The Time Is Now

This is really happening. The only people who don’t see that government—all government— is lying and manipulating and deceiving and intimidating us are the people who are religiously devoted to one faction or another. True believers, equally matched, who completely balance each other out! All the rest of us (the vast majority who are sane and reasonable) have to do is allow them to engage in their death grapple until they force each other off the cliff. What’s left? Chaos and anarchy? Yes, in the sense of chaos being an exquisitely interconnected system in which small changes can have great effects; yes, in the sense of anarchy being being the state of individual freedom and self-governance.

IMG_4282The free circulation of information is now making it clear that we are being fed lies to keep us in fear. Perhaps the only time a politician told the truth is when the master propagandist FDR said, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” That he then proceeded to create a leviathan based on protecting the “tribe” from non-existent threats is just a demonstration of the cognitive dissonance inherent in an institution which claims to be keeping the peace even as it also claims a monopoly on force, fraud, spying, extortion, and violence.

It is only a matter of time before the entire world wakes up. The color revolutions of the early aughts were just a rehearsal, a mere shadow of the transformation in the offing. It may be that my nation of birth will be the last holdout, clinging desperately to its illusion of exceptionalism and its narcissistic addiction to dominance. But the foundation has already crumbled. The head is cut off the chicken and it’s running around the barnyard, not yet realizing  that it is dead.

The Scapegoat and the Silence

The brouhaha about Trump’s most recent crudeness had me totally and utterly confused. Why could it be that the media, as well as authorities in the party which nominated him, are suddenly disavowing any allegiance to him over this one thing? This one thing, which is as common as a dead animal rotting by the side of the road?

Like most pretty young girls, I was subject to sexual harassment and sexual assault/attempted rape by figures of authority too many times to count in my youth, from middle school onwards. The only way to cope was to dissociate, wall it off in my psyche, and regard it as something unpleasant from which you try to move on, like stepping in dogshit on the street. One learns at an early age that it doesn’t even matter if anyone believes you when these things occur. The people you go to with complaints or allegations, be they family or teachers or police, may believe you. They probably do. But there is a certain type of silence which falls over them. A certain silence which says, “You are not a person any more. You are a problem.” This silence allows you to slink away; if you press your claim, you will be freshly verbally humiliated by your supposed protectors.

But the story which is most grievous to me comes from later days in my life, when I had matured and fattened past the point of being prey for such hyenas (And isn’t this one of the best arguments for remaining obese? Perhaps why many women do? But I digress.).

This story takes place in my town of Tallahassee, where a certain colleague of mine practices. He is board certified in a specialty. He practiced in partnership with a chiropractor who was the son of a respected local minister, a man who was politically connected, who eventually served on the Board of Chiropractic for many years.

It was my second or third year of practice that the first young woman came in to see me after leaving his practice. She was about 22. She had long straight hair, big eyes, a slender build, and large breasts. She said, “I know that chiropractic care can help me. But Dr. X insisted on having me undress completely for my examination and then he did a breast exam. Is that normal?” (No, it is not normal.)

Later, a massage therapist asked me if I was on the provider list for a particular HMO. This HMO restricted its chiropractor list to a very few practitioners, and getting added to the list is highly political; you have to “know someone” to get on the panel. I knew that Dr. X was on the panel, so I mentioned him. My massage therapist friend said, “No, this is for a female client. Dr. X uses, er, handles when he adjusts.” My friend put his hand over his nipple to make it clear what he meant.

Another young woman came in. Big eyes, big boobs. Cried when I asked why she was switching from Dr. X. Refused to say more.

A male patient mentioned his daughter had gone to see Dr. X and been molested; the male patient went to Dr. X’s office and threatened to punch him in the nose.

Another young woman who fit the description of Dr. X’s preferred victim came in. When I heard her story, I went into my office, printed out a copy of the Board of Chiropractic’s complaint form, and gave it to her with encouragement to report. I never saw her again.

