Year: 2012

Farewell Lecture (Congratulations!)

Brandon Christensen Economics, Liberty, Links , ,

Hey everybody,

Co-editor Fred Foldvary is retiring from Santa Clara University and will be giving a farewell lecture on June 6th. The details:

Dear CSI personae,

Fred Foldvary, CSI Director, will retire from SCU on June 2012.

 

His farewell CSI public lecture will be held

on June 6, 7-8:30 PM, Lucas Hall 126 the Forbes Family Conference Center.

 

Foldvary’s lecture will be on the question:

“What gives you the right to exist?”

If you had to prove it on the penalty of death,

how would you answer?

 

See you there,

Fred Foldvary

ffoldvary@scu.edu

We hope everybody who is in the Silicon Valley at the allotted time can attend. Here is CSI’s website. Here is a partial list of Dr. Foldvary’s academic publications over the years (hopefully they are ungated). Here are his writings in the Freeman. Here are his writings in the Progess Report.

Congratulations Dr. Foldvary, you finished the rat race in one piece!

Les pumas de Bécon-les-Bruyères

Jacques Delacroix Current Events , ,

Mon neveu français, qui aime la Californie, hésite à y venir camper avec sa famille parce que j’ai eu le malheur de mentionner nos pumas devant lui. Comme j’y habite depuis plus de trente ans, j’ai à coeur de le rassurer en lui présentant les fait tels qu’ils sont, tous nus. D’abord, il faut savoir de quoi on parle, bien sûr: Le puma est un grand carnivore qu’on appelle communément en Anglais: “mountain lion”, et aussi, “cougar”. (Il y a d’autres noms régionaux.) Il ne faut pas dramatiser: Il y a plus de pumas en Californie qu’en Ile-de- France mais ce ne sont pas vraiment des “lions”. Voici la réalité.

Les pumas sont présents dans tout l’ouest des Etats-Unis, c’est-à-dire, partout à l’ouest du Mississipi. Il en est aussi en Floride, sous un autre nom. Il y a même de bonnes raisons de penser que le territoire de ce beau carnivore est en train de s’étendre vers l’est. Des habitants du Vermont, à l’extrême nord-est du pays en ont signalés mais l’équivalent américain des Eaux-et-Forêts n’a pas confirmé, au moins jusqu’ici.

Mais revenons à nos moutons (si je puis dire, expression malencontreuse, peut-être!) Les pumas adorent la Californie, comme presque tout le monde d’ailleurs, et ils y sont de plus en plus nombreux. Les causes de cette préference sont d’ordreà la fois écologique et politique. D’abord, et bien que la chasse au chevreuil soit légale en Californie en genéral, les municipalités et les cantons (“counties”), animés par un souci de respect de l’environnement, y mettent de plus en plus d’entraves, Ceci sous forme de réglementations diverses dont certaines concernent simplement la décharge des armes à feu.

Les résultats de cette politique sont évidents: Dans les zones montagneuses sans grosse population, tout chasseur est bien forcé de mériter son chevreuil. Continue reading →

Conservative National Public Radio

Jacques Delacroix Current Events, Politics , ,

It’s Sunday evening and I am listening to NPR while driving home. I am neither apologizing for this nor confessing. I listen to FM stations that carry NPR for their music programs. I listen to NPR itself for the story-telling show, “This American Life,” and for “A Prairie Home Companion.” I even listen to political programs that are locally produced and carried by NPR affiliates because it’s good for me to know what the enemy is thinking. The day of the week matters in this story because I am pretty sure the Sunday spots don’t go to stars. […] The presenter, whose name I did not catch, is interviewing on air another NPR person, a reporter who did and investigation on the topic: Does NPR have a left-wing bias? Imagine!

The presenter snickers at the sound of the name of the investigation. The reporter reports in some detail on the results of his inquiry. It turns out NPR does not have a left-wing bias at all. In fact, it’s to the right of the Wall Street Journal on some issues, he asserts. The presenter snickers.

I don’t have much of an opinion on the investigation itself. I did not hear much about the methods used except that they involved both self-identified liberals and conservatives keeping a journal. I don’t have much against this soft methodology. It’s used all the time. It’s known to be soft; it does not make it useless. I am a little perplexed by the findings because, of course, I am convinced NPR has a left-wing bias. Yet, it’s not the job of research, it should not be the job of research, to comfort our received ideas. One of the ways you know good research in the social sciences, in fact, is that it shakes trees and allows rotten fruits to fall to the ground. Continue reading →

Lester Maddox, Hero or Bum?

Warren Gibson History, Politics , , , , , , ,

Ask anybody outside Georgia who Lester Maddox was and you’re likely to get a blank stare.  I’m not from Georgia but I remember the attention he got in the late 1960’s.  Aside from Alabama Governor George Wallace, Maddox was the best known rear-guard defender of racial segregation in the South at that time.

Mr. Maddox and his family operated a modest restaurant called the Pickrick adjacent to the Georgia Tech campus in Atlanta.  The fried chicken must have been good, because he prospered.  He gradually became interested in politics and began to express them bluntly.

