A theological dilemma

A silly speculation: what if you die, go to heaven, and discover that a god had a set of fundamental rules that it didn’t tell anyone about?

I was initially sympathetic to the idea that a god would judge you for doing harm to small helpless creatures — I avoid killing insects without cause — but then there were a few disparaging comments about spiders, natural given the god’s nature, and I started tallying up my invertebrate body count, and I realized that the video character’s tally of having killed 11,000 insects was pathetic.

I’d be going to bug hell, wouldn’t I?

My unpleasant Christmas memory

I’m in the mood for some self-abasement, and also to nod in the general direction of the Xmas season. I’m going to tell you about the most horrible, embarrassing moment of my life so far. Maybe it’ll inspire you to mention your moment of humiliation in the comments to make me feel a little better.

In my youth, I was a regular church-goin’ kid. Sunday school every week, choir every Wednesday, confirmation every Thursday. I was not a believer, but it was the only club that would accept me, and I also liked the music–I was attending more for the choir than anything else. I had a few friends in the group, although…we weren’t good friends, I guess. We never socialized outside the church.

One year we were organizing for a giant Christmas concert involving dozens of churches in the Puget Sound area. We had to do multiple practices every week, and it wasn’t just walking down the street to my local Lutheran church. We were rotating among various churches, a different one every time, to practice together. It was a huge effort, my parents were ferrying me all over the region for a few months ahead of time. I didn’t mind. I had zero patience for the religious nonsense, but if you’ve ever been in a choir, you know that the feeling of singing in harmony with a large group is an almost primeval, inspiring sensation.

The day of the Christmas concert, we loaded up in vans and busses and journeyed to the site of the event: the Kingdome. I told you it was big. The stadium was filled up. All the Washington state choirs were seated in a vast array in the center. When we started singing, we made the whole place vibrate.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling my best. In the hours we were there, I started feeling a little woozy. Then I was trembling. Then I had a cold sweat. Was I nervous? Not really. It’s not as if I had a solo, I was one among many hundreds.

Then it was time for my church group to sing their special song. We stood up, and we started singing the song we’d practiced so hard: “O Come O Come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear.” Maybe you know it; I still remember the lyrics because damn, we repeatedly sang that thing so many times before the concert. I stood with my church group, raising my voice before the entire Kingdome audience with cameras aimed at us to record the event.

“O COME O COME…” I sang, wobbling and sweating, and then, suddenly, I felt Satan rising up in my body, like a greasy bubble of demonic filth, then “EMMANUE…” and it hit me, unexpectedly and irresistible, and I started vomiting. Projectile vomiting. A horrific geyser of godliness was instantly purged from my body in an terrible public display.

I did immediately feel better, with one regret: the girl in the row in front of me had a lovely cashmere sweater folded over the back of her chair, and I destroyed it. Sorry.

Our choir director, Mrs Whalen, was incredibly nice and gracious, given that all anyone was going to remember of our hard work and our performance was the kid in the middle who grossed out the entire Kingdome with his horrifying expulsion of bodily fluids. She was one of my favorite people, and she treated my ghastly spectacle with nothing but kindness. I continued on with the choir for maybe a year afterwards, before my inability to reconcile my complete lack of faith and aggressive skepticism with the whole goofy church scene drove me away.

That memory still comes back occasionally these many years later, usually around the holiday season, and I can never hear that hymn without being triggered. I also don’t sing anymore.

So what psychic scars do you all still carry?

Witness them

There is a group of people who monitor deportation flights out of Boeing Field, and other airports.

Heroes witness fascists

The observation room at Boeing Field offers what is arguably America’s best real-time window into our vast network of privately run deportation flights, a system that has generated troubling reports of passenger mistreatment and in-flight emergencies.
…
While news organizations have reported on some of these incidents aboard what the government calls ICE Air, key details about how the system works would still be hidden were it not for a group of researchers who are now part of the work inside the observation room.

The people and organizations behind these flights have been playing dumb for years — they don’t want to talk about them. They drive busses loaded with people right up to the boarding stairs for these planes; they position jailers and vehicles to obscure any view of the people being herded into the planes. They don’t want us to know about them.