I had lunch with Dr. X and another chiropractor. Dr. X was urging us to refer patients to him for evaluation in his specialty. I told him I would never do that because he fondled his patient’s breasts. He said “Well, you never know if a woman’s headaches could be caused by metastatic breast cancer, do you?” He changed the subject abruptly, excused himself, and left a few minutes later. The other chiropractor, a man, complimented me once we were alone for calling Dr. X on his behavior.

I was advertising for a receptionist and I interviewed one candidate who had worked six months for Dr. X. (I eventually hired someone else for the job). I asked her, “Why did you leave?”

“Because of what I saw there every day. Dr. X is a pervert and I couldn’t keep silent and be a part of that behavior.”

The next time a 22-year-old, big eyes and breasts, long hair, came in, and I saw on her paperwork she was a former patient of Dr. X, I had the complaint form all ready. All she needed to do was to write in her short description of the molestation and sign. I even had a stamped envelope ready, addressed to the Board. I gave out four more of those forms with the ready envelopes over the next fifteen years.

At a chiropractic society dinner one evening, I was seated next to a married couple who are both chiropractors. The husband mentioned that Dr. X was going to an offshore medical school and was thinking of becoming a gynecologist. I said, “Really? And would you want Dr. X doing your daughter’s first pelvic exam?”

The wife interrupted. “We are not talking about Dr. X any more at this meal. And, Peri, no, he is not touching my daughter.” She abruptly changed the subject. Women, like Hilary Clinton, learn the rules if they want to get ahead.

One day at a chiropractic convention, I met Dr. X’s former partner, who was by that time on the Board of Chiropractic. We were standing in a registration line together. I asked him point-blank why nothing ever happened to Dr. X and how he could stand to be associated with him.

“I was never associated with Dr. X. And I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. And that silence came over him. You know, that silence I talked about? When you stop being a person and you become a problem? That silence. And I knew at that moment, if I wanted my chiropractic license to remain clear of discipline, I had better shut up about Dr. X.

My point is: men in positions of power commit this type of behavior wholesale, every day, everywhere, in public and in private, and are protected by both men and women who overlook it. From Kennedy through Clinton, Presidents have behaved this way, and they’ve been given a pass by their subordinates, their opposition, and the media. The only difference with Trump is that he never put a hypocritical face on it; he was openly a pig from the very first day he hit the public eye, and he has never changed.

So what’s up, that all of a sudden, his supporters seem to have “woken up” to what a pig he is? It surely wasn’t that video; he’s said things in public, on record, many times which were just as offensive. The only way I can understand this story is as a scapegoating narrative. The scapegoat is an ancient custom; a goat is chosen to represent the sins of the village. The goat is driven out by the shouting of the whole village and banished to the wilds, to be eaten by wolves, or stoned to death just beyond the village gate and left for scavengers. The primitive archetype is saying: drive Trump out and government will be clean and pure again.

Ludicrous! Nonsense! Some people, given power over other people, will abuse that power. Power thus attracts people who want to commit abuse. If their taste runs towards sexual abuse, sexual abuse will happen and the victims will be powerless to stop it. This was true in the days of the Renaissance, when the Pope was the protector. It’s true today.

These life experiences are part of why my political beliefs changed over the years. In my teens and twenties, I was a radical feminist, a socialist progressive. I bushwhacked into the wilderness for a week on Election Day 1980 to avoid watching Reagan be elected. I listened to Maya Angelou’s “On the Bright Pulse of Morning” and wept for joy. However, I evolved. Now, on some days I am a bleeding-heart libertarian. Other days, I would be best described as an anarchist. Whatever the label, I have certain core convictions, certain consistent principles.

The first of those principles is this: whenever and wherever possible, deny others power and authority over you and over those you care about. And the second goes hand in hand with the first: care about the helpless.


As One

The more I learn about human history, psychology, anthropology, and economics, the more I come to believe that community is the most dangerous and evil factor in our existence. Whenever anyone rhapsodizes abstractly about peace and goodwill, the nebulous word “community” seems to appear. These rhapsodies generally evanesce as soon as the wind of reason blows across them; the end of such discussions is hurt feelings and spilt-milk tears.