Maddox was incensed when the Civil Rights Act became law in 1964.  Among other things, the Act outlawed racial discrimination in “public accommodations.”  He did not welcome black people as customers, and when three black men tried to enter his property in July of 1964, he reportedly waved a pistol at them and shouted: “You no good dirty devils! You dirty Communists!”  He believed that as owner of the restaurant, it was his prerogative to decide whom he wanted to serve. The pick handles that were initially decorations in his restaurant became symbols of his defiance, and he sold them as autographed “Pickrick drumsticks” in his souvenir shop.

Maddox consistently defended his stand as an issue of property rights. Continue reading →

The Best Meal and the Worst Meal Ever

Jacques Delacroix Liberty , , , , , ,

We have been working hard and we have been stressed by the unprincipled doings in Washington. So, here is a new story.

First, let me pull rank on you, reader. I was born and reared in France. I left when I was twenty-one. My godmother was a fine cook in the French tradition. She made it a point to train my palate from when I was a little kid, including with good wines. (You would be amazed to find out what two glasses of wine with lunch do to a seven-year old.) Then, I moved to San Francisco where it’s possible (though not easy) to find an excellent Chinese meal. I spent most of my adult life there, with frequent trips to Europe where I moved around as a dedicated gastronomy tourist, though not the moneyed kind. Once, for two weeks, I sampled the most expensive Japanese cuisine, possibly the best in the world overall. For a longer period, a Vietnamese lady with a fine pair of chopsticks graced my home and my kitchen with her presence. She was supplanted for thirty years following by an Indian lady who puts her pride in her cooking. I would like to tell you that the Vietnamese lady and the Indian lady had a kitchen cat-fight and that the latter won me as the prize but that would be stretching it

In any case, I am pretty sure I know more about food than anyone raised on burgers, fried chicken and Mom’s Sunday brisket and vegetables, even with Italian great-grandma’s Italian spaghetti thrown in occasionally. Yes, this sounds a little pretentious. So, what’s your point? Now that I have got you humbled, you will pay attention to the two demanding philosophical stories rolled into one below. Continue reading →

Hermanos*

Jacques Delacroix Current Events , , , , , , , ,

This is a story about Mexicans but before I get to the topic, I need to make small political commentaries.

Most of the time, I abstain from describing myself as a libertarian for several reasons. One is the current and recent libertarian leadership that I can’t stomach. Another, possibly more durable set of reasons for my reluctance is that I am keenly aware of the contradictions between some of my positions and because some of my positions are incompatible with fundamental libertarianism. Incidentally, I am not the only libertarian (small “l”) with such contradictions in his heart; I just have the great merit of being aware of the fact. (If I say so myself.)

One of my un-libertarian positions consists in repeating without hesitation that every national society has a moral right to control its borders. We can’t just have different kinds of people bringing unchecked into this society their habitual laziness, for example, or their propensity to disorder, and worse, their concept of order, or again, their ethical idea of the proper relationship between religion and government. (Feel free to put national names and other stickers on each of these four categories.) The fact that I am an immigrant does not make me more mindlessly “tolerant” on such issues. On the contrary, I believe I am better able than most native-born Americans (or than all of them) to judge that those who live in this society, such as it is, are exceptionally lucky. Not that it’s that hard to figure out, at any rate. Poor people from everywhere want to move here but also many prosperous people from prosperous countries. Millions have voted with their feet. Even more millions are trying to, many at great cost to their safety.

Among the latter, of course, are many Mexican nationals. I have argued elsewhere (pdf), in the Independent Review, that the Mexicans should be given special treatment by American immigration laws. With my co-author, fellow immigrant Sergey Nikiforov, I have argued that the key to an overall solution to the problem posed by Mexican illegal immigration specifically lies in the separation of freedom of movement from citizenship. This, for both Mexicans and Americans. I also argued, in that article, that Mexicans, our next door neighbors, should receive special treatment, privileged treatment, treatment over and better than that we extend to other foreigners. And no, it is not the case that “foreign” is a dirty word. And, as some wit remarked years ago, about the prestigious journal Foreign Affairs, and I wish it had been me: “If they want to have affairs, they can damn well have them at home!”

Not much more than a couple of years after our article was researched and prepared, we learn that net illegal Mexican immigration into this country probably approximates zero. (That’s illegal Mexicans coming in minus illegal Mexicans leaving the US.) The current worldwide and American economic crisis is of course a sufficient explanation for both changes, for the decrease in comings and for the increase in goings of Mexican illegals. Incidentally, the fact that illegals are leaving in large numbers pretty much gives the lie to the idea, lamentably common in conservative circles, that they cross the border mostly to take advantage of our social services. In this country recently, jobs have dried up while social services have expanded but Mexican illegals are still leaving. Ergo, they were not here for social services but for jobs. As Nikiforov and I argued all along, they come to work. Since they are mostly young, while they are in the US, many also commit crimes, as the young tend to do everywhere, and many mate and have children, as young adults do everywhere. All this criminal activity and all this productive mating places a burden on social services of course. It’s a normal burden, not the parasitic blood-sucking in some conservatives’ nightmares. If all works well, some of those Mexican illegals, or many, stay here, they pay taxes here for a long time and they support my adult children later with their Social Security contributions.

