and no longer have seminar students to toss ideas around with. Taku is now an American citizen and wonders aloud after dinner sometimes whether he made the right decision to leave his home country for one that sometimes seems to be eating itself alive. 

Life goes on.

And I still need to get those damned crumbling walls fixed.