From the work of Solomon Asch, we know that it only takes three liars to cause a fourth person to lie. For those who don’t know, Asch conducted a series of experiments in which volunteers were shown lines of differing lengths and asked to match a separate line to the one of the same length. The task was clear and obvious and less than 1% of subjects gave wrong answers when tested privately. Yet, when tested in groups of four or more, when the other group members (secretly “planted” by the researcher) identified the wrong line, a third of the test subjects gave the same, plainly wrong, answer as the other group members. What is more, only half of them later admitted that they knew the truth; the others had actually trusted the perceptions of the group over the evidence of their own eyes. Remember, this was a very simple question: which line is longer? When the reasoning is more complex or the differences are subtler, how much stronger is the influence of group opinion?

Following this reality further down the rabbit hole: We also justify choices we think we have made, even if they are opposite to what we actually chose. In the case of voting, this means that, even if an individual rejects a particular choice, as long as she buys into the idea that her will is reflected in the will of the collective, she will mentally justify the choice of the collective.

From the work of those such as Peter Killworth and Robin Dunbar, we know that our human brains can only handle the complexities of understanding and having true social relationships with 150-300 people, the size of the smallest social groups, such as clans, in hunter-gatherer societies. Any larger group must be managed by heuristics, where people (or objects, concepts, anything) are mentally pigeonholed based on obvious characteristics. A judgmental way of referring to heuristics is use of the word stereotyping. Heuristic stereotyping is the only way to imagine that we are taking everyone’s interests into consideration when we make decisions as a city, as a state, as a nation, or as a world. Put another way: when an individual accepts the idea that decisions must be made as a group, the only way to think about the interests of the group’s members are by applying heuristic stereotypes to the group’s members. But humans are far more complex than stereotypes, and to talk about the interests of “women,” “blacks,” “the handicapped,” or “workers” is to disregard the ways in which any individual woman, black, handicapped person, or employee may have differing interests or needs. In this sense, every person belongs to multiple communities, but no community. The only way to value every person as an individual, is to refrain as much as possible from making decisions for people as a group.

We also fear loss far more than we value gain. This is true even when we have more than we need, or when the losses and gains are of points or chits that have no value. If we are told that “we” own something, even if it is something that we cannot use, such as a nature reserve, government building, or military base where we are not permitted to go, we fear the “loss” of something which is of no good to us. On the other hand, if we never have something, we do not fear to lose it. This is the genius of withholding taxes, which disappear from a worker’s pay before she ever receives it. If everyone had to write a check for their withholding, FICA, and Medicare tax every payday, they would feel the loss and recognize that the collective is taking from them. The same is true of IVA taxes in many countries, where the IVA is baked into the price of the item at many stages along the object’s being brought to market. Taxes and regulations on business are likewise more popular than sales taxes or taxes on individuals, because we never see the increase in prices that results from the taxes on producers. Yet, those who set taxes, fees, and regulations know this very well and choose to push it out of their minds and disregard it, telling themselves it is for “the greater good.”

And last of all, we are easily stampeded into fearfulness. Whether it’s fear of Muslims or fear of guns, the narrative of attacks floods our primitive brains with adrenaline and focuses our attention on doing whatever is necessary to combat the perceived threat. It is only by careful thought and consideration that we can realize that the risks to our safety posed by guns, Muslims, or whatever this week’s terror totem is, are very small. And it is only in quiet and relative isolation that we can perform the careful thought and consideration needed.

In short, whenever I hear anyone discussing politics begin a sentence, “We should…” I want to interrupt right there. “We?” Who is “we?” Do “we” have to do this as a group? What if I don’t want to be part of this group? Can a group of those who want it done, do this thing on their own? Most of the time, my answer, whether it’s building a wall along the Rio Grande, or taking away people’s belongings because they might hurt someone, my answer is “count me out!” If it is so important to you, you do it.

The truth is, I am only rarely part of “we.” Are you? When?