Notwithstanding the sufficiency of the economic crisis explanation, there is an alternative explanation to the quick reduction in the in- flows of Mexican nationals across our southern border. Or rather, there are two explanations that combine to produce this decrease, aside from, independent of, the American economic crisis. First, Mexican fertility rates have declined precipitously to the point that they now approximate American rates. On the average, Mexicans have only slightly more children than do Americans and the trend is downward. Secondly, after many years of severe economic trouble, Mexico is finally achieving the kind of economic growth that is considered normal at its moderate level of development. The latter is of course systematically higher than American economic growth. After a severe contraction in 2009, Mexico achieved a mean GDP growth of 4.2 for the past three years, 2012 included, against 2.2 for the US.

Now, I want to evoke a subjective side of Mexican immigration. Namely, I want to assert that Mexicans make very good immigrants to this country (This, even if like most immigrants in the past, they tend to vote Democratic at first.) And then, I make the specific claim that Mexicans, illegals as well as legal immigrants, contribute a high degree of graciousness to American culture, a culture produced largely by the grandchildren of the English, Germans, Irish, Poles, and Slovaks. (See what I mean?)

Here are some reminders about Mexicans in the US:

Mexicans work hard. Everyone agrees on this even those who suffer most from their presence as job competitors. Unlike some European immigrants for example, they don’t ask for directions to the welfare office a couple of days after they arrive. They come from a work-oriented culture, like American culture used to be many years ago.

Very poor Mexicans are more socially acceptable, less socially disruptive than equally poor native-born Americans. There are Mexican “homeless” encampments on my river. You never hear about them. You would have to know they are there. You can’t say the same of Anglo homeless squatters in Santa Cruz. (Some kill people, not many, just some.)

Mexican immigrants arrive here well informed about American institutions, about American culture, about American habits.

Mexicans immigrants come from a country rent and terrorized by the blowback of our war on drugs. Yet, they have the good grace never to mention here that we are nearly entirely responsible for the horrors their country has to suffer on account of our stupid policies. I mean, of course, that if the US announced the legalization of all drugs, the massacres, the beheadings, the cutting off of hands and feet would stop in Mexico within weeks or days. I am simply assuming that making the supply of a product in high demand illegal is certain to make the product prodigiously profitable. Hence the bloody turf wars among Mexican suppliers. Legalize or ignore drugs; let the price of marijuana drop to where it belongs, somewhere between the prices of tobacco and of carrots. The massacre in Mexico will stop.

Mexicans are also courteous and endlessly gracious, in my considerable and lengthy experience. Below are three illustrations.

There is an old-style diner I frequent about once a week for breakfast. (I have immortalized it in a story: “Radio Free Santa Cruz” published in le libertarian periodical Liberty.) I go there often, usually thrown out of bed by the insomnia that plagues the aged who feel guilty for old but good reasons they may not want to go into publicly lest they be charged with bragging. The same crew of two Mexicans is always in the kitchen. It’s an open kitchen. You can see them and you can hear everything they say. No matter how early I get there, I find these two guys guffawing and joking loudly. That’s often in the middle of breakfast rush-hour. This is worth commenting on because, the world over, cooks are given a pass for being assholes at the height of their rush-hour. The rule does not apply to Mexican cooks. If you don’t believe me lend an ear next time you are in a cheap restaurant. In California, that’s an easy study because all cooks in such restaurants are Mexicans, have been for ten years or more. (Some are legal immigrants!)

One slow day, my wife and I enter a small Mexican-owned shop on the edge of town. My wife is from India. She is looking for tropical fruit that are still uncommon in mainstream grocery stores, in the years right after the signing of NAFTA. Her attention gets drawn to a cinenovela being played on a TV set hanging from the shop ceiling. Observing that she is craning her neck, the young man behind the counter brings a box for her to stand on. His buddy who has been hanging out in the shop with him approaches and offers my wife his hand to help her climb on the box. The guy has dark skin and very short hair. He appears to be somewhat over twenty-five. Intricate tattoos sally forth from the neck opening of his shirt and climb all over his neck in thick masses and then curl into the external faces of both his ears. There is only one place in the world where you can afford the time and the expense of such dense tattoo-art: prison. The thought imposes itself on me inexorably: This young Mexican jailbird is much better bred than all the white middle-class young of the same age we know. Of course, I will be accused by the pedantly naïve of “generalizing.” Not so; as soon as you open your eyes a little, you will observe that, in California, people with Spanish last names and skin a shade darker than average are systematically more polite than the rest of the population. As I write this, I am trying to gather some recollection of one rude Mexican or child of Mexicans I have met. I come up empty.

Now, in connection with the next story I have to say something quick and historical about myself: I was born in Paris, France. When I was two, the soldiers who marched down the Champs-Elysees were not French. How do I know? The French are incapable of orderly goose-stepping.