The Washington human rights center’s investigation of ICE Air began in 2018 with a modest goal: to prove that deportation operations took place at King County International Airport, as Boeing Field is officially known. Liberal local officials had enacted various “sanctuary” policies to insulate their residents from then-President Donald Trump’s crackdown on immigrants, but they were unaware (or could at least claim to be unaware) of ICE flights at the county-owned airport. “They all played dumb,” said Maru Mora Villalpando of the immigrant rights group La Resistencia. “All of them were like, ‘Wait, what, there are deportations happening here?’”

Yes, we know they are, thanks to dedicated defenders of civil liberties who try to monitor these flights.

The center began gathering documents that proved it, and also hinted at the worldwide breadth of ICE Air’s network. Their investigation grew. Through records requests to ICE, and after interventions by Washington’s congressional delegation, researchers obtained an ICE Air database spanning eight years of global operations: 1.73 million passenger records from nearly 15,000 flights to and from 88 U.S. airports — Boeing Field indeed among them — and to 134 international airports in 119 countries around the world.

Those dang liberals in Western Washington state began shutting off support to these flights, and ICE began getting even more secretive about them.

A game of cat and mouse had begun, pitting the Trump administration — and later the Biden administration — against local sanctuary advocates.

First, ICE switched locations. It began charter operations out of a municipal airport in the small city of Yakima, located in the farming region about three hours east of Seattle.

But activists began showing up at the Yakima airfield, recording tail numbers and keeping count of people being deported.

Second, ICE changed its flight numbering system. The human rights center had disclosed in its 2019 report that it used the federally assigned prefix “RPN-” for “repatriate” to plug information into free flight-tracking websites and obtain a plane’s tail number and ownership. So ICE dropped the “RPN-” and adopted the call signs of its various charter companies.

Wait a minute…if these flights are perfectly legal, why is ICE trying to hide them?

I repeat: WHY ANY SECRECY AT ALL?

And why does ICE only release strongly edited, even blurred, images of detainees on flights? It’s almost as if they think we might see some brutality.

The 97 videos ProPublica examined, ranging in length from 22 seconds to almost 3 minutes, show signs of careful framing and editing. While detainees are commonly shown climbing the steps in handcuffs and the waist chains that secure them, the videos often cut to a new shot before leg shackles can make an appearance. When leg shackles are visible, they are typically out of focus, discernible only if you know to look for them.

It is common on ICE Air to place passengers in five-point restraints — wrists, ankles, and waists in chains — even as the agency’s own statistics show that less than half of the people deported in 2023 had any kind of criminal conviction, let alone for serious felonies that could suggest a possible risk to others on board.

What ICE’s online videos don’t show is revealing in its own right. In spring 2023, the center obtained a series of ICE Air incident reports detailing various accidents during charter operations, including the one in which a detainee in Alexandria, Louisiana, tumbled down the boarding stairs. Agency investigators recommended that contractors and subcontractors avoid such accidents in the future by placing a guard midway up the stairs to help detainees board and to catch any who lose their balance.

You will not be surprised that ICE has not bothered to place those guards, thanks to the diligent work of outside observers, documenting everything despite the best efforts of ICE to conceal them.

The flights continue. They will increase in numbers, if Republicans get their way.

But, you say, I am a native born American. I’m not at risk of deportation. Consider this: “A relatively overlooked set of companies whose shares have also seen stellar surges are the controversial American private prison firms. “

The immediate reading of the prison stock rally is that the Republicans have positioned themselves as ‘tough on crime’ – though former President Bill Clinton did much to bring the Democratic party to the game as well – meaning that the number of incarcerated persons under the Trump administration is likely to increase.

There are already about 1.9 million people in American prisons – about 0.5% of the U.S. population, estimated at 345 million in 2024 – per the data from the Prison Policy Initiative.

It is worth pointing out that the figure is comparable to incarceration rates in the USSR at the height of the infamous GULAG System. Adam Gopnik even wrote in 2012 that the U.S. has more people under ‘correctional supervision’ than the Soviet Union ever did.

(By the way, screw Bill Clinton, too.)