Invitation to a Cogitation (Bring Your Own Brain)

Science tells us that everything can be broken down, systematically analyzed, and understood. At least, that’s what I learned at the Bronx High School of Science; Northwestern University tapped firmly on the notion with a large mallet and seated it in the slots in my mind as I worked on my BS in biology, and by the time I was grinding away at neuroanatomy, pathology, and endocrinology in chiropractic school, my train of thought chugged reliably away on the steel track of theorize, analyze, test, conclude, refine theory. Spirit, spirituality, belief, mysticism: these were something separate and peripheral. Like the supposed separation of church and state, the Ineffable was reserved for recreation and socialization while the Measurable was what really mattered.

While I was grinding away at fulfilling the requirements of my credentials which would make me credible and grant me permission to earn a living doing something I was good at, the really dweeby math and physics geeks who rolled their eyes slightly when I said calculus was a challenge for me, wandered off into a land of abstraction and came home with things they named weirdness and chaos. This was cute, but then it wasn’t because they really meant weirdness and chaos. As I struggled to reach the point where I could gulp huge swaths of data whole, digest them, and shit out mental algorithms that would make me the best diagnostician ever, they slyly whispered: you can never know. Starting conditions affect the outcome. Fractal repetitions will lose you on orders of magnitude. You cannot analyze it. You can only appreciate it.

I had to take their word for it because my mind wouldn’t wrap around the math. Perhaps, I pensively mused, I should follow my heart, which was always annoyingly pulling me towards other people. And I found the church! I found belief! I dusted off my inductive reasoning and found God’s word in the Bible; I became part of the global body of Christ and we all devoted ourselves together to the love of that word, the Logos, the eternal utterance of pure love which created, creates, and will create the Universe. We did. Really. Except it turned out that involved a lot of eating bad food and singing bad music and judging people unkindly and telling people what to do with their reproductive organs. I tried several flavors of Christianity just to be sure.

I HATE being told what to do! Always have, since birth. It’s who I am. It’s part of what made me a vehement feminist when young and idealistic. And I hate still worse being told what to think and what to ignore. And the whole ignoring-the-parts-of-the-scriptures-we-don’t-like-while-flogging-the-ones-we-do-like-a-dead-horse part of religion finally tasted bad enough that I spit the whole thing out.

The basic principles of morality are actually pretty clear and simple: don’t hurt other people or take their stuff. Love God and do what you will, as Augustine said. The rest proceeds fractally from that. All the rest of it is pretty much just yak, yak, yak.

So okay, that’s the non-aggression principle; you caught me, I’m a libertarian. Maybe an anarchist, depending on what kind of day I’ve had. Don’t hurt people or take their stuff. Anything people have to be forced to do is not something that actually needs doing. The best outcomes are always win-win. And one of the most satisfying things I know is helping other people. I made a successful solo career out of it, until the arthritis in my hands, aided and abetted (in an obvious conspiracy) by exponentially expanding healthcare regulations, made it nearly impossible.
Of course then there’s the helping versus enabling dichotomy. Crazy sadistic nutjobs and alcoholic narcissists bloomed floridly on my family tree. Gaslighting was a family evening at home. Tied up, whipped, and suffocated was a visit to Grandma’s. The inductive reasoning came pretty naturally to me because as a child I had to always remember what to think so I’d know what to say. Not whining here; worse things are happening to other people all over the world right this very moment (and you and I are paying for some of them). I’m just explaining why I kept giving second, third, and successive ordinal chances to people who disrespected me, including people I gave birth to, until I mostly stopped. Fuck that! On a personal level, boundaries are beautiful.

So now you know what this blog is about. If you prefer a cheerful, happy blog about traipsing around in an RV and enjoying the beauties of the most prosperous nation in the world from the open road, check out . You’ll probably find it much more to your liking. This blog will have sex, religion, and politics in it, sometimes in the same post. Sometimes in the same sentence. Also conspiracy theories. And cussing. But it will also have poetry and whatever deep insights I can convince myself are not just the drugs talking. There will be beauty.

That’s where I’m going. You’re welcome to follow me.