There is a woman in her late twenties who works as a cashier in a pan dulce bakery I patronize every so often. She has grown on me. The reason is that early in our fleeting relationship, she discovered that I was a special kind of Anglo, one who actually understands Spanish and who actually speaks reasonably well. This is a digression: California is full of people who have taken multiple vacations in Mexico and who brought back fluency in how to say, “Two more beers, please,” and, “Where is the restroom?” They are gringos who embarrass the local Mexicans who don’t know how to let them know politely that their’s, the Mexicans’ English, is much more serviceable than their’s, the gringos’ Spanish, and that therefore they, the Anglos, should keep their primitive Spanish where it belongs, in their back-pockets, for a dire emergency.

So, anyway, soon after discovering my comparative fluency (comparative!) the young cashier began addressing me casually as “tú.” This flatters me, of course, because California Mexicans, as is the wont of immigrants in many places, mark their belongingness with each other through the use of a familiar form of address. Mexicans who would go on calling each other, “Seňor” and “Seňora” in Vera Cruz or in Guadalajara all their lives, instantly begin using the “tú” when they live in a sea of gringos. The young woman does me honor whenever she returns change addressing me the same way, as if I were one of her affectionate uncles, for instance. And yes, I understand that she may be simply engaging in a commercially valid practice. All the same, she does not call “tú” others who look like me.

And, it’s time to say that my grand-daughter often accompanies me to the pan dulce shop. It’s true that her looks may have facilitated this process of instant assimilation. I don’t want to tell here this long and interesting sub-story but the child, three at the time, is no more related to me by blood than say, a gopher. Instead, she is very pretty (I may brag since we are not genetic kin) in a bronzed sort of way that might well look Mexican to a Mexican eye. At any rate, I often enter the pan dulce shop with the child in tow. She is smart, talkative and loud, like Grandpa, and she wins hearts everywhere she goes (also like…). So, anyway, one day, I show up at the shop without that beautiful child.

“And where is the little one?” asks the young cashier.

“Oh,” I say, “she is with her Mom.”

“I see,” retorts the cashier, “she is with her mother one week and with you the other week.”

“No, no,” I exclaim, “she is not my daughter, she is my grand-daughter!”

The young woman raises her head, looks at me intently. I swear, disappointment in me is written all over her face.

What’s not to like?

* brothers

French Movies, Sex, and the Welfare State

Jacques Delacroix Current Events , , , ,

It’s hard to fully grasp white if you have never seen black, or green if you don’t know red or orange. And the understanding of water a fish carries in its tiny brain is probably not so great. (That’s except for flying fishes, of course. They exist; they are amazing.)

The same is true for cultures in general, including national cultures. I am pretty sure that observant individuals who have good knowledge of another culture understand best the culture in which they live. “Compare and contrast” always does some good. It does not matter much where the knowledge of the other culture comes from; it all works out the same. Thus many long-term immigrants we would expect to have a grasp of American culture superior to that of the native-born in general, with some predictable gaps.

I, of course, was reared in France. I know the French language as well as anyone and better than almost all younger French people whose vocabulary is astonishingly poor and whose command of grammar is often downright rustic. I also have good access to Mexican culture because of many small conversations with California Mexicans, because of several long stays in Mexico, because of my readings of Mexican authors, but above all else because of my sometimes dedication to Mexican telenovelas. And here is an aside: Anyone who thinks telenovelas don’t tell you anything about the “real” Mexico is missing the relationship between a people and the art forms it develops and consumes. He might just as well say that “Dallas,” the soap, was not about American society. Was it about Estonia, China, Germany, Egypt, then? End of aside. Anyway, here again, being able to understand the language corresponding to the culture is essential. (Speaking it does not matter nearly as much.)

No, a little more bragging is sadly necessary. I have lived in this country for nearly fifty years. That’s longer than most American-born citizens alive today, I would guess. Nevertheless, there are gaps in my understanding of American culture. Much that normally happens in American society before high-school is hazy, second-hand, or absent from my mind altogether. That’s because much of it appears trite, or downright boring, not worth the effort of finding out about. Baseball would be an example of the latter. A friend who is a fan actually told me once, “You don’t understand, Jacques, baseball is supposed to be boring.” ! Although I speak English with an accent (that gets worse as my hearing deteriorates), I would describe my understanding of the language as near perfect and my command in the use the same language as better than pretty damn good. At the same time, and contrary to a widespread but naïve impression, you don’t lose the fundamentals of your culture of origin by living in another society. And you certainly don’t forget your native tongue (although some seldom-used terms might slip your mind). Thus, I am a truly bi-cultural person which allows me legitimately to pull rank on most of you. So, sit up and listen.

After a hiatus of ten years, I have French language television in my house again and I am watching it several hours a day. It’s not that its fare is so great. The social scientist in me just has to. Overall, French television has improved a great deal in ten years. Mostly, it now offers pretty good serials. They are clearly imitations of American serials, an improvement in itself, especially as regards tempo. They benefit from being often filmed in the admirable French countryside. And, for some reason, the French have always produced good documentaries. (The 2005 “March of the Penguins” is a French production.) I have even discovered in replays of French television a literary show that has no equal anywhere in America. It’s the very best that contemporary French culture has to offer.