I think a clear sign of an expanding fascist state is the police hiding their activities, as well as an eager industry looking forward to building even more prisons.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another

It was hard to get motivated this morning — Fridays are typically low attendance days in the classroom, and I had worked hard to get today’s topic condensed down into a lot of digestible information (we’re talking about the rediscovery of Mendel, the biometrician and Mendelians arguing with each other). I had a presentation that was pretty tight and I thought would help make the conflict comprehensible to a group of liberal arts majors, none of whom are biology majors.

So I get to class today, and was pleasantly surprised to see that I had 80% attendance, which is kind of a miracle. I tell you, standing at the front of a classroom with only 3 students who don’t really appreciate the work you put in to the class is mighty depressing. So I was temporarily heartened that maybe this lecture wouldn’t go to waste, I fired up my laptop and the projector and got ready to tell this exciting story…and the projector is glitched out. It’s not connecting to anything, and is showing me a message that the projector and microphones were not receiving any data since 5:21pm yesterday. Isn’t technology nice that it has become so sophisticated that it can tell you precisely when it broke down?

I fumbled with it for about 15 minutes — that was the show today, watching the old geezer prof toggling switches and poking at a keyboard in front of the class, and seeing everything fail. I ended up giving up, giving them a brief oral summary of the history of biology from 1900-1915, telling them I’ll give them all the details on Monday, and sending them home early. So many smiles from the students! I didn’t tell them that I don’t find that encouraging at all.

Now I’m sitting in an empty classroom waiting for the IT people to show up. At least I can cheer myself up by thinking, hey, this isn’t the worst thing to happen this week.

The little things we can do

If all of us take little steps to deprive billionaires of some of their power, maybe we can eventually make them care about us little people. Here are some simple things that could make them sting a little bit.

  • Obviously, get off Twitter. There’s no excuse anymore — tweeting enables fascists.
  • Unsubscribe from any big, national newspapers. They’re all bought and paid for. Subscribe to a local paper. Alternatively, read The Guardian, it’s not American and it’s totally free.
  • No more books from Amazon. This one is going to be tough: we don’t have a real bookstore in town (the University Bookstore is a joke, selling only the necessary textbooks, and most of the floor is dedicated to t-shirts and souvenirs). The nearest bookstores are 45 minutes away, but I guess they’ll get more of my business. Here’s a good list of alternatives to Amazon. Added complication: Amazon has been buying up competing vendors aggressively.
  • Even better, use your local library.
  • Don’t buy anything else from Amazon. That’s difficult here in small town America, too — we rely so much on ordering things from Amazon because we can’t get them here. Huh…I wonder why local availability has been drying up?
  • Just generally buy local. It deprives the massive rich stores (which are usually owned by assholes) of money, and is better for the environment, too.
  • And finally, never ever vote for a Republican, no matter how nice they may be and how much they promise you.

Teeny tiny steps. It’s not much, but it’s a way for me to cope.

I grieve for my country

I lived for 8 years under President Ronald Reagan, a shallow, stupid, evil man who wrecked the economy and laughed as gay men, and others, died of AIDS, who made deals with our enemies to get elected, and I said, “at least it can’t get worse than this.”

I lived for 8 years under President George W. Bush, a bumbling incompetent, a spoiled scion of Texan wealth, a man who got us into a wasteful, pointless war with the wrong country and killed over half a million people, and I said, “at least it can’t get worse than this.”

Then I lived for 4 years under President Donald Trump, a narcissistic grifter, a rapist, a racist, a convicted felon, a misogynist, a man who promised to deport 20 million people, a demagogue who threatened vengeance on Americans who opposed him, a senile monster, and we re-elected him.

I am now wise enough to finally say, “It will get much, much worse.” We have the president the American people deserve.

My deepest apologies to the millions who will suffer and die in the near future.

I did the thing

I went to the polls as soon as they opened. Here in small town America, voting is painless — no lines, no problems, just instant service and quick gratification.

However, it did feel a bit grim and unsatisfying. I felt like I’d been sent out to stop a raging, drug-addled hippopotamus with a hatpin, and my vote was just the tiniest little pinprick. I’ll feel better about it if everyone gets out there with their individually ineffectual hatpin and stabs the beast to the heart. We can do it!