TV5, the French language television channel also offers some Canadian and Belgian movies, and many more French movies practically every night. A high proportion of the latter are recent films. There are so many of those that, after a while, I feel free to generalize. My generalizations in turn are like the negative of American culture: What disappoints me, what disturbs me, what I miss in French movies are salient features of American culture that make up much of the pleasure of everyday life in America.

First, and strikingly, the French cinema is dependent for full effect on American popular music in English, a language few master. Two reasons, I think. The first reason is that French popular music today is devoid of the quality of soul. French audiences recognize soul but French composers and singers are unable to produce it. So, French film directors borrow it from where they can: here. They do in about 80% of French films I would say, even in films that feature otherwise good French popular music. The second reason I give for this reliance on American popular music is more tenuous but I believe it’s quite real. French society is old and aging fast. (Other European societies are aging even faster.) Not much happens in France on a day-to-day basis, or on a year-to-year basis, or during one’s own full childhood. Things are pretty much today as they were yesterday and the day before. This is charming to semi-literate American tourists who think it gives the country “authenticity.” This immobility is a source of sadness to many French people, including the young but not limited to them. They know that progress must give visual and especially, auditory signals. French directors, who live constantly with one eye fixed on the other side of the Atlantic, are vaguely aware of this deficiency. I think they watch their near-final product, decide it’s not moderne enough. Then, they add a couple of pieces of American popular music to signal, that their movie was not made in 1955.

Here is my second observation: As you might expect, French movies often contain scenes of unconstrained sex and of unrestrained nudity. This fact almost never makes them even vaguely erotic. The French seem to have invented the passion-free, almost sexless, sex scene. I mean hot, perspiring, hard-breathing passion; I don’t mean anything more refined. When French films show nudity, which is often, as I have said, there seems to be no intent to show the naked human body in an attractive light. Sometimes, they almost seem to go out of their way to make nakedness seem vaguely disgusting, as if old-fashioned Catholic nuns were behind the camera. (New-fashioned Catholic nuns tend to be militant lesbians or else, they pretend to be.) The two dozen or so contemporary French directors who turn out almost all recent movies appear to have grown up without benefit of Playboy magazine. It’s puzzling and a little dispiriting. I am not sure what this lacuna means for French culture in general. Perhaps, it’s an expression of a lack of appetite for life. “La chair est triste, hélas et j’ai lu tous les livres,“ wrote the popular 19th century French poet Stéphane Mallarmé. So, maybe, it’s an old thing within French culture and I am reading too much into a few movies. As the case may be, I have never felt that way about any American film. That’s never.

My third observation concerns oozing. I mean the quiet despair that oozes from many contemporary French movies except comedies and even from a few of those. Sometimes, despair is the very topic of the film as in the fairly acclaimed: “La ville est tranquille,” staged in de-industrializing Marseille. More often, the cynicism and the hopelessness come thorough as if bleeding from the corners of the screen, in the assumptions of unimportant casual conversation between characters, for example. They also come through, of course, in the large proportions of those characters who happen to be unemployed, or not-yet-employed in spite of their advanced youth. And think about it: I am not referring to the poor or to conventional poverty. Nearly all the characters in all French movies are well-clothed, very well housed by world standards, excellently doctored, and they enjoy more than twelve years of freer than free education if they want it. (“Freer than free” because most French post-high-school students receive a state stipend and subsidized meals while they pay no tuition.) And, as you might have guessed, the average French working or non-working stiff eats better in France than the average American banker in America. (A lot better, actually!)

So, what I think I perceive, what I read between the lines in many French movies, what I think I would guess about French society by watching these movies even if I did not know the numbers, is a sense of futureless-ness. When people have nothing to look forward to, or only the next vacation, they become joyless about just almost everything. Of course, you would expect an underlying sense of hopelessness to be pervasive in all societies where a 2% economic growth rate is an occasion for official celebration. It has to be even worse when the feeling is that the end of the party – such as it was – is just around the corner.

Forty to thirty years ago, the French, like other western Europeans, chose security over everything else. It made them backward, inexpressive, and chronically despondent. As their nanny state unravels and their children keep having to pay the piper, it looks to them like everything is going to get worse. So, they have lost their appetite, even for sex.

PS: I don’t think things are going to become worse in France myself. I suspect that after a painful transition, the French will wake up and recover the vigor that was their grand-parents’ during the post-war years. That was when they acquired the economic means to enter resolutely the dead-end of welfarism instead of the open road of entrepreneurship and growth. Then, they will start making good movies again.

Update: The news on TV5, which is not exactly French television but television in French, continues to regal me with instances of staggering ignorance. Tonight, the anchor reminded us that fifty years ago, at the Bay of Pigs, Fidel Castro “repelled the American Army.” The ignorance is not neutral, it has a strong ideological bias. Guess which. Watching TV5 news has the merit of helping me appreciate the blond bombshells on Fox. They seldom say anything patently untrue and they are pleasant to look at (unlike naked women in French movies for example. See above.)

[Editor’s note: You can also access one of Dr. Delacroix’s “pop-sociology” articles on the French welfare state here, in the Independent Review]

Exploring Irrationality: Clusters

Jacques Delacroix Liberty , , , , ,

With great trepidation, I want to use this blog to do something that may be verging on the obscene. Don’t worry though, it does not involve my disrobing on-line, at least, not yet.

Let me explain: I style myself a strict rationalist. I have spend much of my life fighting and trying to destroy superstitions. Since I have lived in Santa Cruz, California, for more than ten years, I have been busy. Tech. note: Santa Cruz is where half digested vulgar Marxism meets endlessly with New Age beliefs, diet and exotic health practices. It’s also a major center for the cult of Gaiia. (“Gaiia” is the poetic name for that contrary bitch, Mother Nature.) I think facts matter and the people whose influence I fight every hour of the day when I am not sleeping think only beliefs and intentions matter. They are further sure that beautiful beliefs are more real than facts and that they trump facts (if any).

So, here I go: I have to speak about something I cannot quite explain and that has been puzzling me all my adult life and perhaps before. And it’s a little bit shameful:

Events that have little importance in my life and that I encounter rarely tend strongly to happen in clusters. Two interrelated examples below. Let me tell you right away: what’s below is both perplexing and fairly unimportant.

Example 1: I go to the beach with my grand-daughter who is three. It’s the same beach where we have gone fifty times this past summer. There is small concrete space there in front of a coffee shop and in front of a restaurant. That nice day, the space is jammed. I need to go to the restroom inside quickly. I scan the small crowd for a likely person or persons to whom to entrust my grand-daughter for a very few minutes. My eyes rest on a nice, hearty older couple. I ask them. They say yes with an accent I recognize as German. They confirm they are German tourists. Continue reading →

Gay Marriage? No, but …

Warren Gibson Politics

The wait is over.  Our Dear Leader uttered this pronouncement recently.  Biden probably forced the issue when he opened his big mouth a short time before.

At a certain point,” Mr. Obama said in an interview in the Cabinet Room at the White House with ABC’s Robin Roberts, “I’ve just concluded that for me personally, it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married.

This on the heels of the previous day’s overwhelming vote in North Carolina that not only bans gay marriage but also civil unions.  If there’s one thing BO’s opinion is not, it’s for him personally.  His attempt to tiptoe past the issue will rouse the opposition in November.  The Romney camp must be licking their chops.

So, should gay marriage be allowed or not?  I find gay “marriage” troubling.  I believe marriage plays a fundamental role in human society that does not entirely translate to other unions.  But rather than argue my position I want to suggest that, as often happens in public discourse, we are presented with a false alternative: that gay marriage must be legal or illegal.

A cornerstone of libertarian social philosophy is the sanctity of contracts.  No one may interfere with agreements entered into voluntarily by competent adults.  A marriage is a ceremony in which a couple publicly declares their intention to enter a permanent relationship that is exclusive in many respects.  They may choose to have a clergyman bless their union or not, but there is always an invisible and uninvited party at the altar: the state.  Numerous laws dictate the form marriages may take with respect to divorce, property ownership, and taxation among other things.  This is wrong.  It is not the province of the state to restrict the content of voluntary contracts made by consenting adults.

I’m surprised opponents of gay marriage haven’t framed the debate as a slippery slope.  What’s next, they might ask, three-way marriage? In fact, there is no legitimate reason to outlaw such unions.  If allowed, they would be tested in the marketplace of ideas, and the experiences of people who entered informal threesomes and foursomes in the 1970’s suggests that only rarely would they succeed.

What about time-limited marriages?  Not “till death do us part” but a ten-year agreement, for example?  Again, no reason why they should be outlawed.

How then should we respond, those of us who are repelled by gay marriage? It is not a major issue for me.  If a man introduced someone to me as his husband, I might just say, “yeah, right” and leave it at that. For those who are passionate opponents, there is a long list of non-coercive actions that are possible – speaking out, blogging, boycotting, shunning.  A majority of Americans, a declining majority to be sure, would probably share my sentiment.  But that doesn’t mean we get to forcibly deny the rights of gay couples or threesomes to contract with each other.

What might we expect if the state were to cease its interference in marriage?  Brand names would arise for various forms of marriage.  For example, “Catholic marriage” would be a lifetime commitment that excluded divorce, with the brand perhaps identified by a logo.  “Open marriage” would signify that extramarital sexual affairs were permitted.  “Islamic marriage” might require the woman to wear a veil in public.  Once established, these brand names could not be misused by those who did not practice their tenets.

Couples could make financial arrangements that best suit them.  As it stands, the state decides for everyone by such things as community property laws and inheritance rules.

Married couples pay different tax rates under the income tax code.  Some couples pay a “marriage penalty” meaning they pay more tax than the total they would pay if filing as singles.  For other couples it’s the other way around.  Is this fair?  No, but as I have argued on this blog, there is no such thing as fair tax.  Repeal of the income tax is the best answer, or short of that, ever lower rates will lessen the impact of the disparities.

Sasquatch and Liberal Academe

Jacques Delacroix Current Events, Religion , , , ,

I have spent thirty years in academia as a teacher and as a scholar. If you count the embarrassingly long periods I was a student, it adds up to much more time. After retiring, I am full of thoughts and ideas about academia. I feel almost no remorse at all but there is a lot of regret in my heart. It’s regret about what I did not do, mostly. Much of it is regret about the times I kept my mouth shut. I also feel retrospective curiosity. Strangely, the curiosity is growing with the years from my last day in academia. Much of the curiosity is about the following issue:

Why do very intelligent, cultured, well-informed people do and say strikingly stupid things?

Before I spout off anymore about academia, I must make clear my position about Sasquatch, the elusive, giant northern American forest ape. It’s sometimes quite unscientifically referred to as “Bigfoot,” or “Big Foot.” Worry not, the two lines of pondering in this essay will soon merge, I can assure you. At any rate, I think there is no Sasquatch. I am sorry that is what I think. I hope I am wrong. I would be glad to turn on a dime on that one, as soon as the evidence warrants.

I have a former colleague, a man younger than I who is a full professor in the best school of one of the best universities in the world. The man is pretty much an academic star. By the way, I am well-placed to know that his stardom is well deserved. It’s not always true of academic stardom. Some academic stars have skillfully manipulated themselves into their reknown on the basis of absurdly inflated modest intellectual achievements. Often, it’s absurdly inflated, thin achievements associated with a super-normal capacity for being seen at academic conferences. (I could name names but this time around, I won’t.) I can’t resist a digression here: It used to be said that Stalin became dictator of the Soviet Union because he would stay after the meetings to sweep the room when the Bolsheviks were illegal. The very fact that it’s possible to fake scholarly star quality at all is a potent sociological commentary on academia in itself. Continue reading →

Journey Into Leftistan

Jacques Delacroix Current Events, Politics , , , , , ,

When I think of leftists, college professors protected from reality by the ivory tower come to my mind. But we are all limited by our own experience if we are not careful. Facebook is a wonderful means to take journeys through parts unfamiliar. That’s if you have the time, of course. I spend a good deal of last week taking a trip into the land of the special kind of American leftists who are obsessed with Zionism, Israel and its misdeeds, real or imagined. It was a worthwhile experience.

I could reproduce the whole exchange but then, I would be fairly obligated to comment and it would take me more time than I am probably willing to devote to this ethnographic study. So, here are the points of this week-long exchange that are the most salient for me.

The multilog took place on the Facebook of a Tennessee sometimes-politician and sometimes-radio show host. His name is John Wolfe. You can easily find  him on Facebook. Mr Wolfe obviously subscribes, in general, to commonly accepted standards of rationality; he is generally courteous, and he does not make direct anti-Semitic statements although some of his Facebook followers do.

His narrative of Israeli-Palestinian relationships is not frankly at an angle from what I know or think I know. Rather, his narrative is well off to one side. Yet, it falls within the parameters of how one might interpret known facts if one were strongly motivated. Here is an example: Continue reading →

Bad Idea of the Year: Raise the Minimum Wage

Warren Gibson Current Events, Economics , , , , , ,

Who can live on $8 per hour these days? Surely, in a country as rich as ours, no one who is willing and able to work should suffer the indignity of such paltry wages. The solution is simple and obvious: pass a law. If you work, you get at least $10 per hour, period.  Anything less is downright indecent. And so we have a ballot initiative to make this happen in San Jose, California.

It’s anything but simple and obvious if we stop and look and think about what’s happening in the real world. Today I went to a small family-owned sandwich shop near my house. They are very popular and so four young workers, probably students from the nearby college, were jammed in the tiny shop with the two owners. The sandwiches are great but I also enjoy watching them hustle at lunch time. I’m quite certain the helpers were all earning minimum wage but had other sources of income or support. Far more important than their wages, which will quickly be spent, is the work experience that will last them a lifetime – and the confidence that comes from knowing they are earning their money by doing a job in the very best way they can.

The McDonald’s near me employs a few senior citizens, likely at or near minimum wage. They almost certainly have other income. Just being active and involved in productive activity gives their lives meaning and may well enhance their health and longevity.

The sandwich shop operates on thin margins which are being squeezed by rising food prices. If they had to pay their young helpers $2 more per hour they would probably close. But the nearby Safeway store, which has a sandwich bar, would very likely absorb part of the wage increase and pass the rest on to customers, which would be easier to do with their family-owned competitor knocked out. Continue reading →

Polar Bears Multiply: Global Warming Faulted

Jacques Delacroix Current Events , , ,

From Live Science, accessed 08/19/11:

“Charles Monnett, a wildlife biologist with the U.S. Bureau of Ocean Energy Management, Regulation and Enforcement, (BOEMRE) was placed on administrative leave on July 18 pending the conclusion of an Inspector General investigation into “integrity issues,” according to the suspension order. Monnett had been questioned by the Interior Department’s Office of the Inspector General (OIG) in February about a 2006 research article published in the journal Polar Biology, in which he reported observations of drowned polar bears in the Beaufort Sea. In the article, Monnett and his co-authors speculate that bear drownings could increase if continued climate change resulted in less ice cover in the Arctic. The work was cited in the 2006 Al Gore documentary film, “An Inconvenient Truth.” [Gallery: Polar Bears Swimming in the Arctic] “

Here is what my own inquiry shows: Monnett and Gleason in their 2006 article abstract and introduction list at length diverse kinds of damage global warming might have on polar bears’ welfare. They present the fact that they had noticed four carcasses of polar bears off-shore incidental to a study of something else. They comment that similar studies conducted in the same general area in the past had turned up no polar bear mortality. They say that they “speculate” (their word) that continued warming would probably have bad consequences for the polar bear population. Nowhere is there any suggestion, in the abstract or in the introduction, that the warming in question is long-term or, especially, man-made.

I have no objection to any of the above as a scholar although I can summarize my environmental position as follows: Continue reading →

The Boy Who Has Everything

Jacques Delacroix Politics, Religion , ,

I am taking a leisurely drive down Highway 1 from San Francisco back to Santa Cruz after dropping off a friend at the airport. (For my friends in Tennessee: Highway 1 in California is simply the most beautiful coastal road in the world. In central California, where I live, the shoreline on which it runs is mostly undeveloped except for a few artichoke farms and some dairies.) It’s a sunlit but windy day. I stop at Waddell Creek to watch about fifty kite surfers. Behind me is a small swamp and beyond it are the redwood-lined slopes of Big Basin.

In the parking lot, a hitch-hiker waves at me. Now, I have a complicated relationship with hitch-hiking. On the one hand, that’s the only way I had to get to school my first two years in this country. On the same hand, I crossed this country hitch-hiking twice both ways when I was in my twenties. Yes, that’s about 12,000 miles total. Of course, I didn’t not know this the first time I started. In addition, I hitched from San Francisco to St Louis, Missouri in the middle of the winter to be with a girl. My journey gave her a lot of face. She showed her appreciation accordingly. On the other hand, I have no doubt that today, a good percentage of hitch-hikers are dangerous by reason of insanity. Moreover, for me, living in Santa Cruz, there is an existential dilemma in picking up many hitch-hikers: Do I want to help reach their destination transient people I consider undesirable flotsam once they have reached that destination, down the street from my house?

But, this hitch-hiker is different, I can tell. He is trim, muscular and handsome. It turns out also that the quick part of my mind has noticed that he is wearing a “hiking hat” that must have cost $40 in the L.L.Bean’s catalogue. There is another guy next to him similarly well-outfitted. Both are in their late twenties. I stop my pick-up truck (my pick-up truck, an important detail, culturally). The first guy explains that he and his buddy just finished their two-day hike through Big Basin State Park and that they need to call their ride but that there is no phone reception where they are standing. Continue reading →

The Fat Women and Bill O’Reilly

Jacques Delacroix Politics , ,

I was going to leave behind that storm in the tea-cup but it won’t go away. It’s there, on the TV, in front of me every time I go to the gym. Besides, it may have a cultural meaning, or several meanings, after all. So, here it goes:

Last week, the television host Bill O’Reilly got into a tangle on “The View.” It’s a morning show for women. (More below.) What happened is that two of the three fat women show hosts walked out on him because of something he said. They walked off their own show, like that!

First, O’Reilly. He has an evening television program that’s very popular, one of the most popular in the nation, and his simple-minded books are bestsellers. He is a blow-hard, not very well-informed, a little obtuse, and stubborn. His English is uncertain although he obviously spends his morning coffee time reading the dictionary. He is also clearly an Irish-Catholic prude of the worst kind. With all this, O’Reilly is very effective when he decides to right a scandalous situation nation-wide. Several times, he has put the fear of God in lazy, or malevolent, or dishonest state legislatures and forced them to do the obvious or the obviously needed. He used forthright terror in each case and named names.

Now, “The View.” As I said, it’s a women’s show. It comes on a ten on the Pacific Coast. (That’s why I catch it a the gym and only there and then.) It’s designed by women for women. The hostesses are five women. One is Barbara Walter, an old journalist who has been over-rated all her life. Yet, she is a reasonable women although lacking in general culture. She has had the immense good sense to invest her large media earnings into her continued good appearance. She looks nearly as good as she did twenty years ago. I respect that. Barbara is a classical moderate DC liberal. The second hostess is a fairly foxy blonde who plays the token conservative very well although her lack of bulk is probably a handicap. The three other hostesses, one white, two black, are fat. They are not “somewhat overweight” like most of us, they are frankly fat. None of the three could buy her clothes in a department story if she had to. One is a brassy New-York-sounding woman whose name escapes me, and it does not matter. She wears maternity clothes year-around. The other is a black woman with a pretty and sweet face and a sweet disposition most of the time. She often displays common sense. The last member is Whoopi Goldberg, a very large black woman who used to be a good actress. She became a media person years ago by making shocking statements no one expected from a black person. She learned to be an African-American white upper-middle-class oral radical with little ghetto on her. Continue reading →